February 12, 2002
I stumbled on to your website and feel that I have to tell you my story:
June 2000
I had just turned 17 a few months before, in May 2000.
It was the summer before my senior year in high school. My fiancé and I were talking and he was being all sweet and the next thing you know we are in bed.
Afterwards, I did not really think about it. But the next day, I was so scared that I was pregnant.
So, the day before I was supposed to go the beach, for a month with my family, we got an EPT [emergency pregnancy test], and I when to Chick-fil-a. Two of our friends were coming out (they were getting married that next month).
I went inside while he talked to them, and told them what was wrong. He was just as scared as I was, but we loved each other and, if I was pregnant, then we were going to get married a little sooner than planned and have a baby.
Well the test said postive, and I just could not go home, so we went to go see a movie that we had already seen, so we did not pay much attention to the movie.
Finally we left half way through, I think, and for some reason I still had the test, and I checked it again, and the thing said negative.
We were glad that I was not having a baby, now, and he took me home, and I did not think about it again.
Then every time we talked on the phone, while I was at the beach, he asked me if I had started my period yet, and I said, “No it is not time”.
Finally, it was time for me to start and I did not, so we both kind of knew I was pregnant, but we never really said anything.
Then my mom figured out I was pregnant.
I had not even told my fiancé a definite ‘yes’, that we were going to have a baby, so when my mom figured it out, I told her I wanted to be the one who told dad (I was going to wait until our vacation was over because we only had a day or two left). So, she goes upstairs, and comes back down, not even five minutes later, and says, "Your father wants to talk to you".
My mom figured it out on a Sunday, and all this, that I am about to say, happened within a week (Sunday to Sunday).
As soon as I saw my dad, I started crying, because I knew I was in a lot of trouble.
Both of them just held me, and would not let me go, which made me even madder. But by the time they let me go, they had talked me into an abortion (which I said I would never do).
So, instead of calling up my fiancé and telling him “Yes, and am pregnant, and here is what they want me to do”, I called him up and told him I was killing our child.
He and his mom tried and tried to talk me out of it, but I would not listen.
I wanted to shut my parents up, not really thinking that I am killing someone, not thinking that I am becoming a murderer.
My fiancé met me at my house when we got home from the beach on Monday (3 hour drive), and we talked. He tried to talk me out of it. I knew it was over, so I gave him the engagement ring back, and he kept trying to give it back to me, and finally I took it back.
He broke up with me on Tuesday (I think), and I went to my psychiatrist on Wednesday.
On the way home from her office, I saw my fiancé's truck leaving near my neighborhood, and I just knew he had come to see me.
That whole week, I was so confused, because he would tell me it was over, and then he would call me and say we were back together.
Whenever we did talk on the phone, it was mostly both of us crying, and him begging for our child's life.
I had held a knife to my wrist so many times before, but so many times that week debating whether or not to kill myself, because I had already lost the only guy I ever loved. Come Friday, I was losing my child.
He would call everyday from work to see if I was okay and he would say that he still loved me, but had to break up with me because of what I was doing.
I later found out that his mom had told him to break up with me, and I am not mad at him for breaking up with me, because he had every right to — I was killing his child.
Friday came, and I had no energy whatsoever, and I did not want to be in that place of killing.
I do not see why you have to pay someone to kill your child. The price of my child's life was $425.
I remember laying there in the waiting room, wishing I had the balls to walk out, or tell my parents I did not want to do this, and have them listen to me.
Finally, when they called my name, I was taken to a room with three walls and what looked like a closet door and was told to change.
I had to take everything off and had to hold the "gown" they gave me to change into by the back so it would stay on.
I sat in another waiting room, not really watching the TV, but starting off into the distance until they made me pee in a cup and took my blood pressure.
Then I had to have a sonogram done and they would not even let me see my baby.
What made me madder is that my mom was right in the doorway, and she could see my baby, and did not even care whether it lived or died.
Then I took my contacts out so I could not see anything.
The next time they called my name, it was time for me go have my “surgery”, and all I wanted to do was die.
I can remember the table. It had the things you put your feet in to hold your legs apart when you are having a physical, and I wanted to close my legs so bad because I had no panties on.
A male assistant to my left was putting tubes in my left arm because I took the coward's way out. Well, I was a double coward, because I was killing my child, yet I had chosen to have them put myself to sleep while they killed my baby.
After the "surgery" was over, I remember waking up and going back to sleep, but by the time I woke up and stayed awake, I just lay there and cried.
The girl beside me (whom I could not see because I had my contacts out), told me it would be OK, and I told her I was only seventeen and that my parents were making me do this, and I did not want to.
He called me after I got home (somehow he knew I had just gotten home) and, for some reason, I was laughing when all I wanted to do was cry, and that just made him even madder.
He told me that, around 11 am (I think that is when the abortion was), while he was at work, he felt his heart and soul ripped out of his body. To make matters worse, he had to hold a guy's little baby girl while he got the car seat ready for her. He told me that it took all of his strength not to drop the baby and fall to his knees crying.
My parents said that I could not see him again, or go to his house.
He called me Saturday, or Sunday, from the movies and said that he still loved me, and wanted to be with me, and would I meet him at the park?
So, even though it could cause me to bleed more, I got on my bike and met him at the park.
When I went to kill my baby, I was hoping that I would bleed to death.
February 2002
Now I am a freshman in college, and on my second semester, and killing my child still haunts me.
There is now forever a gap between me and my parents, me and my fiancé (we are still together and in love), and a great gap between my fiancé and my parents.
I do not cry every night like I did for months after the "surgery" (as they call it), but I sill cry and it will always hurt.
In a way, having an abortion is the same as having your child taken away from you, but on the other hand, I will always have to live with the fact that I am a murderer.
My fiancé and I are getting married about three and a half years after I get out of college, but I will forever hate myself for what I did, and hate my parents for talking me into killing my child.
Never again will I go through that. It stays with you forever, and I will forever hate myself, and no matter how much we love each other, there will always be that gap between us, because I killed our child.
With my fiancé calling me everyday to see if I was okay, even though we were not together anymore, actually kept me wanting to live another day hoping the next day we would be back together.
My fiancé eventually led me to the Lord, and I love him so much. The next time I get pregnant, I will have the baby.
I know in a way I am lucky, because some [couples] that feel they are soul-mates are torn apart, forever, by this. But I was lucky enough to get the love of my life back. I thank God every day that I got my fiancé back, and that God let me live, and I know one day that when God calls me home, I will see my child for the first time, and will love it no matter what.
No matter how many kids I have, the first-born will never truly be the first, to me, or my fiancé.
