Will Anyone Shout My Abortion?

In Defense of the Defenseless

Many mothers like mine want to empower others to make the choice to kill babies like me by shouting to the world how strong they were for choosing to end their child’s life. They believe that by telling their stories they can destigmatize my abortion.

Now hear my story, a story that doesn’t end with the accolades of those who feel liberated from bearing the responsibility of caring for a child. A story that few will share.

I was conceived by my mother and father following a short romance filled with the excitement of new love. But that romance became strained when they discovered I was a part of their relationship. My father insisted that my mother should abort me, he was very concerned about having to make payments to help my mother care for me. My mother began to believe that I stood in the way of her perceived happiness. Her friends encouraged her to make the best choice for her, claiming that I was just a clump of cells that didn’t matter as much as her feelings. She began to turn against me as well.

In America, where I once lived, it’s legal to kill children like me. Now that both of my parents wanted me dead, I had no protection, no hope. My mother called Planned Parenthood to find someone willing to end my life. They quickly made her an appointment before she changed her mind. They make lots of money killing children like me. A few days later, I was laying on a table with my mother while they used an ultrasound to see how big I was. I was too big for the vacuum machine, so they had to cut me into smaller pieces so I could fit through her cervix. They had to force it open since her body knew it wasn’t time for me to leave yet.

In Defense of the DefenselessAfter they ripped opened my amniotic sac, all of the warm fluid I was living in drained away. Then my abortionist crushed one of my legs with his steel clamps and twisted really hard, tearing my leg away. My heart began to beat really fast. He kept coming back, over and over again, until only my head was left. It was too big to fit, so he had to crush it with his tools. After I was torn from my mother’s womb, my abortionist had a helper lay my parts out to make sure none of me was left inside.

I was three and a half months old when my mother made her choice. I know you can’t remember being my age, but you were, you know? You and I came from the same place, but you were lucky to have a mother who put your life above hers. You and I do have one thing in common, though. I was a human being just like you.

Now that you know my story, I hope you will share it. Your voice can’t help me now, but it might save other children from my fate. In fact, it might just help make killing kids like me unthinkable. Wasn’t my life worth trying?

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