Here is a story I wrote some years back. Feel free to use it. As I like for my story to be told.
"Kimberly?", The nurse called. I sat down my magazine as my name was called. "Follow me". I hesitated and took a deep breath when I heard these words . . . follow me . . . follow me. The words echoed down the hallow walls of my mind. My mother took my hand and the nurse led the way. My body slumped as my feet followed. Slowly and without enthusiasm I slipped into the plain cotton hospital gown and climbed onto the examination table. My heart pounding, my breath rapid and irregular. I tried to regain control of myself. There was a soft knock as the door crept open. "Hello Kimberly, I'm Dr. Shelby" came the subtle voice of the kind Doctor. "How are you feeling this morning?" She gently tapped my hand and gazed down at me with an understanding smile. "Don't worry, it'll all be over shortly". The door opened again and in came a young women pulling along a machine behind her.
"This is my assistant Nancy, she'll be with you the entire time. Mom will too". Nancy smiled and took the place where Dr. Shelby was. I could feel her soft, cool hands on mine and her warm smile beaming down at me. Dr. Shelby went on to explain the events that would occur as she found her place by my feet. She held up a hose with a straw connected to it.
It reminded me of a slurpee straw. Soon the machine was on. It sounded just like a vacuum sitting still on the floor. My body tensed as the sound ran through the room. Nancy held my hand firmer and encouraged me to keep my eye on the colorful butterfly on the ceiling. Soon it would all be over with. I concentrated on the butterfly. Staring straight through it. A tear rolled down my cheek as I secretly said goodbye. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I whispered to myself as the straw was inserted, I felt a harsh tugging. vroooom, vrooom, vrooom. The machine wailed. vrooooom, vrooom. My body was jarred by a sharp pain and a final slurp. I clenched my mothers hand. "All finished" said Dr. Shelby. "Now then, that wasn't so bad. Was it?". "blah blah blah blah blah blah" was all that I could hear.
The pain rushed through my abdomen. Nancy helped me from the table and back into my clothes. She escorted me to the recuperating room, where I remained for 30 minutes. At which time she offered me some decorative cookies and punch before she sent me on my way. Later that evening I laughed with my friends and bobbed my head to the tune of the music playing in the juke box. Giggling and chattering amoung ourselves as all 15 year olds do. I had done the right thing. Everything was going to be ok now. I was one of the lucky ones! I still had my whole life ahead of me. I'd be able to finish high school, attend school dances, continue on the drill team. My life was going to be good. I had made the right decision. Nearly 2 years passed, and I found myself in the same situation. Another teen statistic. Now at the age of 17 years old, I opted to keep my baby. Just a few years older, I felt that I was able to make my own decisions. Instead of allowing my parents, my friends, and my family to influence me. I was going to keep this baby, accept responsibility. At the time I was attending a continuation school. So, when I became pregnant not much would change. I could remain at the school during my pregnancy. When I was 4 months a long, I went to the Doctor for a usual check up. Only this time an ultra sound was performed. I was able to see my baby and even hear the little beat of his heart! The doctor printed the image. He told me that it was one of the clearest pictures He'd ever seen. And that it should be used in a medical book as an example of how a baby looks at 3 months along.
I took it to school to show all of my friends. You could see outlines of the little arms, the little legs and feet, and the little tummy, and nose!!!! I was so proud! It wasn't long after that when I felt the baby flutter about inside of me for the first time. It was alive! He was alive. He had arms, legs, and a face! He moved inside of me. That is when it struck me. A sudden realization of something greater than just one person. There was life inside of me. This life wasn't my life, it was an entirely different life. It belonged to me. Yet, it wasn't me. This is the first time I felt regret. I went to my father to try and explain the emotions that were taking over me. Surely he would understand. I explained to him that I felt like a murderer. I wasn't sure before. But, now that I could actually feel the life inside of me, it was clear. I'll never forget the sad expression that fell upon my fathers face as he hung his head low in what seemed to be a solemn moment of regret. The room reaked of irony as the realism of the moment took hold. My father had always been what some would call a radical pro-lifer.
However, when his own family was put in the same situation as many of the girls he had so desperately tried to save, his belief buckled. And for that one time, he turned his back on his movement and did the unthinkable. He encouraged me to do what he had so strongly protested for so many years. Desparately grasping to keep his baby, a baby for just a moment longer. But now as his young teenaged daughter sat before him, belly rounding and bursting with new life. He could only hang his head. For it was at that very moment that I knew without a shadow of a doubt what I had done. And he knew what he had encouraged me to do. It was a sad moment indeed. However, the joy and excitement of new life quickly took the place of the grief. As I counted 10 fingers and 10 toes and one little button nose, and called my first born John, named after my Father. It would be years before I felt the grief again. One day, as I sat watching television a preacher came on and spoke about the issue of abortion. To this day, I can't remember exactly what he said. But, something he said put many questions into my head.
Did my baby go to heaven? Will she know me when I get there? Does she want to know me? The tears fell from my eyes. And for the first time since that horrible day, I cried. I cried years of hurt. Now, a full grown woman married with 4 kids. I heard the pitter patter of little feet. I witnessed the first smiles and sweet coos. But, no matter how many smiles I seen or kisses I received. I knew that I would always be missing one. I'd missed first smiles, first coos, first steps, first words. And so had my child. And for that moment I cried for my child. I cried for me. What was this that I was feeling? The nice nurse named Nancy at the Planned Parenthood clinic never mentioned this. Dr. Shelby was so careful to explain everything that would take place. Did they somehow over look this very important detail? They never explained the hurt, the anguish, the emptiness, and the despair that would follow. Now, years later I wept. For a long time I blamed my mother and my father for making me kill my baby.
They've felt the pain that I've felt. They've also felt the guilt and shared it with me. I've come to peace with myself, my actions, my parents and with GOD. The guilt doesn't consume me. But, I often find myself considering what life would have been like with the child I so desperately wish to touch and hold and love on. And sometimes, not always...but sometimes, I weep for myself. If there is one thing that I would instill into my children, it is that life is precious. And we must accept responsibility for our own actions.Which isn't the most horrible thing in the world! I look at my son and I smile. He's wonderful. Beautiful. My life. What I live for. Just as wonderful and beautiful as the other baby that I will never know. But, still I am angry! I am angry at the liberal pro-choice movement! I am angry at Planned Parenthood and agencies like them! I am angry that I was not warned of the despair that my action and theirs would cause! They don't want to tell you about the lives that they ruin! Not only do they kill the innocent, but, they never once tell these young girls of the hurt and despair that will be experienced for the rest of their lives! I feel that it is my duty to tell this story. My story. The story that they don't want you to hear. The Truth. My only hope is that one woman or young girl will see this story and choose life. My loss will not be in vain. Please. Choose Life.