First, a glimpse of the waiting room and the people sitting silent and uncomfortable. Each one never looking around at the other, staring blankly at whatever they held in their hands.
In the end I assure you it is a vain attempt to distract yourself. You know what is going on on the other side of that wall. Maybe you don’t fully understand. but you know.
The only thing I remember her saying is that she had been there 11 other times. Eleven! Let that sink in. I did. And it put the fear of God in me. For half a second I thought, God forgive me.
Fourth, a glimpse of the exam room. It was a lot like the room you would sit in at the doctor’s office. Sterile in appearance, with an exam table and a chair in the corner. But, don’t miss this. It is probably the second saddest part of the whole day. It is the moment that I ridiculously bowed my head and knee in front of that chair in the corner of the room and prayed. I prayed! Prayed? Prayed. But, it was pretty much to the chair because I know that had I really prayed to God, I would have stood up and walked out of the room and not back to the table to put on that gown. I prayed, God, please forgive me for what I am about to do, for what I was determined to do. I wanted Him to erase the stigma, the shame, the fear. More on how that worked out later.
Fifth, a glimpse of the procedure room. It was a pretty small room in retrospect. Too small, really, to hold the whole dynamic of it’s purpose. But, as I lay there on that table and saw the people in their masks and the machines, I had no real excuse for what I was doing. Just that I had to. That was it. I was here. Here we go. One IV and the whole thing was over. It felt like I only closed my eyes, paused for a moment, and it was done. Irrevocably done!
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The last memory I have of that day is waking up in the recovery room to someone standing over me calling my name, encouraging me to wake up and have more juice. They were saying the anesthesia would wear off soon and I would be ready to go. There were a dozen other full beds in that room. So many. Too many.
The person in charge came around and, by now, I was more awake. I was given a pill and release papers. The pill was for the bleeding that was sure to come in a couple of days. If the bleeding gets too bad, take this pill to help it slow down, they said. If it got worse, I was to go to the emergency room.
And that was the end. We got back in the car and started back home where my mom was watching my other, two, beautiful children so my husband and I could go on a date.
So, today I am stuck. For the majority of the 13 years, no one has known except for myself, my husband, and my best friend. Now, many people do. It is my ministry to make sure others know so that they can make different choices.
I killed my baby. You don’t have to.
There are so many other choices that are out there.
If you are pregnant, or think that you are, call a pregnancy resource center in your area and talk to someone. They are there to help you. Really, really help you. They are not getting paid for what they do. The abortion clinics are. They will look you in the eye and listen to you. The abortion clinics likely won’t. At the pregnancy resource center, they will ask you to consider life over death. I ask you to also. Choose life! Choose life! Choose life!
Read more in next Tuesday's post Sonja's Story: Redemption (Part 2).
Choosing Life Raises your Pro-life EQ, emotional intelligence,
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“Humans are very attached to outcomes. We say we trust God but behind the scenes we work our fingers to the bone and our emotions into a tangled fray trying to control our outcomes. We praise God when our normal looks like what we thought it would. We question God when it doesn’t. And walk away from Him when we have a sinking suspicion that God is the one who set fire to the hope that was holding us together.” ―Lysa TerKeurst, It's Not Supposed to Be This Way
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