A Long Journey to Peace
By Nicholas' MomThe day I drove up to the clinic in Wichita, Kansas, to undergo the procedure that would end the life of my precious son, I also walked into the nightmare of abortion politics. In this world, reality rarely gets through the rhetoric, which tells us that women can easily obtain an abortion at any time in the pregnancy and do so often and with little thought.
The reality is that abortion in the late second and third trimesters is extremely rare. The reality is that finding a doctor to do this procedure in the late second or third trimester is almost impossible. For me, the reality was that at the most painful time of my life I had to travel out of state, stay in a hotel room and face hostile protesters in order to carry out this most personal of choices.
If you're like me, you had no idea that this happened to people. I thought that I would go through this under the care of my regular doctor, in my local hospital, with the support of family and friends nearby. I remember a few weeks before getting our baby's final, lethal prognosis, I heard on the news about a doctor being shot. "Isn't that terrible," I thought, having no inkling just how relevant this would be to me just a few weeks later.
Up until the moment I sat across the desk from my OB, I held out hope that he would give my son some chance to beat the odds. I couldn't believe it when he said that there was no chance that he would live very long after he was born. Since I had not even entertained that idea, I was even less prepared for the next thing he had to say, but those words are burned into my memory forever.
"There is no one in Texas who can do this procedure. The only doctor you can go to is in Wichita, Kansas. I talked to him. He seems very nice. Here is his number." That was it. There was nothing more he could do for us. I could barely stand up when we rode down the elevator.
Even then, I didn't connect this doctor to the story on the news. It wasn't until I was on the phone with them, after we went through the procedure, the schedule, the cost, and all the other details that the woman said, "I don't know if you're aware of this, but the doctor was shot last month."
If I wasn't so numb, I may have screamed, but instead it just washed over me. I couldn't speak. She explained that there would be protesters. She may as well have been saying "blah blah blah blah." It just didn't sink in. This was something on the news far away in another state, not something that was part of my life.
A few days later, we were on our way. It rained the whole drive up. I told my husband to turn off the Oldies station because I didn't want to always associate Oldies with this drive. We checked into our hotel, a chain that I will never, ever stay at again because of the memories it brings back. We drove by the clinic just to make sure we knew where it was. Seeing it at night brought us a false sense of security.
The next morning there were throngs of protesters. They had graphic posters. They yelled at us and aimed a video camera at our car. I was shaking all over as I had to show ID and go through a metal detector before I was admitted. All the time I was thinking, "How can those people be yelling at me? I don't want to be here. I don't have a choice. Don't they understand?"
Thankfully, inside there was compassion, love, understanding and superb medical care. Finally, I met some other people who understood this hell we were in. I said goodbye to my son and then a few days later, I said good bye to the doctor who I will always look upon as the one shining light in the worst week of my life.
That was eight years ago. Time, as they say, has healed my grief. So, why am I writing this? Well, partly just so you'll know there is someone else out there that has gone though it. Also, I want to share what I feel was my biggest mistake after going through this.
Somehow, I allowed my anger at these protesters and the trauma of that situation to distract me from grieving the loss of my son. My grief was totally tied up in the political nightmare that abortion has become in this country.
I could barely watch the news. Anything political became personal. It was years before that anger began to die down and I began to find myself again and to deal with the loss of my son which, was a tragedy regardless of politics.
My only advice is don't let "them" define this for you. It is still your choice, your child and your life. I started to react as if the protesters were talking to me personally and indeed felt like everything they said was directed at me. In truth, they never see the real people behind the rhetoric.
No one could ever love my son more than I do. Somehow I let them distract me from that and I felt like I had to justify my actions every time I saw a bumper sticker. In retrospect, that too was tragic.
It's not fair that anyone has to go through this. It's not fair that a personal tragedy becomes fodder for politicians and fanatics. But if anything, the situation has gotten worse over the years, not better. For the foreseeable future, most of us facing a late term procedure will also have to face the politics of it all.
After many years, I have found peace and although I still miss my son every day, I don't think about those people who yelled at me during that week. They don't deserve any more of my time. To you who have been through this I say, peace be with you. That peace is out there and your angels will help you find the way.