I thought I was done. After writing that last post, reading and responding to all of the comments (well, the ones without fake email addresses anyway), I thought I had nothing more to say on the issue. But apparently, I was wrong.
At church yesterday (yes, I go to church), the pastor asked if anyone had joys or concerns, as he does every week. My hand went up in the air, almost without me meaning it to, and I spoke about the news of the week and how difficult it had been.
I spoke about my anger. Not anger, actually--more like intense rage about this issue. I asked for the ability to find forgiveness for the five men that made a decision about my life and my body, even though they gave no thought to me or my life or my worth as a human being. I said that I wanted to be an activist and an advocate, but I knew that real change comes only from being in a place of quiet hope and having an open heart, and I don't yet have that. I found myself shaking and crying as I asked for the ability to forgive.
I was more upset than I realized.
I'm willing to talk about this until I'm blue in the face, because every time I do, someone else tells me that they didn't realize the implications of this issue, and they've found that they've changed their minds. Truth is, those of us who have had a late term abortion often don't want to talk about how that pregnancy ended. We say, euphemistically, that we've "lost" the baby or babies. Only women who have gone something similar know what that might mean. That's why I talk about it.
But sometimes it's hard. Each time I post about this some new person says that I killed my baby (or babies, because they didn't actually READ what I wrote, and don't know that one twin had already died), or says they just don't understand why I didn't deliver the surviving baby and give him "a chance," or even graciously acknowledge that it's just so sad that I was pressured into making this decision by my doctors.
Over the two years I've been speaking openly about this, I've developed a bit of a shell to protect myself. But sometimes, when I'm not being careful, something in me slips and I realize that I'm absolutely fucking furious. I just cannot believe that people don't get it. I cannot accept that FIVE MEN made a decision for everyone with a uterus in this country. I find myself looking at my daughter, knowing that my mother had preeclampsia, I had preeclampsia, and it's highly likely that she, too, will have to battle that disease. I want to run to Washington and stand in front of the court and shriek my rage at the building. I want to curse those men, wish terrible things on the women in their lives, just so they fucking GET IT.
But I won't.
Instead, I will pray, and pray furiously, that I can continue to keep my heart open to those that disagree with me. I will continue to explain what happened to me, over and over and over. I would do it on Good Morning America if they'd let me. I want people to hear my story, and to rethink what they believe. I want to fight to keep choice open to all women, everywhere.
One anonymous commenter accused those of us that are Pro-Choice of "hiding" behind our tragedies, of using our tragedies to keep abortion legal. Of course we are! No one--NO ONE--thinks using abortion as birth control is a good idea. But when you start placing limits, when you start CRIMINALIZING A MEDICAL PROCEDURE, suddenly there are no doctors willing to perform that procedure, and then there is no fucking choice, and women start dying. You cannot claim to be Pro-Life and then devalue the lives of women so much! You just can't.
The scripture lesson at church this week was John 21:1-19. Basically (and forgive my paraphrasing) it discusses Jesus' third post-crucifixion appearance, in which he asks Peter to tend his sheep three times. According to my pastor, in the original Greek Jesus first asks him to attend the lambs, then the older sheep, and then, as my pastor put it "the big old sheep."
If you ask me, that makes it clear that Jesus wanted all of us protected. It's doesn't say just the lambs, or the lambs above everyone else. It says, right there in the bible, that Jesus wanted "a big old sheep" like me protected too. And this law does just the opposite.
