On Saturday, Planned Parenthood facilities across the country were the scenes of large protest. The protests arose from revelations that the organization had been selling babies’ body parts.
Guest Column by Michelle in California
I was 16 when I found out I was pregnant. I was never really interested in learning about sex, although I knew enough about it to know that when I met my first real boyfriend, I needed some sort of birth control. From public school, I knew I could run to planned parenthood to give me free condoms and birth control pills for little to no cost. Besides, what girl didn’t want to be like the other girls, with their cute little compacts full of pills neatly arranged in a circle?
I met my first boyfriend, had my first kiss, and lost my virginity when I was about 16 and a half. Coming up on 17 and realizing I was pregnant, I knew I had to go to planned parenthood to make this issue disappear. As a teenager, my family and I didn’t have the best relationship, and I thought for sure that it would be best for myself, if I just made this all go away. (I was so very concerned with myself) At my first meeting with the planned parenthood nurse, she informed me that I would need an adult and asked if I had anyone that would take and sign for me. She told me I didn’t have much time to ask my uncle, who I thought might be willing to help me, and that I needed to go down to Illinois (I was in Wisconsin) because in Illinois, I wouldn’t need any parental consent. She assured me the baby wasn’t a baby yet, it was just tissue and would feel no pain. She told me I needed to do it right away. I was scared, I was confused, I was sad, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to do it, but thought I had no other choice. I was never given options, either. They played off my fears. I played off my fears. I trusted the staff at planned parenthood, I was young, and I was very, very stupid.
She gave me directions to the clinic, some of which I can never forget. The clinic was located behind LaSalle Bank just over the Illinois border. My husbands step father and mother were told that I was pregnant and they agreed that I should abort it, because I just turned 17 and my boyfriend just turned 18, two months prior. They were worried he could be charged with statutory rape, even though my parents would never have done such a thing. They paid for the abortion and lied for me when I told my parents I was going to go up north with them for the weekend. I would stay at their house after I had the abortion, to let my body rest a few days.
My boyfriend drove me down to the clinic, I cried to him in the parking lot – I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to be here. I can’t do this, I want to go home. He wondered out loud, that if I didn’t, will I just regret it later? I agreed and went inside. It was a sad place. The walls were light colored, but it had a gloom about it. It was a revolving door of mostly young girls, who also didn’t look like they wanted to be there. I saw many young women in there, going behind the door as the nurse called them, and shortly after, being escorted to their family members or friends looking like sick zombies. They could barely walk out of the clinic. After paying the lady the fee, I waited to be taken back. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be the next girl stumbling out of that door. Too soon, my name was called.
I remember laying on the table, crying and telling them I didn’t know if I want to do this, that I was scared, what if I never fell asleep, would it hurt the baby? They put an IV in, told me to count backwards from 10, and I woke up shortly after in a stupor, weeping loudly, in what I believe was a recliner. The nurse came in to shut me up, and get me out of there. Obviously annoyed, she made it clear that I was disturbing the many other girls behind the curtains next to me on both sides that were waking up, too. The nurse coldly grabbed my arm as I was taken to my boyfriend, who would somberly ask me if I was okay, as he lead me to the parking lot. We started on our journey back to Wisconsin. We stopped at the Illinois tollbooth, I opened my door and vomited. The car behind us impatiently beeped at my boyfriend to get out of his way. We went back to his stepfather’s house and stayed the weekend. I don’t remember much about that weekend, but I will never forget that day. May 27, 2000. Often, I think about the baby I would have had. Would it have been a boy or a girl? He or she would have been 15 this year. I always think about how my oldest child…wouldn’t be my oldest child, had I not gone through with the evil, selfish plan that I had committed to that day – that I convinced myself was for the better. I think about how my living children would have been best friends with their older brother or sister. They would have loved him or her. They would have hugged goodnight. They would have played board games and tag. Our family would be complete thus far.
As a student in high school, I went to my “ABC’s of parenting” class not long after and we studied the stages of pregnancy. I looked in the book and I saw that my baby was not just a blob of tissue, I had killed a baby with tiny hands, fingers and toes. A little nose. I killed a baby, who only had me to depend on to keep him or her safe and growing. I was mortified. I thought my teacher was lying to us. The book must be wrong. I didn’t believe it. But, it was the other side that lied to me. I was so disgusted with myself. What did I do?
I didn’t trust myself that I could raise a child. I didn’t trust myself that I could do it, I wasn’t willing to add more hardship in my relationships, I wasn’t willing to be the screw up, again. I had not one person try to assure me that life with a baby would be okay. (I didn’t tell hardly anyone, so I’m talking about the few people I did tell) Harder, but okay. I needed that. I felt betrayed by my boyfriends stepfather, his mom, my family and friends (most of whom didn’t even know), my boyfriend, the nurses and staff at planned parenthood and the clinic. I betrayed my own self. I was nothing to planned parenthood, but an agenda & dollar signs. I wish I would have told my parents, looking back. I wish I would have not believed the lies of the evil one. I look at my other children and sometimes I imagine them playing with their oldest sibling that they don’t even know about. I see how cute they are and I know the child I never had would have mirrored them, too. At times, I yearn for that invisible child. I wonder when their birthday would have been. What color eyes would they have had? Would they have been good at sports? What would his or her favorite subject be in school?
I know now that giving birth to that child would have been one of the best things that would have ever happened to me. It would have changed my life, in all the best ways. How could I have convinced myself otherwise? Why do we teach our young girls the opposite? May God forgive us.
It would be about 10 years later when I experienced the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. And though I am forgiven by THE FORGIVER, I’m not sure just how one forgives themselves. I think a lot about what I did to my innocent child. My heart is crushed when I see photos of what a baby looks like at 12 weeks, what they look like at 16, 20, 24 weeks. I am in horror when I imagine the little body that was taken out of me, little arms, legs and all, dissected and ripped apart, all consented to by me. It is too much. It is the one “regret of all regrets” that I will hold on to until the day I leave this earth. There are so many other options besides aborting. All of which are better than ending a life. Young women need to know that life will be okay, even if they did something stupid, even if they think their parents will kill them or if they don’t know how to raise a baby alone or have no money, or want to achieve other things in life and the thought of motherhood overwhelms them. This is something you will hold on to forever. The little tiny baby in your womb has itty bitty fingers. It is a beautiful, God-given life. The truth is… this baby in your belly, this “mistake” you or anyone else thinks you made, just isn’t a mistake – at all.
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. Psalm139:13-14
Michelle is a home-schooling mother of three kids ages 12, 7, 5. She was born and raised in Milwaukee and is a proud wife of an Army soldier, currently living in California. She proclaims she was saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ in 2010.