I had an abortion while desperately wanting to be pregnant. There was no heartbeat. I had no choice.

In truth, I did have a choice. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning.

One

I’ve had four miscarriages. The first stole my innocence. It took from us the pure joy that only expectant parents feel when they’ve just created new life. Holding the secret that only we knew, we went to a camping-wedding-weekend where I started cramping and bleeding. I knew in my bones I was losing the baby, and spent the weekend bleeding in an outhouse. I was 7.5 weeks pregnant.

Babies before 12 weeks are to be hidden, and my pain was hidden too.

Two

The second miscarriage, only a month later, was still a punch to the gut, but didn’t hit quite as hard. My innocence had already been stolen, and in its place was a steely warrior always on guard. The pain and cramping was just as bad, and I was surprised to so intensely feel like my body had betrayed me. How could it lose another baby? And so soon? I was 5.5 weeks pregnant.

This baby was hidden too. This loss quietly tucked away.

Three

Then pregnancy number three. We didn’t tell anyone, not even family, until the 15-week mark. After finally getting the all clear at the 20 week anatomy scan, we allowed ourselves to take a deep breath for the first time in months. Two years later, I can still feel the relief of that release in my body.

When we made the baby announcement, everyone was over the moon. We were too. But, wanting to honor the journey we’d already been on, I did something unconventional. After broadcasting the news, I shared a three-part blog series about our first loss. I posted as it originally happened: I found out five days after my missed period, five days later I told my spouse (he’d been traveling), and seven days later we lost it. People were shocked and sad, but glad to hear I finally had a healthy pregnancy.

Many women were also grateful. Miscarriages are so common, and yet no one talks about them. In sharing my experience, I became the reluctant poster child for miscarriage. Being able to help others in need is a badge I carry with honor, but trust me, it’s not an honor anyone wants.

Baby boy arrived generally healthy, aside from a mildly traumatic birth. He is 16 months old and thriving.

The Scary, Vulnerable Part

And here’s the scary, vulnerable part of my story: we started trying for baby number two as soon as we were medically cleared to do so. We knew it might take a while. It did.

I don’t need to get into our personal details, but it’s worth mentioning that baby making is not simple or enjoyable. If you haven’t experienced the joys of “timed intercourse”, just imagine a high-stakes, high-pressure job where you get one try to hit an invisible target while blindfolded. You take your best shot, then wait two weeks to find out if you were successful. Then you wait another two weeks to try again if you fail.

If you’re the one with the uterus, you can add the pressure of the emotional labor, which includes, but is in no way limited to: peeing on ovulation sticks, injecting yourself with medication (sometimes multiple times a day), making numerous trips to the doctor (including scheduling said appointments and dealing with follow ups), inserting a vaginal progesterone suppository (and dealing with all the aftermath that entails #churningbutter), and dreading peeing for a few days before your cycle starts lest the toilet paper be devastatingly red.

Four

We found out we were pregnant for the fourth time in September. I forgot myself and allowed excitement to creep in. A spring baby would be perfect; they’d be close in age; I’d get the summer off.

Making plans with pregnancy is a mistake.

When we went to the eight-week ultrasound, there was no heartbeat.

Don’t worry, they said. Given your history the conception date might be off, and this looks normal for about 6.5 weeks gestation. Let’s adjust the due date and have you come back in 10 days.

There was no heartbeat 10 days later. The docs were wrong, and worse, gave false hope. Official diagnosis: missed miscarriage.

My Choice

Which left me with the choice. With MY choice: wait for my body to recognize the unviable tissue and dispose of it, take a pill to induce the miscarriage (abortion pill), or have a DNC (abortion procedure). I chose DNC.

The non-viable pregnancy had already been in my body for at least 10 days. I’d been through a rough miscarriage before, and I didn’t want to experience weeks of bleeding again. I also didn’t want to add even one more day to the running calendar of being able to try again. When you have a miscarriage, the medical community generally wants you to go through another full cycle (or two) before trying again. This adds months to your timeline. Our baby was due June 4. This miscarriage added three months, assuming we got pregnant the first go. I wasn’t interested in waiting.

I wasn’t interested in the pill induction method for similar reasons: it doesn’t guarantee full evacuation of non-viable tissue, and, frankly, you bleed and bleed and bleed for days. Miscarriage is a bloody, violent, painful experience. The blood soaks your pad and the toilet paper and paints the toilet red. When you wake up in the morning you can feel it rush out with gravity. You can’t even take a shower without making a mess. You’re reminded every waking second that you are a failure and that your body is broken. Soon your mind is broken too.

Abortion

So I chose the DNC. I was 10 weeks pregnant.

The DNC was also bloody and painful and gross, yet mercifully quick.

But in truth the grossest part about all of this is not the blood, or the fact that I almost hemorrhaged during the DNC and had to be rushed into emergency surgery, but the fact that I feel compelled to share any of this at all. Why should I need to justify my choice to you?

Because I can’t live with myself if I don’t. Because people still think it’s okay to dictate what other people do with their bodies, their babies. The fact that choosing a DNC gave me the only control I’ve had in years of fertility challenges shouldn’t matter, nor should the fact that it kept me from weeks of suffering and possible future medical complications. And yet here I am laying my soul bare so that someone else may have the freedom of the same choice.

Five

A few months after the DNC we got pregnant again. I went to the doctor and my pregnancy hormone level (hCG) was a 9. It doubled in two days to 21. The doubling is good, but the low numbers were bad. No one was surprised when I miscarried a few days later. I was 5.5 weeks pregnant.

First trimester babies are to be felt but not spoken about. In this societal cycle we continue to isolate heartbroken families. Hardly anyone knows about miscarriages numbers four and five, until now. How can you share sorrow with people who never knew your joy?

Yet here we are. I still feel broken, and we’re still trying.

Today is day after my 38th birthday, which I celebrated with stomach flu. It’s also the day of yet another women’s march for reproductive rights. Why are we back here, again? Isn’t everyone tired of this conversation? I know I am.

I have been pregnant five times, one of which ended in an abortion. I would do it again. And so would you.

My body. My choice.