A good many people view the world through an either-or,
black-and-white lens. This is particularly true on polarizing issues like
late-term abortion.
My decision to carry my broken unborn daughter to term probably
paints me as a staunch pro-lifer—which I am, I guess, in the small realm that
is my own body.
However, when asked where I stand on the issue of abortion,
my answer is not so simple. I firmly believe that human life is sacred. I also
recognize our societal tendency to marginalize the elderly and the infirm, the
physically and cognitively disabled, the poor and the homeless—and pretty much
anyone else whose appearance makes us uncomfortable.
I find it curious (and repulsive) that the overeager lawmakers
who are so zealous in their protection of the rights of the unborn are able to cut
their commitment to those babies as soon as they exit the birth canal. Their legislative
concern for the health and welfare of the permanently and profoundly disabled
child dries up and falls off in roughly the amount of time it takes the
umbilical stump to do the same.
In the critical circumstances of a fatal prenatal diagnosis,
I decided to carry on. I knew that my body was keeping my daughter alive.
Unconditional love and the safe haven of my womb were the meager gifts I had to
offer her. My choice between the rock and the hard place—which I made free of coercion
or the intrusion of law—embodied every ounce of desperation you might expect at
being stuck in such a predicament.
I made the only decision that I could make in that moment. That does not give me the right to make it
for someone else. Nor does it give me the right to skewer someone for choosing
a different path.
The truth is you never know what you’ll do in any given
situation until you find yourself in that position. It’s easy to imagine how
you’d handle it. But until you are tested, it’s impossible to know for sure.
I was blessed with an education and a background of
religious belief that grounded my thoughts and informed my reasoning. I was
surrounded by family and friends who were willing to face the inevitable with
me. I had adequate health insurance and the financial means to fund the outcome
of my choice.
Would I have made the same choice if my doctor had convinced
me that my baby would suffer if I carried her to term? Or if doing so would
have left my family mired in a sinkhole of debt? Or if my spouse had threatened
a divorce should I continue the pregnancy?
I’d like to say yes. I’d like to believe that I would have
made the exact same string of choices, but I will never know for sure.
In a case like mine, there are myriad variables that exert considerable
influence throughout the decision-making process: the health of the baby, the
health of the mother, the father’s opinion, the doctor’s bias on the issue, and
the level of social support available to the family, to name a few.
Any one of these has the potential to cast the swing vote
that changes an imagined outcome. And unless you are the hapless person at the
center of the maelstrom, you have no right to judge.
Wherever you stand on the issue of late-term
abortion, consider the grief-stricken parents caught in the middle. Feel the
fear and anger and sorrow that color their future. Acknowledge their anguish.
And be grateful that the consequences of that
unenviable position are not yours to bear.