My Abortion Story

If a medical test shows that a child will be born disabled or in any way imperfect, pro-abortion advocates argue that child should be aborted, because his or her “quality of life” will be diminished, and he or she will be a burden to the mother and to society. Better, they argue, for a disabled child to be killed then to experience a life of pain and suffering.  

If my mother had followed this logic, I would not be writing this. My bones would be lying in a landfill somewhere. And I would be dead.

My abortion story begins when my mother was twelve weeks pregnant with me. (I was her first baby, and she was newly married.) She went to a gynecologist for the first time, and was asked to take what is known as the alpha-fetoprotein test, which checks for possible medical conditions in unborn children, including mental retardation.  

The blood test came back positive (or, as she later found out, in the “high” range of the normal category of proteins). My mother was led to believe by her doctor that I would live a life limited by mental retardation.

My mother was told that by the age of twenty, I would have the intellect of a five-year old. I would know my name, my address, maybe my phone number – and no more.

My mother’s gynecologist told my mother that I would not have a worthwhile life, and she strongly advised my mother to abort me. But my mother still wished to have me, mentally retarded or not, and rejected her doctor’s “advice.”

But her doctor would not give in so easily. She grew progressively nastier to my mother as the pregnancy progressed. Until the very end of my mother’s pregnancy, she pressured my mother to get rid of me. And my mother had no idea where else to go for medical help with the pregnancy (I was her first child, and she was young and newly married), so she was forced to undergo this doctor’s pounding week after week, until it was time for her to give birth.

When I was born, my mother’s gynecologist was cruel to her, even saying to her during her delivery: “Will you hurry this up? I have other patients to attend to.” Even after I was born, she wouldn’t relent; her last words to my mother were: “You make sure to come into my office Monday morning so that this NEVER happens again.”

Of course, the “expert” was wrong, and God has blessed me with an intellect greater than that of a five-year old. But I am a very lucky man – for if I was born to other parents, I would very likely not be writing this.

How many women could have borne perfectly healthy children, who instead chose abortion because they were falsely told that their child would be born useless or his or her “quality of life” would be diminished? How many “wasted lives” were aborted, boys and girls long since aborted, some of whom might be my friends today?

Only God knows the answer to that question. But the answer is certainly very many.

My mother’s story also provides insight into the trials of what many women undergo during pregnancy. Doctors, family, lovers, and friends of pregnant women often lead them to believe that their child is worthless or will have a diminished quality of life due to disability. And so they abort their children. And children who might well have been healthy are now dead as a result. Many women are simply not strong enough to bear their children in the face of authoritative pressure and the lies of those they trust.

I do know that I am very grateful to my mother for bearing and raising me. Many women, under the pressure she was forced to undergo, wouldn’t have been able to hold firm against a doctor’s demands and bear me to full term. My mother was strong and courageous enough to do so. And for this, as for everything else she has given me (and she has given me a lot!), she deserves my undying gratitude.

My father supported my mother throughout her pregnancy, and stood with her as she was being pressured to abort me. Many women are forced to make their decisions alone, under incredible pressure to abort their unborn children, without the help of the child’s father. My mother had my father’s unconditional support.

I owe them both my life; they wanted me to be born and fought hard for my birth, and I am writing this today because of their strength and willingness to accept even a disabled son into the world.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for accepting me into this world. It is an honor and a joy to be your son, and I will always be grateful to you for fighting for me to be born. I love you both, now and forever.