GUEST COLUMN

(10/12/2006)

Abortion Regrets: Haunted by the Image of a Child

A child's life experiences taken away by a "choice"

By Victoria Toner

Some time ago in an article in the Sunday edition of the Rapid City Journal, Sam Hurst spoke about a friend of his named Kate Looby, who had received a cool reception when she attempted to relocate the Planned Parenthood facility in Rapid City. He stated she wanted the clinic to be more accessible to women than the site that existed at the time of his article. He spoke of her detecting his anger after learning of the refusal by some businesses in Rapid City to allow Planned Parenthood to open up shop next to them.

I wondered why a man would be writing about his anger and the supposed injustice that had come his friend’s way, particularly since he could never have personally experienced the abortion that Planned Parenthood provides; I thought he had no real perspective. I thought to myself, “Mr. Hurst, you were born a man, can you honestly say you know what it is like to have gone through what girls or women would have gone through who have experienced abortion first hand?”

If he were able to have walked in the shoes of a pregnant 17-year-old girl over 30 years ago who chose an abortion, would he then be able to comprehend why some businesses feel as they do. I wonder.  I wish you were there when one girl chose out of an unspoken fear to enter a Planned Parenthood office and ask to end the life of the child growing inside of her? Not being warned by anyone of the reality of her request. This is all it took, along with $150 dollars. She was told to get a pregnancy test to confirm a fact she already knew and then to come back at a specified day. Upon returning, she was told to have a seat in the waiting area of the business office, while her boyfriend waited outside in the car. She waited with other girls about her age, alone in her thoughts.

Was there anyone to tell her how truly serious this was? To point out to her that she would suffer the loss of this child over a lifetime. That there would be days when the image of a child would come to mind that would haunt her? It is an image of a child never given the opportunity to open his or her eyes and look at their mother. Her child never to be held and hugged, to smile or giggle, to take their first step; to be able to play with other children on hot sunny afternoons in the lawn sprinkler, or to sit with their family under the stars and watch fireworks on the 4th of July. That child would never be able to smile a big beautiful smile with pride as they hold their first tooth in their hand. Sure there would have been scraped knees, illnesses, sour lemons to taste, and cold nights spent shivering but there would have been holidays to celebrate and oh so many years of celebrations. All of this child’s life experiences taken away by a choice; my choice! I did this to my first child.

I remember when I walked into that office many years ago being with four other girls who were just as nervous and scared as I was. They did not look up as I came in the room. I think we did not look each other in the eye for the same reason. We were all going to kill our children that we had growing inside of each of us. These children were conceived at the ‘wrong time’, and we had found a way to fix this "problem." My eyes searched out this room for someone who knew what was going to happen. But no one would look up, so I sat alone again in my thoughts. The sad thing is I was not thinking of this child inside of me, no, only what was going on in the next room and would it take long? Would it hurt? I ignorantly assumed it would be over when I walked out of the door. My problem would be solved. I could go on with my life as if I had never been a girl with a small helpless infant, a child, a human being, my child, my gift from God, inside of me. I could conceal this from my family now, but not from God.

Some girl came out from behind a partition and told me to go to the restroom and then come get my blood sample taken. Afterwards she informed me I would be next and motioned for me to return to my seat. When my name was called, I got up and was ushered into a very small room with tan painted walls. There was a surgical type of bed in the center of this room, a large glass bottle with tubing coming from it to the right of the medical bed and a lighted table with a tray holding some medical looking items on it to the left of the bed. The only other thing in the room was the man who was to perform this procedure, his word, and I will be honest with you he did not seem real. He had only a couple of words to say to me, and I will never forget them. He uttered them just after he had given me several injections waited a few minutes and then began to use this tool and begin the procedure.

I flinched my abdominal muscles because of the pain and his response was a cold stern comment, “Unless you want to end up paralyzed or worse I advise you to not move another muscle.” That terrified me. That moment is when I looked over to the bottle in the corner. Up to that time I had kept my face pointing toward the ceiling with my eyes closed. I remember the sound that resembles a vacuum cleaner was so loud and that I was getting cold. I decided to open my eyes and looked in the direction of the bottle. What I saw will never leave me.

How could this be happening? I was a 17-year-old girl from a city in a country that boasts of championing the rights of the helpless. But here I was destroying any chance this little helpless individual would ever have of a life. I killed my child. Yes, my Child. Not my tissue, my cells, or whatever the catch phrases of the day was used to discount a human life. This is my child in pieces in a jar in the corner of this room at Planned Parenthood.

He was finished. He said to go and wait in the next room and the assistant would tell me when to leave. I was given a sheet of paper listing things to watch out for with instructions to go to the hospital if anything went wrong.

It has been over 30 years and still I think of my child. This little boy or girl is whole again in heaven, thanks to only to a gracious loving Father who cradled my child the moment they were torn from my body in the cruel and violent way I chose to end their life.

Mr. Hurst, your friend Kate believes she is helping women, but you do not know what you are talking about. How could you? You have not had to go through your life knowing you took your child’s life before they were given a chance to experience any of it. I can not speak for other women who have been through this but I can speak for myself. My child can not speak, I destroyed their voice. But I can speak for those that have not lost their voices yet. As someone who now lives in Rapid City, I would hope that Planned Parenthood would not choose to be more accessible to women. Maybe one day they will decide to drop this fight and go away. This is my prayer.

Several years after the abortion I had difficulty getting pregnant and suffered miscarriages but since have been blessed with four living children of my own and five grand children. I am blessed to have been given a second chance at motherhood. One day I know that I will see my precious child I aborted, by choice, my choice, and if I could choose all over again, I would choose life for this precious child.

Mr. Hurst, maybe you can not understand how I feel about this and maybe you don’t care to. Unless you have had a child living inside of you and then watched as that life was ripped to bits and sucked into a cold glass jar how could you become upset, even angry that this institution that does this is not welcome by some businesses in this city.

Maybe Kate could understand this though. Maybe because you are not that accessible, a child will have the opportunity to live and grow up and maybe become your care giver when you are too old to care for yourself. Or maybe they will grow up and became the sweet face that greets you or the voice that answers your calls from one or more of the businesses that serve you in this city. You have so many years ahead of you and when you are in your golden years one day; these years given to you because your mother chose life for you, please think about the choices you are able to make because of her choice for life.

I don’t know what happened to you to turn you into a woman that celebrates the death of so many but I pray our Father in Heaven would heal your spirit, and His blessing be on your life. To Mr. Hurst, I pray your eyes are opened to that jar in the corner and your ears to the cry from inside it. Don’t be angry at the people who don’t welcome that Planned Parenthood; maybe life means more to them.

Victoria Toner lives in Rapid City, South Dakota.