My childhood was brutal. I was abandoned by my father when I was two-and-a-half. Then when he reappeared in my life again at the age of eight, it became worse. I survived incest, starvation, and beatings. 

I clung to life. It was my two abortions that nearly destroyed me. 

When I became pregnant for the fifth time in seven years, my doctor asked me if I really thought I should "continue the pregnancy." Abortion had never occurred to me until he suggested it. My husband said, "It's your decision. Do what you want," and left for work. Naively, I began looking for women who had had abortions. But I couldn't find anyone who would admit to having had one. I asked my doctor and he said, "It only takes a few minutes and it's over."

Having already had four babies, I am now appalled at how ignorant I was about fetal development. My doctor said the baby--at six-and-a-half weeks--was "just a blob," and I believed him. Afterwards, before I even got home, I began to cry. It didn't help.

When finally I stopped crying on the outside, I kept crying on the inside. I felt so dirty and alone. Something deep inside of me froze, I think. I dreamed a lot about snow and ice, as well as about babies. I felt cheated, betrayed, and manipulated.

I went to counseling and the psychologist said, "forgive yourself," and "let yourself go on." She didn't say how.

Two years later, I had another abortion as an act of self-punishment. I wanted to die, or at least go crazy so I could escape the torment, the nightmares about babies, the self-disgust and the degradation I felt.

* * * * *

I wasn't told that there could be complications which wouldn't be discovered for years. I wasn't told that the strength of the suction machine is such that it can turn a uterus nearly completely inside out. I had to have an early hysterectomy because of it.

I wasn't told that after having an abortion an unbelievable self-hatred would consume me and lead to distrust, suspicion, and the utter inability to care about myself, or others--including my four children. I wasn't told that hearing babies cry would trigger such anger that I wouldn't be able to be around babies at all.

I wasn't told that it would become impossible to look at my own eyes in a mirror. Or that my confidence would be so shaken that I would become unable to make important life decisions. My self-hatred kept me from pursuing my goal of becoming a registered nurse. I didn't think I deserved success.

I wasn't told that I would come to hate all those who advised me to have my abortions, because they were my accomplices in the murders of my babies. I wasn't told that having an abortion with my husband's consent would end up causing me to hate the father of my children, or that I would be unable to sustain ANY satisfying, lasting, fulfilling relationships.

I wasn't told that I could become suicidal in the fall of every year, when both of my babies should have been born.

I wasn't told that on the birthdays of my living children, I would remember the two for whom I would never make a birthday cake, or that on Mother's Day I would remember the two who would never send me a card, or that every Christmas I would remember the two for whom there would be no presents.

My abortions were supposed to be a "quick-fix" for my problems, but they didn't tell me there is no "quick-fix" for regrets.