Confessions of a Pro-life Mother: there but for the grace of God go I

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I have always been open about being pro-life. I know this is a sensitive topic but please hold off on lugging out the torches and pitchforks just yet. There is a heartfelt story behind my steadfast view.

A few months ago an acquaintance accused me of unfairly judging my fellow women by being pro-life, rather than pro-choice. 

I responded, 'I don't judge women who make that choice because, there but for the grace of God, go I.'

She replied, 'So, you're pro-life but don't judge a woman for making a choice? I don't understand.'

Well, what led me to be pro-life? That is the story that needs telling to answer her question.

I was 20 years old when I learned I was pregnant for the first time. A few months prior, I fled from a toxic 2 year, on again/off again relationship, riddled with domestic violence and drug dependence. He was what I thought at the time was my first love. How wrong I was. I had no idea what love was then, but he was all I knew. I was dying inside and self medicating with any drug I could get. I did not give a damn if I lived or died.

Then there was Dean. The day I turned 20, he slipped his phone number in my pocket at work. It was on a piece of paper, wrapped around a marijuana bud, with a message below the number:  Happy Birthday

That simple exchange would shape the rest of my life. I ran from one disaster to another but it would turn out to be the most beautiful disaster of all.

I desperately wanted Dean to be the knight in shining armour who saved me and for three months, he was; for three months, he loved me in ways my toxic ex-fiancé never had. But the moment it got hard, I walked away...well, ran away actually. I was always running then. Truthfully, I would never stop running until I came to terms with the fact it was myself I was running from.

Dean and I conceived a little life together but it was too much, too soon for my fragile heart. He already had another child on the way, due two months before ours, and then there was the drug use. It felt safer to run. 

I was young, impulsive, and foolish. Part of me hoped if I ran, Dean would chase me and fix our relationship. He chose not to and I cannot hold somebody else accountable for my choice.

I moved in with my mother—my beautiful, selfless mother—who had been dealing with my battle with drug addiction and the highs and lows of my mental illness for years. I cannot begin to imagine the pain of calling ambulances for your overdosing child, or the anguish as your daughter is sectioned against her will. I will never forget the image of her hunched against the vending machine, sobs racking her body as the doors locked behind me.

The regret and guilt I feel for what I put my mother through will echo in my heart for the rest of my life; I would give anything to take it all back.

As we discussed my pregnancy, Mum said, 'How can you raise a child, Carla? You can't even take care of yourself.'

It was not said with malice, it was a hard truth. She came to the doctor with me and he referred me to an abortion clinic. I was 12 weeks along.

Mum drove; Grandma came along for support. I sat in that waiting room, feeling more depleted and lost than I had ever felt. When my time came, an ultrasound was used to determine my gestation. The nurse told me there was no need to look at the ultrasound and asked if I knew how far I was. 

I told her: '12 weeks.' 

I explained I knew this because I had a dating scan at 9 weeks.  

'That can't be right," she said. 'This is showing you are 23 weeks. We can't perform the procedure. You're too far along. I'm sorry.'

'That's not possible!'  I exclaimed.

'I'm sorry,' the nurse repeated. 'We can't help you.'

We drove home in mostly stunned silence, other than a few simple remarks:

Mum:  'Time to grow up, Carla.'

Grandma:  'It may be the only baby you ever have, you know.'

~

Next ultrasound, I learned of the miracle, witnessed by my mother and grandmother on that fateful day in Brisbane. The 9 week dating ultrasound was correct; the abortion clinic got it wrong. My due date had not changed.

I will never understand how a woman so familiar with the use of ultrasound, using it day in, day out in her place of work, got the measurements so wrong. Not just a little wrong, but 11 weeks wrong—exactly enough to render the abortion illegal.

I believe it was divine intervention. My son was meant to be born and neither my mine, nor my mother's choices could stand in the way of that. It is true that upon discovering the clinic's error, we could have returned but I firmly believed it happened for a reason. Now I know it did.  

That baby was the answer to my prayers. I couldn't save myself because I loathed myself; I didn't believe I was worth saving. But when I became a mother, it was not about me anymore. I got my life together and got clean, not because I deserved it, but because my son deserved a stable mother, who would put him above everything, including herself. I needed a reason bigger than my selfish pain; a reason to live, rather than exist. 

Without my precious firstborn, my life would have spun more out of control and I would have been lost on my path of self destruction. I thank God every day for him.

~

My eldest son is now 11. He is such a caring, kind-hearted, and empathetic kid. Mum was with me when I gave birth and in the hospital she looked at her grandson with tears in her eyes:  

'I can't believe what we almost did to you,' she said to him.

We continued living with her for the first seven months of my son's life.

I have been completely clean from all illicit drugs for 12 years now. I have learned to accept my mental illness as a part of me, take my medication, and remain in therapy. 

A mother's love is greater than any high I have experienced. My children are the centre of my universe.

~

I would say to women who feel my being pro-life means I judge their choices, how could I judge another for the same choice I once made and attempted to act on? I know the agony that comes with that decision, the feeling of it being the only way out; the shame I know I felt.

Please know it is the events and circumstances of my own life that led to my being pro-life, not hatred, nor judgement for those who stand as pro-choice. I say, good on all of us for being brave enough to voice what we believe in, even if those beliefs differ.


"Don't criticise what you don't understand, son. You never walked in that [wo]man's shoes." —Elvis Presley







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