From: nyikos@math.scarolina.edu (Peter Nyikos)
Subject: THE SUFFERING OF SOME UNBORN AND THEIR MOTHERS (Case 1)
Summary: A saline abortion and its aftermath
Organization: USC  Department of Computer Science
Date: 15 Sep 92 21:38:27 GMT

The following account of a saline abortion and its aftermath
details one of the most psychologically devastating experiences 
I have ever read about.

There is room for debate as to the extent to which the unborn human being 
in question suffered, and even as to whether it suffered at all.  But
this suffering was perceived by the mother as real, and the 
psychological disintegration and moral crisis this perception precipitated
in the mother was very, very real.

Rows of dots indicate breaks in the original account.  This post is
long enough as it is.

			*****************

	After the (amniotic) fluid was withdrawn, he injected 200 cc's of the
saline solution--half a pint of concentrated salt solution.  From then
on it was terrible.  My baby began thrashing about--it was like a 
regular boxing match in there.  She was in pain.  The saline was burning
her skin, her eyes, her throat.  It was choking her, making her sick.
She was in agony trying to escape.  She was scared and confused at how her
wonderful little home had suddenly been turned into a death trap.

	For some reason it had never entered my mind that with an abortion
she would have to die.  I had never wanted my baby to die; I only wanted
to get rid of my "problem". But it was too late to turn back now.  There
was no way to save her.  So instead I talked to her.  I tried to comfort
her.  I tried to ease her pain.  I told her I didn't want to do this to
her, but it was too late to stop it.  I didn't want her to die.  I 
begged her not to die.  I told her I was sorry, to forgive me, that I
was wrong, that I didn't want to kill her.

	For two hours I could feel her struggling inside me.  But then,
as suddenly as it began, she stopped.  Even today, I remember her very
last kick on my left side.  She had no strength left.  She gave up and
died. Despite my grief and guilt, I was relieved that her pain was 
finally over.  But I was never the same again.  The abortion killed not
only my daughter; it killed a part of me.
			.......................
	A little while after my baby stopped moving they gave me an
intravenous injection to help stimulate labor.  I was in hard labor
for twelve hours, all through the night.  When finally I delivered,
the nurses did not make it to my room on time...After I delivered her,
I held her in my hands.  I looked her over from top to bottom. She
had a head of hair, and her eyes were opening.  I looked at her
little tiny feet and hands.  Her fingers and toes even had little 
fingernails and swirls of fingerprints.  Everything was perfect.  She
was not a "fetus".  She was not a "product of conception". She was
a tiny human being.  The pathology report listed her as more than seven
inches from head to rump.  With her legs extended, she was over a foot
long.  She weighed a pound and a half, more than many of the premature
babies being saved in incubators in every hospital in the country.  But 
these vital statistics did not mention her most striking trait.  She
was my daughter.  Twisted with agony.  Silent and still. Dead.

	It seemed like I held her for ten minutes or more, but it
was probably only thirty seconds--because as soon as the nurses
came rushing in, they grabbed her from my hands and threw her--literally
threw her--into a bedpan and carried her away.

	To add insult to injury, after my daughter was taken away, they
brought another woman into the room to finish the last hour of her
labor.  But this woman wasn't having an abortion.  No, she had a 
beautiful, healthy baby boy.  No words can describe how rough that
was on me.
		....................................
	Three weeks after my abortion, I chose to be sterilized by 
tubal ligation.  I couldn't cope with the idea that I could ever possibly
kill again.  .......
	I became preoccupied with thoughts of death.  I fantasized about 
how I would die.  My baby had struggled for two hours.  I've tried to
imagine myself dying a similar kind of death.  If a pillow was put over
my face to suffocate me, I would struggle for a bit, but in less than
four minutes I would pass out.  But she had suffered for *two hours*.
Would I be so tormented?
	Four months after my abortion, the bleeding and infection were
still persistent.  Too ashamed to go to my own ob/gyn, I returned to
[the abortionist] and he performed a D&C to clean out the uterus.  He 
cut off my cervix and left the packing inside of me.  Three weeks later
I was grossly rotted out inside.  Several months later, at 22,
I was forced to undergo a total hysterectomy--all because of that
"safe and easy," legal abortion.
	
	By this time, I didn't care if I lived or died any more...If I 
could only become tough and callous, I reasoned, I would be protected
from the hurt.  So I began to hang around the tough crowd, imitating
their ways, taking on their attitudes.  What attracted me to them
was their destructiveness--their contempt for the world.  Soon I was
carrying guns and knives, and biking around with motorcycle gangs and
worse.  The people I ran with were out to destroy, steal, and maim,
and that is what I wanted to do to both others *and myself.*
	
	The desire to destroy is a double-edged weapon.  It is both
a sword of wrath and a ritual suicide knife of *hara-kiri*.  I hated
the world only as much as I hated myself.  By becoming destructive
I was able to release my growing hatred towards this world that
had abandoned me, abused me and exploited me.  At the same time,
by running outside of the law, by attacking others, I opened myself
up to attack.  I signaled the world that I was ready to be punished
and even killed...

	I tried to immerse myself in destruction.  I wanted to prove
to myself that destroying others didn't hurt.  After all, once you've
killed, you should be able to do anything.  By doing every conceivable
wrong, I hoped to strip myself of my conscience.  I hoped to destroy
all the values I had ever held.  If only I could prove to myself 
that everything was meaningless, including the innocent daughter
I had killed through abortion, then perhaps I could have the peace
of total meaninglessness.
			***********
[To be concluded tomorrow in a follow-up to this post.]


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