Paula’s Abortion Story…


If you are pro life, pro choice or at least human, this story will rip your heart out and throw it in the dumpster…

Paula Veit Fetter/Chicks on the Right

My Abortion Story

I grew up with an indifferent, depressed mother and a loving and fun father who was prone to fits of rage. I was a very well behaved child, eager to please, but some small thing would set him off and he would beat me mercilessly. He would tell me afterwards that if I wouldn’t misbehave he wouldn’t have to do that. He never apologized or made promises that it wouldn’t happen again. Outside of these episodes, he was very fun to be around, playful and funny, and I and everyone outside our family loved him. He could charm anyone, and I doubt anyone would have believed me if I told them what was happening. These mixed messages took their toll, of course, and I became rebellious as a teenager.

I found comfort in the beds of several boys, believing myself to be in love with any who showed me affection. I realize now, of course, that I was looking for love in all the wrong places, as the song goes. In 1976, at sixteen, I got pregnant by a boy I believed I was in love with. We wanted to get married and have our baby. When my father found out, he beat me until I was black and blue and took me to a clinic in a city about an hour from our small town to have an abortion. A doctor examined me and I told him I didn’t want an abortion-he said that was really the only option for someone my age. I spoke with a social worker and told her that my father had beaten me, I didn’t want an abortion, and I was afraid to go home with him because I knew he would hurt me. I showed her the bruises covering my body. She went to talk to him, then returned with him to the room I was in and said, “I will contact someone in your area that can help you, but for now your dad has promised not to hurt you and you need to go home with him.” He beat me in his truck the entire hour it took us to get home.

At home, he dragged me upstairs by my hair, threw me against a wall and said if I didn’t get an abortion, he would give me one himself, then hit me in the stomach. He started choking me and I felt myself passing out. At that point, my mother, who had just been watching while all this happened, told him he had to stop choking me or I would die. He stopped choking me but continued to hit and kick me. I endured his beatings for two days, waiting for the “person in my area who would help” to call. No one called. While my father was at work on the third day, I finally had my boyfriend take me to the county agency that was supposed to help. I told a caseworker what was going on and showed her my by now battered body and said I was not going home again. I asked why no one had contacted me like the social worker had said they would, but she just brushed me off, not really answering my question. She told me at that time that there were no programs in place to help someone my age if I continued with the pregnancy and I should get an abortion. I refused, and she finally placed me in a group home with troubled girls, one of whom was in custody because she had stabbed another girl. I was scared all the time that my father would come in the middle of the night to kill me. I barely slept at night because of fear while I was there.

I was assigned a local doctor for prenatal care who also recommended abortion. My boyfriend and I continued to see each other during this time and still talked of marriage. After I had been in the group home about three months, my boyfriend and a friend of his stole a car and were arrested. My case worker contacted me and told me my boyfriend told his lawyer he did not want to get married. I was hopeless at that point, and that night I took all my morning sickness pills in an effort to kill myself. This was not a cry for help, it was a real attempt-I thought the pills would kill me and I did not expect to wake up. I threw up all night and survived the attempt. The next day I called my case worker and told her I was ready to have an abortion, I didn’t feel like I had any other options.

I was four and a half months along at this point. I was so far along, I couldn’t go to a local clinic for the abortion, I had to go to a university hospital that would perform a mid-term abortion. Two weeks after my seventeenth birthday, at five months pregnant, I had a saline abortion. In this type of abortion, amniotic fluid is replaced with a saline solution that burns the baby inside and out. It induces labor, and a dead baby is delivered. I lived with guilt for years about what I had done. When I became a Christian, the guilt was nearly overwhelming, and I just knew God could never forgive me. I learned, in time, that God will even forgive abortion, and I was finally able to forgive myself.

It took me a very long time to figure out that every single adult I came in contact with, everyone with any ability to counsel me or help me, gave me NO options except abortion. No one was willing to help me have my baby, and no one ever suggested adoption. I had no parental support, no boyfriend, and had everyone on all sides telling me this was the solution. I think about the millions of babies that have been aborted in this country since abortion became legal, and I have a deep abiding sorrow and anger that people don‘t realize what a horrible thing it is to kill a baby. But I also wonder how many girls were like me and offered no real choice. How many of them live with guilt and regret that really belongs on the shoulders of the people put in place to help them? The guilt should belong to a society that tells women and girls that abortion is a good thing and is the best solution for an unplanned pregnancy.

 

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