I was 10 weeks pregnant when I learned my baby’s heart was no longer beating. I felt like a robot as I got dressed, and then sat down on a round, leather stool with wheels. When the nurse practitioner walked into the ultrasound room, I broke down sobbing into her crisp lab coat as she held me. At the time, my doctor gave me three choices:
- Take a pill to help pass the fetal tissue
- Let my body go through the natural process of passing the tissue on its own
- Have a procedure called a D&C to remove the tissue and ensure the entire pregnancy is passed.
I went home that evening agonizing over which choice to make, while also grieving the loss of the baby. To me, there were no good options. Each one sounded horrible. If I chose the medication or the natural process, the thought of physically experiencing the baby’s tissue passing through my body felt unbearable to me, as well as the unpredictability of not knowing when it would happen—days or weeks—or where. I was terrified it would happen at work. And when I tried to imagine myself trying to go about my days carrying in my body the baby that was no longer living, I would sob. I didn’t think I could handle the emotional pain of that. I decided on the D&C.
My doctor and her staff handled me with so much care and compassion. Even though I was mildly sedated, I was awake during the procedure, and I remember everything. But the image my mind always goes back to was the nurse who patted my right knee, smiled at me through her mask and kept checking in with me throughout the procedure.
I was fortunate. It was 2016. I was given a choice, and I chose what was best for me emotionally, mentally and physically. I had access to good quality healthcare. I had a doctor who was trained in the procedure. I had a medical team who cared about me and supported me.
Today, women are not as fortunate. In fact, I would say we are very unfortunate. Our choice has been taken away.
A D&C is the same procedure used for abortions, but, as I’ve shared in my story, it can also be used when a woman has miscarried, or when medical complications arise for the patient during their pregnancy. For some women, the procedure is a matter of life or death.
But since the overturn of Roe v. Wade and changes to state abortion bans, women’s lives and our health have been put at risk across our country. Women who are experiencing pregnancy complications are being denied medically necessary care because doctors fear losing their license, facing criminal charges, or hefty fines. A pregnancy may need to be terminated because the mother’s life is at risk, but if the baby still has a heartbeat, some states won’t allow termination. In some cases, it is becoming difficult to even find a physician in a medical practice or hospital trained to perform a D&C.
As a result, women are turned away, sent home, forced to travels hours to a state that will give them the care they need and deserve, and live with longterm consequences to their reproductive health because of delayed treatment or no treatment.
We deserve better.
After my D&C, I got to go home and sleep on the couch with my dog and be taken care of by my husband. I can’t help but think how different my story might have been if that happened today.
As a licensed mental health counselor, I have worked with clients who have gone through traumatic pregnancy loss. Sometimes I have been the only safe person they have been able to share their story with. They had to make unimaginable decisions, oftentimes alone. I have sat with them as they sobbed, as they grieved, as they worked through their trauma.
When I went to the polls last week, I carried with me, in my heart, these women’s stories and my own as I casted my ballot for Kamala Harris. My vote for Kamala was a vote for my clients, for the women in my life who I love dearly, for me, for all women—past, present, future.
I believe Kamala will fight for us and protect us. I believe she will uphold our human right to make decisions about our own bodies. I believe the future of our healthcare system will be put into the capable and compassionate hands of Kamala and her cabinet.
“Voting is an open-hearted expression of what we care about. Voting is evidence that what we do in this world matters. Voting enables us to participate in the outcome of our lives.”
I read these words the other day by Sharon Salzberg, a meditation teacher I have been following for a few years. It resonated with me and captured my feelings about what it really means to me to vote.
What I have shared here is an open-hearted expression of what I care about. It is evidence that what I do and you do in this world matters.
I believe that if Kamala is not our next president, I will be sitting across from many more women in my therapy practice with more traumatic experiences, and I will be holding the hands of many more women in my personal life whose bodies, dignities, and lives will not be respected or protected.
That is an outcome of our lives that I do not want.
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