Late-Term Abortion in Wanted Pregnancies

Here is my very long and detailed story about our pregnancy loss and later-term abortion at 19 weeks:

Even though it was winter and bitterly cold after a big storm hit our city, my husband and I decided to go with our son to the beach to take our annual holiday card photo.  In front of the powerful waves we both loved to watch, my husband set up the camera to get a full-body view of me and I made sure everyone would be able to see my pudgy, protruding belly by accentuating its form with my hands.  The waves would be a good symbol, I thought, for the strength I’d need during the upcoming labor and birth of our second child.  Everything was rosy in our family and the pregnancy had gone as planned for 18 weeks–joyful and easy.   When I look at that photo now, I remember all of the excitement that came with that pregnancy–wondering what our future family would look like, if our baby was going to be a boy or a girl, trying to imagine the exhausting yet exhilarating first days of our new baby’s life.  The powerful kicks in my tummy were constant reminders that all was well and that I’d finally made it to the half-way point in the pregnancy.  Soon, we’d be on our way to every pregnant couple’s favorite doctor’s visit: the level 2 ultrasound appointment when you get to finally see that clear ultrasound image of your baby, know for almost certain that everything with the baby is okay (and for sure, it would be!) and finally, to find out if “it” is a boy or a girl (I was secretly hoping “it” was a girl).

In the first trimester, I had “passed” the Nuchal Translucency (NT) and AFP blood screenings for chromosomal disorders and heart defects with flying colors, so when I went in to get blood drawn for the Triple Screen in my second trimester, I felt confident that we’d receive similar good news.  I had every reason to believe that we were going to soon be honing in on girl or boy names for our perfect, little baby as we looked admiringly at a clear level 2 ultrasound image.  But that belief was set aside when we received the Triple Screen results indicating a “positive screen.” At that time, we were told that many positive screens for the Triple Screen end up being false positives due to maternal age and to not worry too much, especially since our first trimester screens gave us a low chance of abnormalities.  In any case, I would need to get an amnio and have a level 2 ultrasound immediately.

While giddy, chatty couples flipped through parenting and baby magazines in the lobby, my husband and I held hands in silence, trying to muster up courage and cling onto the hope that we’ll leave with ultrasound images of a perfect baby, maybe even giving us a thumbs-up that all was okay after all.  The technician came in and started to take many measurements of the baby’s image on the screen.  After every measurement she took, the look on her face got more and more serious and she remained nearly silent the whole time.  I tried to lighten things up by smiling at her and asking her in a friendly tone, “What measurement is that?” or “How can you tell what that is with such blurry images?” or “Is that the leg or the penis?”  I’ll never forget her lack of response and that cold look and demeanor of hers that day.  I think I must have begun to go into some sort of denial at this point because under normal circumstances, I’d be able to put everything together and know that something was very wrong, but in my hope that she was just a rude person, I kept asking my questions.  Then, I noticed my husband no longer had the fake smile on his face and had a look of worry and fear instead.  When I asked the technician if she could tell if it was a boy or a girl, she gave me the curt answer:  “I’m not even thinking about boy or girl right now, I’m really not.”  As if she had a reason to be mad!  And then she walked out of the room in a hurry.

It felt like an eternity before anyone came back into the room but by this time I felt the whole room closing in on me.  I knew something was very wrong—my heart began to race, I felt myself get very cold and began to shiver.  “How could this be happening to us?”  I had taken my folic acid from even before conception, I passed the first trimester screenings with flying colors, and I was still sort of young at age 35…well, kind of…!  I am never the “1” in the “1 in 2000” chance.  I’m never the unlucky one in those bad, horrible statistics.  The pregnancy so far had been text-book perfect, and how about all of that kicking that I’d been feeling?  That should count for something!  By this time the perinatologist had come in to say that he’s looked at the images and is going to re-check everything, but that he could see there was something very wrong with the baby.  He kindly had his colleague come to look at the images to confirm his suspicions, too.  As the doctor said something about the baby missing essential parts of organs, especially with the heart, I crumpled into my husband’s arms and we both began to wimper.

During this initial shock, I had to get an amnio done as well (which was painless compared to the mental anguish I was feeling), but the worst part of it was that it would take 2 weeks for the amnio results to come back.  2 weeks of waiting for a confirmation that the baby was indeed as “unviable” as the doctors thought—and, I’d have to wait with all that kicking going on in my belly.  I got a paralyzing sick feeling that stayed with me for the next 14 days—a feeling deep in my gut that I can still conjure up when I think about that moment today.  When I left the office, I had no ultrasound pictures of the baby giving me a thumbs-up and no happy news to report to family and friends… just the phone numbers of a genetic counselor and of the lab that would confirm what was wrong with our baby.

We called our obstetrician that day, wanting to hear from her that there was still a chance that the diagnosis could be wrong.  She was firm and told us that we should trust the opinion of the perinatologists and that we should begin to think about the termination process, which she explained matter of factly, in general terms.  I still believed that the doctors could be wrong, that maybe the gestational age was miscalculated, or, that the baby just needed to develop in utero and somehow grow those missing organ parts.   At home, I went on a desperate search for pregnancy stories like mine but found nothing very helpful, and definitely confirmed that miracle endings were not the norm in a cases like ours.  The worst part of the internet searching was finding websites that I thought would be helpful, only to find that they were sponsored by pro-life activists who wanted to scare and intimidate me about having a later abortion.  It was then that I was determined to share my story one day in the hopes of helping women in this same situation not feel so alone.

Less than 24 hours later, we received the preliminary FISH results from our obstetrician who told us that sadly, we have a baby with the rare chromosomal disorder called Trisomy 13, or Patau Syndrome.  The chances of us carrying a baby with Trisomy 13 was 1 in 5,000—how unlucky could a person be, we thought to ourselves then?  Babies with this disorder rarely make it this far in the pregnancy, usually die in utero or struggle for life before dying a couple of days after birth.  After some research, we learned that during their short lives, Trisomy 13 babies suffer from severe defects in all or most of their organs – especially in their hearts and brains, have physical deformities and are incompatible with life.

Our doctors felt very confident about their diagnosis, but we still held out some hope that they could be wrong and that the final amnio results, which would come in ten excruciatingly long days, could bring some kind of miracle news.  Although my husband and I were certain about terminating the pregnancy if this diagnosis was correct, it was hard to move on to that step without more certainty. At the same time, our doctors advised us to quickly set up an appointment for the late termination as risks increased for me as my pregnancy advanced.   My doctors referred us to a surgical center that specializes in late terminations of wanted pregnancies with the dilation and evacuation (D&E) procedure. Their next available appointment was in 10 days.

Although the wait seemed interminable, we were comforted by knowing that there would now be a chance that we could see the amnio results before having to go through with the procedure.  Waiting for the final results was especially difficult as the baby’s kicks that just days before had symbolized normalcy, health, and life now reminded us of the baby’s fate and the permanence of death.  While lying in bed, I would cry when these exuberant kicking fits came.  Thinking about this poor soul, trying so hard to live…was the baby trying to tell me “I’m OK, really!  They are wrong!  Let me live!”  Late at night, awake with these thoughts, I felt such sorrow and doubt.  Thankfully, we received the final amnio results which confirmed the initial diagnosis the day before we began the termination procedure.  We knew this was the right choice for our family and forged ahead in a daze.

Despite stories we heard about physical pain from the procedure and the possibility that it would take four days, the physical strain of the procedure was easy for me and it took only two days.  The Center and doctor who helped me were outstanding.  I feel an overwhelming amount of gratitude that I just happened to live next to one of the only clinics in the country at that time (which has since closed) that specialized in comprehensive services for later abortions.  I knew it would make me feel better to know exactly what the procedure entailed so the doctor agreed to tell me step by step what she was going to do.  Although the explanation was graphic with no pretty details, I felt compelled to hear all of it. I still wondered… would she feel any pain? Who was going to protect and defend her if not for me, I thought? In all of those conversations over the years I had with my husband and friends about what I would do if this exact situation happened, we’d always say with such detachment, “A no-brainer—we’d terminate.”  But now that this situation was really ours to live, there was no decision more difficult than we’d had in our entire lives.

On the first day of the procedure, we were able to see the baby one last time through an ultrasound, and confirm the sex of the baby.  It was what I had hoped–a girl.  Knowing this small fact and saying goodbye via ultrasound was bittersweet, but helpful for us and provided some comfort.  The doctor also euthanized the baby in what we felt would be the most peaceful way for the baby to die.  We felt very fortunate that the staff at the center was so sensitive and kind to us and helped us in many ways to confront our loss.  They also helped us to honor our baby’s sadly fleeting presence with us by making prints of her hands and feet and arranging to have her ashes sent to us.

(CONTINUE BY READING “DETAILS OF D&E” and “MENTAL HEALTH REACTIONS”)