I’m not sure how to introduce this heartbreaking story (caution: profanity). I stumbled onto it while visiting some adoption blogs. After reading I hope that you’ll be moved to say a prayer for the author and her family.
“Thinking about the day we lost the boys now, all I can remember is that it all happened so [edited] fast. Remember, I went from going in for a routine anatomy scan to having to terminate the pregnancy in less than 24 hours. I was so ill that I didn’t get to participate much in the decision making process. No one at the hospital said to me, ‘Yes, delivering your sons will be more risky, but at least you’ll get to see them and hold them and say goodbye.’ No one said, ‘Do you want to make arrangements with a funeral home?‘
Instead, they just said, ‘You are dying.’ This was all Charlie could hear–that not only was one son dead, and the other was dying, but so was his wife. No one came to him and said, ‘Have you thought about what you want done with their bodies?‘ All they said was ‘We have to terminate. NOW.‘
We were alone, afraid, and sick. Options weren’t offered. I was the patient, not the boys. No consideration was made for Nicholas and Zachary.
Instead of getting to say goodbye, to look at their faces, I was just knocked out and the boys stripped from my body. I’m left with the shame and guilt of–God forgive me–treating my sons like standard medical waste. My sons. My boys.”