“My doctors did what was right and prioritized me—the living mother of two children, who needed me at home,” writes one Ms. reader.
In 2022, the Supreme Court overturned the longstanding precedents of Roe v. Wade, representing the largest blow to women’s constitutional rights in history. A series from Ms., Our Abortion Stories chronicles readers’ experiences of abortion pre- and post-Roe. Abortions are sought by a wide range of people for many different reasons. There is no single story. Telling stories of then and now shows how critical abortion has been and continues to be for women and girls.
The fall of Roe will continue to strain abortion access nationwide. We cannot, we must not lose the right to safe and accessible abortion or access to birth control.
Share your abortion story by emailing myabortionstory@msmagazine.com.
Editor’s note: These stories have been excerpted and lightly edited for clarity. They contain descriptions of intimate partner violence and pregnancy loss.
I was upset passing by the extremists on my way in and felt really uncomfortable when it came my turn.
Sue
My boyfriend (25) and I (21) had been living together for a couple of years when we got pregnant. He firmly suggested that I get an abortion and made the appointment for me.
I was upset passing by the antiabortion extremists on my way in and felt really uncomfortable when it came my turn. After speaking with the nurse, she informed me that I was not ready to make this decision but still had a few weeks to think about it.
On the way home, I could tell my boyfriend was very upset. He ended up going out on a bender that night and came home inebriated. He brought up the subject again and began to beat the life out of me, literally. Two days later I experienced a miscarriage once admitted to the hospital.
—Sue
Millions of women suffer miscarriages. Yet when it’s your turn, it is one of the most isolating times of your life.
Amy Bolliger, New Jersey
More than a decade ago, Christian and I decided we wanted to add to our family. The overwhelming love we had for our then two small children made us realize we wanted one more precious person in our lives.
But that was never meant to be. Within those seven words, there lies so much pain and trauma.
Millions of women suffer miscarriages. Yet when it’s your turn, it is one of the most isolating times of your life. You sit in your car outside of work crying, not wanting to walk inside. You go through your day grieving and bleeding, because there just aren’t any bereavement days for a child that never was.
My first miscarriage was ectopic and considered a fluke. My fallopian tube was about to rupture. Even the morphine drip did nothing to dull the excruciating pain. I was given a methotrexate injection to abort the pregnancy. I was one of the lucky ones. I had incredible, fast-acting, medical attention. My fallopian tube was unharmed as was I—physically anyway.
We tried again. This time, I was full of hope. Surely something that horrific would never happen to me again. At a 13-week ultrasound of our baby girl, the doctor said her heartbeat was slowing. Bloodwork confirmed that my hCG (pregnancy hormone levels) were dropping instead of increasing. The doctor suggested we schedule an abortion. It was considered an abortion because her heart was still beating. But I said no. I didn’t believe my baby was dying.
For two long, painful weeks, I walked around cramping, bleeding and crying. I finally scheduled the D&C when the heartbeat was no longer heard and I first learned of choriocarcinoma, a type of cancer caused by leftover cells in the uterus. The D&C was a medical necessity. To say we were devastated and defeated would be an understatement.
We tried again. This time would be different! We went to every specialist who would see us and anyone else we could afford. I was no longer full of hope but still somehow optimistic. But at my eight-week check up, the once strong heartbeat was slowing. The hCG was dropping. It was all too familiar. The doctor suggested an abortion, but again, I hoped and prayed. But two weeks later, the heartbeat was gone and under anesthesia I went. Testing revealed it was another little girl.
We tried again. At seven weeks, all of the tell tale signs were there. No heartbeat “yet” and my enemy, the declining hCG. I decided to wait and hope. I waited one week and went to the doctor with the sac I had passed at home but preserved in a jar by Christian for testing. (God bless Christian for taking on that task.) I will never forget that car ride as I cried and apologized to our baby boy for this horrific ending and all of the dreams we had for him. I had dreamt about him, clear as day. He was in our home in all of my dreams, so we referred to him as a boy.
I explained to the doctor all of the cramping and bleeding I was enduring at home. He suggested an in-office D&C to help speed things along, knowing that the heart would never start beating, if what we preserved was even the sac. I will never forget the bloody scene in the exam room and the physical pain of the D&C. I walked to the elevator, tried not to vomit, my legs were shaking. As soon as the elevator door closed, I began to sob. I got myself to the car, alone, and sobbed. Looking back on that day, I never should have been alone and the doctor should have suggested I call someone. Testing later revealed it indeed was the son that had been visiting me in my dreams.
When I think back to all of the days and nights I spent bleeding instead of following the doctor’s advice, having the abortion, and moving on to heal, maybe I would have done it all differently.
The trauma that my body and heart and soul endured is something no woman should have to. And I thank God every day for my two children who are my greatest gift in life, and that I am healthy and I am here to get the honor of watching them become beautiful and wise young women who I will do everything in my power to protect them, their health and their reproductive rights.
These experiences still haunt my nightmares more than a decade later. I dream about our lost children, but it is never pleasant; they are always being ripped away from me and I am always screaming and crying, a gut-wrenching type of cry. My mood is off the whole next day because I grieve again.
There are three songs that I heard throughout that time that I still can’t listen to without tearing up.
“Say something, I’m giving up on you“—this one doesn’t need an explanation. I would beg for some sort of sign that everything would be OK.
“Let Her Go“—”you only know you love her when you let her go.”
And Taylor Swift’s “Everything Has Changed.”
I still cry when these songs come on in the store. If I am in the car, I can’t change the station fast enough. I still cringe when I hear a pregnant mother adamant about wanting a specific sex. A healthy baby is the only preferred outcome but thankfully for them, they just don’t know.
I still cringe when people ask me, “How come you and Christian never tried for a boy?” I bite my tongue in the callousness of their question. Stop asking women about their reproduction because it is truly none of your business. What happened to my body is just one of a billion tragedies women all over the world endure, and our pain and heartbreak is not for your ears. If we loved you enough to tell you our story years ago, you would never ask such a hurtful question. My rights, my body encompasses so much that so many are blind to.
Abortion is gray. I did not have a one-night stand. And if I did, it still wouldn’t involve your opinion. I never wanted a life-saving abortion but I needed one, more than once. I recently read about a young woman in our country sent home from the hospital with an ectopic pregnancy because the doctors were too afraid to treat her. We cannot allow a total abortion ban because our lives depend on them. And our families depend on us. My doctor’s did what was right and prioritized *me*—the living mother of two children, who needed me at home.
I share this now because abortion isn’t black and white. I am that mother who lies within the grey. If you know me and love me: Without abortion, you would be visiting my grave. You would be remembering me. You would be telling my motherless children about me. Christian would be a widow.
I truly am one of the lucky ones. We cannot go back. We need to forge ahead, shining the brightest of lights on this issue, to stand behind our fellow women in their darkest of hours. A wise woman once told me, our stories are powerful and this is my story. Dedicated to all six of my children, living and non-living, and to all of my fellow warriors who have suffered in silence.
—Amy Bolliger, New Jersey
