I was taken into the confidence of a good friend about his and a former girlfriend’s horrific experience because of a miscarriage. He talked about the fears, the tears, and the emotional scars they both suffered. In 1996 he met an intelligent, funny, beautiful young woman in New York. She was a mid-level executive with high hopes and even higher expectations. He was in the middle of a divorce, feeling let down but enjoying the beginnings of a new life. He was surprised to be in love again, and she was thrilled to be loved. The day she told him she was pregnant, he was floored. The day she told him it was twins, he hit the floor.
He worked in the DC area, and she was able to transfer her job. So in the summer of ’96, they decided to move in together. She was only a few months into her pregnancy and, with the help of her brother, moved themselves to Washington, DC.
Aghh!
He warned her, and her brother warned her not to lift anything. The blare of sirens, the flashing lights, and the pain all came in one dreadful blast. She was young, strong, and eager to help; they were not watching; she thought—carrying in one end table would not hurt. The closest hospital was Hadley Memorial in Southeast Washington, a Catholic institution.
He was helpless, and she needed help. He held her hand as long as he could until he was pushed away when she entered the treatment area. She moaned, and his throat clutched with terror for her and the babies. A nurse came into the waiting room, adorned with replicas of Jesus on the cross, and told him one fetus was “no longer viable,” and the other was in danger of “extinction.” He asked how his girlfriend was and was told the babies caused a massive bleed in her uterus that could kill her. There was no question that a therapeutic abortion was the answer in his mind. Next was a lot of medical terminology from two doctors. He could not believe what was happening; One doctor explained that if they wanted an abortion, it had to be done elsewhere, in a non-Catholic facility. Were they saying she would be allowed to die if she stayed? The question of Catholicism, autonomy, or abortion had not entered his mind on his way to the hospital. It was close by, and doctors would help her. Certainly, they would not let her die; or would they? After what seemed like an interminable wait, the nurse returned a few hours later and said the babies had “self-aborted.” His girlfriend survived and was released the following day.
He went home alone the night of the miscarriage, sat on the sofa of his new home, and cried tears of joy, which were immediately replaced by tears of sorrow for the perspective twins. His sorrow and heartache were no match for the devastation and pain she had suffered. Men not supporting a woman’s right to choose, whose life may be in the hands of a religious belief or a Court, is unfathomable. He has never forgotten the terror, the uncertainty, or anger. I can vouch for its authenticity if you doubt this story because I was the father. Women need men to say me too and preserve a woman’s freedom to choose life, especially their own.
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