Ring the bells that still can ring

All you life-loving folks who are celebrating the legislation in Texas, go ahead and rejoice that you’ve gotten your way.  Sing your hallelujahs.

Rejoice.

Your approval of vigilante action against women reminds me of the East German Stasi.  Look over your shoulder often because people are watching.  Be sure to turn your neighbor in, and collect your money.  Betrayal’s the name of the game for you now. If you don’t like your neighbor you can do something about it now. Anyone can betray another with a kiss and collect 30 pieces of silver.  

Betray.

If you seriously wanted to prevent abortions, you would pass universal health care in a big hurry.  You would make contraception free.  You would make good prenatal care free.  You would extend the child care tax credit so that it could be at least a little easier to raise a child. (And you would not send unvaccinated children into schools without masks like lambs to the slaughter.)  

Slaughter.

My friends know my husband and I have three lovely, wonderful, grown children.  What they probably don’t know is that I had four pregnancies.  Here's how the first one went. Missing my period, I went to our HMO, where they did a pregnancy test.  I was about eight weeks pregnant.  But all I can remember is that the doctor shouted at the cowering staff.  He seemed very angry.  Dr. Angry. He examined me, told me nothing, and got me out of there before I used up too much of his time.

Shout.  

A few days after my initial doctor visit, I found myself bleeding through pads at a rate of several per hour.  I called Dr. Angry, who told us to go to the emergency room at our assigned hospital.  We waited several hours in the overcrowded ER waiting room.  The bathroom was disgusting, filthy, with the trash can overflowing. I contributed much to the pile of trash. Soon I ran out of pads. I was not in pain, but I could not manage all the blood.  

Bleed.

Remembering this makes me shiver.  I did not really understand what was happening to me.  My main focus was the overwhelming bleeding. So much uncontrollable blood.

Shiver.

Once I finally got out of the waiting room and in to see a doctor (not Dr. Angry), things were a little better, although I continue to bleed profusely.  Every staff person treated me with kindness and professionalism.  Away from the ER waiting room, the hospital was quiet and clean.  They did some kind of test (a sonogram?), and explained that there was no evidence of a fetus.  The doctors explained that I would need to go under anesthesia to have a procedure, essentially to empty out my uterus.  Okay.  I prayed.  I felt the nearness of God as they wheeled me into the surgery room.

Empty.

Afterwards, I remember lying in a hospital bed, recovering from the procedure.  They had given me a drug to make my uterus contract to be sure all the detritus would be expelled.  That was painful.  Then a staff person, not a doctor, perhaps a nurse, but probably not, entered.  This person asked me, “Did you want this pregnancy?”  I sobbed and could not answer.  I only nodded.  Yes, I wanted this pregnancy.

Sob.

I did not realize until later that the question was probably designed to explore whether I had tried to abort the pregnancy on my own.  I have no idea if that person was asking for her own judgment of me, or if my answer became part of my medical history.  A miscarriage looks very much like a self-abortion attempt.  I can’t think of a way to distinguish one from another.  

Judge.

As far as I can remember, I was offered no counseling.  I can’t remember how much more time I spent in the hospital.  I recovered at our apartment, in the loving care of my husband.  I had told everyone at work about my pregnancy, and now I had the embarrassment of telling them about my miscarriage.  I asked myself what I had done wrong that caused the miscarriage.  Was it that time I dove into the swimming pool?  Was it something I ate?  Something propelled me to place the blame on myself.   In our culture, it must be the woman who is at fault.

Blame.

Every person who helps a woman undergoing a miscarriage will now be at risk of the new judicial system delivered by the Stasi of your state.  (Yes, vigilantism is likely coming in your state, too.) This also puts at risk the woman who is miscarrying.  Will that woman dare to ask for help?  Take a bleeding miscarrying pregnant woman to the hospital and you could be accused.  

Accuse.

Tonight when I try to pray, I will think of the women who need an abortion, for any and all the reasons a woman needs an abortion.  I will think of the dreadful Texas Stasi culture that this law creates.  But most of all I will think about the women who will have miscarriages and those around them who will be falsely accused under this so very, very pro-life law.

Vote.

We asked for signs 

the signs were sent: 

the birth betrayed 

the marriage spent 

Yeah, the widowhood 

of every government -- 

signs for all to see. 

….

Ring the bells that still can ring 

Forget your perfect offering 

There is a crack in everything 

That's how the light gets in. 

- Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Hope and Grieving
by Matt Sesow