The Courage of Your Convictions

I was at Blogs are Stupid reading this particular post which brought back my own memories. I sit at the computer, crying. I remember this incident every now and then, and it always hits hard.

As you may know, I was an operating room nurse. I practiced for many years and participated in thousands of procedures of all types, no exaggeration. I have very few memories of individual procedures. They all just blur into one big amalgam of surgical experience. A few things stand out, though. This is one of those things.

I've always been a supporter of the Roe v. Wade decision. As a teenager I would have told you that I supported abortion, but as an older and wiser woman I can tell you that what I support is not abortion, but the right of a woman to make her own decisions about what is best without interference. I am not going to use my blog as a soapbox, and if you go to the aforementioned blog, she states the case much more concisely and eloquently than I'm capable of doing. Suffice it to say that because of my convictions I was often called upon to participate in abortion procedures performed in the operating room where I worked. Nurses were allowed to refuse to participate based on religious or ethical grounds, but I was not one of those nurses. I didn't find it pleasant to participate. I didn't find any high moral ground in it. I also didn't judge the women undergoing the procedures and treated them as courteously and caringly as I would treat any other patient. These women were neither young nor old, rich nor poor. There was no unifying characteristic among them except that they were having abortions and I was not always aware of the reason for the procedure.

Abortions performed during early pregnancy are fairly uncomplicated and quick procedures. One does not generally get emotional while watching them. There is no baby as such, usually just blood and tissue. Late term abortions are another thing.

I took care of a woman having a late term abortion. She was having the procedure because her continuing pregnancy was endangering her life. She was pretty sick. If you're squeamish, skip this part. The baby was removed from her uterus in pieces using metal instruments and force, and it was barbaric. I don't remember the details, but I remember that finesse was definitely not involved. I do remember tiny body parts and the horror I felt, not because we were there doing this, but because as this tragedy was occurring, and indeed I did believe it was a tragedy that we all had to be there, but because of the callous attitude of the other caregivers. The doctors, an attending OB and his resident and an anesthesiologist, were talking about their vacations and laughing about something or other throughout the procedure. There was no dignity in the OR on that day. The baby passed into oblivion with no one to mourn, never to be held or cuddled or kissed. It was awful.

I cleaned up when it was over and I was alone in the OR. My good friend, another RN, came into the room. She's a devout Christian and someone who would not participate in the procedure. She's also an incredibly special person with a big heart. I was in a mood. I told her what had happened, how terrible it was and I broke down. I think I said something like "...and no one cared." She held me while I cried.

To this day, I mourn that baby. I don't even know if it was a boy or girl. I just think that I should remember. I wonder how the baby's mother did, if she recovered and went on to live a long life. If I had to do it again, I would, but I wouldn't be silent. I'd be strong enough to tell the others in the room to show some respect for the life that was leaving this world. Even the tiniest and most unwanted of us deserve that much.