Roe v Wade saved my life

Abortion was necessary to maintain some semblance of what normalcy was supposed to be in a life for me. Because, to that point, the only normal I knew was being hooked up to a machine, then shaken back to life every time I died. I was born with baby apnea and my heart stopped over 50 times as a newborn. Our small-town paper did a story about me on my little machine. By all accounts, I shouldn’t be here. My normal was being completed emaciated, fed a diet of only avocados and Recharge as an infant, until Child Protective Services showed up and threatened to take me away. I nearly died every day for the first two years of my life, especially on the days I actually died. Affluence is the only thing that kept me in family custody.

So, when it came decision time for my grandmother to tell my, twice married, supposed-to-be-stable late 30s mother that she would either; have an abortion, have one of her existing kids taken from her, or that child might just actually die — Grams went with the option that didn’t involve a person that already existed on this planet.

Grams was a Southern Methodist woman of honor. She took great pride in our family having its name on a Chapel in the First Methodist Church in Ada. She sang in the church choir for many years. She volunteered in our local food co-op. She empowered her children and grandchildren to constantly seek knowledge. She took no pride in having to alter her ethics for this circumstance.

Grams had already exiled my mother to live in San Antonio to have her first child when mom was a teenager. That child was promptly given up for adoption, never to be seen or heard from again. Or so we thought. Then my sister Ashley got a DNA test. And voila, there was our long-lost sister Catherine right where mom had left her in San Antonio.

In fact, some 15.5 years, two marriages, and two more children after Catherine made her way into this world, I arrived. Barely breathing, and that was the best shape I’d be in for a while. I was the last one to make it out of the birth canal alive. That’s because, not only did mom have one abortion after me, she had two. One of the times, it was twins. Late 30s, married, seemingly financially sound, yet wholly unfit to parent any of the four children she’d already brought into this world. Mom forewent the final three.

For good reason, if you ask me. I certainly wouldn’t be here writing this today. More than likely, I’d be dead, or would’ve wound up in the foster care system. Probably my other two siblings would’ve been sent somewhere. My older half-brother Gade was the only one who had a semi-functioning parent in this world since my sister and I are the only full blood siblings. Mom and dad would’ve likely been taken to jail, and you wouldn’t be sitting there saying, “I wish this guy had died, because I don’t like considering circumstances that make me question my beliefs!”

Intercourse and offspring are such a splendid, pleasant little gift when they work out in the harmonious 2.2 children, white picket fence suburbia setting we all American wet dream about. Unfortunately, in my case, I still haven’t met Catherine. I only met my sister Elisa seven years ago, who was born a month after Catherine via my dad’s no-pulling out self. My other half-brother Mike (from my dad) came to live with us towards the latter part of my childhood. Then he got to stay around and live out dad’s PTSD episodes where he’d attack him as a soldier in Vietnam after he’d get drunk. I never met my adopted brother Richard, who was killed by the police the same month our dad died in February 2013. And, hell, for good measure, we might have at least THREE more siblings out there somewhere.

I can’t imagine how much more trauma would’ve been present in our lives if we’d had more members of our family. Understandably, this live-action Jerry Springer episode of a life didn’t simply resolve since three more humans didn’t exist in it. Psychological warfare was waged daily in our household. My sister used to hold the family hostage with a knife on a frequent basis. Around eight years old, I’d remain in our van after we returned home, praying for death to take me so I didn’t have to endure this life any longer. These suicidal thoughts continued far-too-long into adulthood.

Mom also suffered from epilepsy, and would have grand mal seizures while she was driving. She’d seize up at the wheel, then return to consciousness, sometimes after hitting things or winding up in fields, other times the car’s occupants would steer the car to safety. Between this and the traumas dad caused us to endure (including faking seizures at the wheel) my fight or flight response in constantly triggered. I don’t sleep well at all, much less in anything moving. For me, life was one nodding off away from a head-on collision with a semi. My existence was a never-ending nightmare for many, many years. It was certainly no way for a child to grow up.

I certainly don’t believe abortion is the answer to problems, and it shouldn’t be used irresponsibly in the manner my mother did. But sometimes, it might be the best for those who are already here. I can’t imagine how much more unorthodox my childhood could’ve gotten when my mom moved us away from Ada into my new stepdad’s double-wide trailer. I left behind my brother and best friend Gade, Mike, my dad, and my grandmother 100 miles away (I wouldn’t see my dad for eight years, and Mike only once between then and our father’s funeral in 2013).

In our new double-wide trailer house I was the brand-new recipient of two new stepsisters, a stepdad, and the owner of a living room that was to be my bedroom. We lived 10 miles outside of Chickasha, and many meals in that house were spent chowing down whatever was in the pantry, which often meant Oatmeal Crème Pies for me. I can’t imagine, had we lived through the younger years, how much more difficult and crammed that 1000 square foot trailer would’ve been with a 7th, 8th, and/or 9th person. If mom hadn’t done her best to kill me in infancy, she damn sure would’ve made survival throughout the formative years more difficult having other mouths with which to contend.

My whole life I wish I’d been able to be a big brother to someone. To show them the love and care my brother Gade did for me. While I always lamented growing up the youngest of this entirety of a shit show, but I’m glad I got to grow up at all. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be alive were it not for two abortions.

I’m 36 years old now, and I can say with full conviction that this life hasn’t been easy. It’s taken years of therapy, friends, and girlfriends who endured my ceaseless antics of abandonment issues, sabotage, addictions, and self-destructive behaviors. When the two people who brought you into this world, who are supposed to protect you do their best to kill you from the onset, trust issues arise, and they’re difficult to overcome. For me, I never really felt like I was worth the love and praise others give me. I was just happy to have some people who cared about me around. I can say, with absolute certainty, that I would not wish my childhood upon anyone.

I’ve never personally been involved in the decision to have an abortion. I have, however, known numerous women who have gotten them. I’ve also known many women who’ve made the decision to have their child, after extensive deliberation. In either case, those women have had to make incredibly difficult decisions. The women who had abortions could’ve only had it be their knowledge and the doctor’s that the procedure had been performed.

That doesn’t mean abortions are guilt-free. The women I’ve known have been quite distraught regarding their decisions, but they had plenty of reasons they weren’t in a position to have a child. Some have gone on to have children later in life. Others are still waiting to find the right person, which is completely within their rights.

Which brings us to Roe v Wade. The landmark 7–2 Supreme Court Decision of 1973 relied heavily upon the 14th amendment, and the court’s interpretation of an individual’s rights to privacy. Overturning Roe v Wade would drastically alter the government’s ability to intrude upon the privacy of the average person. So, what would seem like a victory for the right would actually be a self-defeat for the party claiming to want less government regulation. As with many things, there’s a double-edged sword. I wouldn’t be too quick to celebrate, unless you’re fan of your rights rapidly disappearing.