For those of you who think that aborting for "maternal indications" is something you just do and get over, remember Ashli. The ninth anniversary. The eighth. The seventh. She hadn't blogged an anniversary before the seventh. But she did blog just after the sixth anniversary.
Here is her story. How she ended up on a table in a sleezy abortion mill, letting somebody take her loved and wanted baby from her, because nobody would help her.
And it doesn't just come up on anniversaries. The littlest things can be reminders.
She was abandoned. By society. By the medical establishment. By the pro-choice movement. And even by the pro-lifers, who seem ready to concede that an ailing mom can just be scraped out and sent home. We failed to let women like Ashli know that we'd be there for them.
Eventually I start a blog. I talk about my child, my loss. I expose the royal scam. A few people even care.
Days go by. Months go by. Anniversaries come and go. When they arrive again I try not to think of it, but I can't not.
Curiously, I focus on the moment when the cruel lance first touched the amniotic sac. That split milisecond just before the end of all things. That shallow short breath that divides the space between life and death, happiness and horror. I see a delicate, precious orb and a sharp threatening instrument puncturing it. It's too late now.
Liquid spills out onto the pad. Diamonds flow into an oversized sanitary napkin. Diamonds... and rubies.
There is no turning back. This is the rest of my life. This is what one human life will buy.
Another anniversary. Another one. Another one. Another one...
For more on "maternal and fetal indications" see:
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