What is a Woman Entitled to? Thoughts on pregnancy, babies, and abortions

There is a desire within many women to have children. It is a woman's right to have children if they are so able to conceive them. Many of us accept this right. There is no one in America forcing abortions nor are there laws limiting pregnancies or the number of children one mother can have. If a woman here chooses to have a baby, then they are generally supported under almost every circumstance.

Medical advances have even allowed women struggling to conceive to achieve pregnancy when they couldn't otherwise do it on their own. Fertility treatments are accepted in our society. There is support for the idea that we believe that all women should have the opportunity to bear children.

But what happens to that woman after there is a successful pregnancy?

Is it reasonable to expect a healthy and typically developing fetus?

Where do rights end and entitlements begin?

When it comes to pregnancies and Down syndrome, there seems to be a worldview that can't be denied. As I have previously written about, Iceland has a 100% abortion rate when a fetus is prenatally diagnosed with Down syndrome. 100%!

Other statistics also show the majority of women will choose termination of the pregnancy when Down syndrome is diagnosed. I have read many reasons that women give for this decision:
-They believe a child with Down syndrome would not enjoy their life.
-They believe they would not be capable of taking care of a child with special needs.
-The woman feels there is a stigma associated with being a parent/family of a child with special needs.
-Doctors encourage the women that they can easily try again.
-The women believe their child's life span will be shortened.
-The women have great fears about their child's future and possible complications.
-They believe they will be raising this child for the rest of their lives.
-The condition is not reversible and the severity of problems cannot be predicted.
-They believe it is the best thing for their child.
-They believe that raising this child would be too costly.

Beyond termination rates, there seems to be increasing pressures around the world to not judge those who choose termination and accept the individual's choice in the matter. In November of last year, France banned a telecast of a short video called "Dear Future Mom," which showed people with Down syndrome leading happy and productive lives. The Council of State declared the video “inappropriate” for television broadcast because it is “likely to disturb the conscience of women who had lawfully made different personal life choices,” i.e., those who had aborted their babies with Down syndrome. An article on the Huffington Post recently reported that the Netherlands Minister of Health had this to say in regards to Non Invasive Prenatal Testing that will be available to all pregnant women there, “If freedom of choice results in a situation that nearly no children with Down syndrome are being born, society should accept that.”

No ma'am. I will not accept that.

As I have read through many stories on increasing abortion rates in countries who mandate prenatal screenings, I am left with one question.

What are women entitled to?

And that question sparks other questions:

Are women entitled to healthy babies?
When a woman decides to get pregnant, should that mother acknowledge that there is a certain amount of "risk" involved?
Doesn't parenting any child involve challenges and risks?
Is an abortion really merciful if you take away any chance the child had at life?
Should women determine if a diagnosis warrants a death sentence?
How is the proposed worth of life being determined?
Are women who hold strong convictions about equality committing discrimination against their own children when they choose termination?

I realize that these are not easy questions and generate a wide variety of answers.

I do believe though that EVERY fetus has a right to life. That is a right that should not be denied. The idea that should change is a woman's entitlement to a healthy child. That should not be a guarantee because it is unnatural to expect perfection.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I never feared having a child with any problems. I did not want prenatal testing because I wasn't going to terminate no matter the outcome. (That was still true for the pregnancy with my son later.) However, I never thought disability in any form would happen to my child.

When my daughter was born with Down syndrome and heart defects, I did have to work through many emotions and thoughts I had in my life about justice and fairness. I learned just how selfish my heart was. I felt I deserved a healthy child because I was a good person and a person of faith. When my expectation did not match up to reality, I had to come to understand some flawed ideas in my personal worldview.

Through my experience with my daughter, I understood that no one is guaranteed perfection in life. I had no control over the gender of the baby or its physical development. When I became pregnant, there were a million different things that could have went wrong (or right) with my baby. Down syndrome was something that could have happened to anyone's pregnancy, but it occurred with mine. There are no guarantees in life. I was never entitled to a perfect, healthy baby even though the odds were in my favor.

Here's something that my husband and I want you to know:

It is much more compassionate to give your life in service to another human being than to never give that person an opportunity to exist.

Don't be afraid of a diagnosis. Don't be afraid of the life you will lead. You are stronger than you think. Your capacity to love will be greater than you dreamt. You might not have imagined this life for yourself or your child but it does not mean it will be a disappointment.

My First Lie as a Mother

Years ago, I nervously sat in a doctor’s examination room filling out a form. Without thinking, I read through the questions giving the “correct” answer and not the complete truth. I now understand that what I thought was a little lie was actually a huge untruth.

Moments before I became a liar on paper, I was in the waiting area with other patients. There were some women here for the same reason I was, a 6 week post-delivery checkup. On the floor next to me asleep in the car seat sat my first new baby, Jaycee.

During the long wait, I was forced to look at the other moms with their new babies. They were the moms I thought I would be, holding healthy children and gushing with joy. I watched a mother snuggle her new baby nestled in soft pink blanket before happily handing the baby over to her joyous grandma. Another mom sitting along the wall, gently lifted her crying newborn baby out of the car seat. The cries were soon stopped as a bottle was prepared and given to the hungry baby.

Meanwhile, I sat in an uncomfortable chair calculating the number of ounces Jaycee had drank today and how many we had left to go. I worried that the appointment would go longer than expected, messing up Jaycee’s schedule for feedings and medications. I yawned and fought to stay awake feeling totally exhausted by Jaycee’s intensive round-the-clock feeding schedule meant to increase her weight as quickly as possible before her open heart surgery. The longer I sat, the more jealous of the other mothers I became. I willed the nurse to open the door and call my name so I could soon retreat back to my home with Jaycee.

By the time, I finally heard “Evana” I found myself on the brink of an emotional breakdown. The initial assessment with the nurse was quick and then I was handed that form. The screener for postpartum depression was staring me in the face.

I didn’t need a questionnaire to know I was struggling. I had struggled since the day the doctor told me my daughter had Down syndrome, an AV canal heart defect, and was in congestive heart failure. I was expecting a healthy child. As a 25 year old mother, I had no reason to suspect my baby would be born with any problems.

Newborn Jaycee and I during a feeding at home

And there was that screener in my hand. As I ran through the form circling answers as to not raise too much attention to myself, I suppose part of me didn’t want to admit that I needed help. I felt at this point so early after Jaycee’s diagnoses my feelings were normal and would eventually get better.

The doctor made no mention of my screening when she entered to examine me. I suppose I passed it. Just before she left the room, she said something about Jaycee. With a trembling voice, I then told her about Jaycee’s problems before uncontrollably erupting into an all-out cry. All the hopeful memories I had from being in there for previous visits coupled with seeing all the other moms and babies in the waiting room had resulted in this unexpected tearful display.

The doctor, who was clearly uncomfortable with my outburst, asked if I was all right and if I needed medication. When I declined, she told me to call if I changed my mind and left the room. That was how I allowed post-partum depression to grow and grow into something more serious and untamable.

For about 10 months, I struggled. Initially, I cried EVERY time I was alone. Yes, EVERY time! I didn’t want to leave my house more than I absolutely had to do. I was overwhelmed. I was worried. I was stressed about taking care of a medically complex child.

Finally, I was able to pull myself out of that negative and sad world where I didn’t even recognize myself. It is only through God’s grace that I was able to get to a place where my thinking began to change and I could participate in some social interaction. But 10 months in depression was too long.

This year, we celebrated Jaycee’s 10^th birthday. I spent time reflecting on her birth and all the things the both of us had overcome since then. It was then that God whispered something to my heart about that lie in that doctor’s office 10 years ago. I had never considered what I had done a lie. I didn’t even know the questionnaire would be given to me, so I had not planned to be untruthful. Yet, I was. God showed me that by not answering those questions honestly I allowed the depression to take root and grow. There was no one to monitor me but my husband and parents, who were at a complete loss as to how to help me.

The depression was 10 years ago, and I have rarely discussed it with anyone. I suppose I have kept it a secret for the same reasons I did while I filled out that screening form. I was embarrassed that my emotions seemed to be controlling me. I felt guilty that I was so depressed when I should be nothing but happy to be a new mom. I was too proud to admit that I needed help. I was ashamed that I was struggling with depression as a Christian.

And so, 10 years later I confessed the lie that I made on paper that day and asked for God’s forgiveness. I realized how lying about myself and my feelings contributed to some real pain and wrong thinking that would really take me years to overcome.

I can’t go back in time, but I can learn from my mistakes. I can also encourage others too. If you are struggling in this area, get help. You are not weak. Admitting you need help takes courage and honesty. Denying that you have a problem is not helpful to yourself or your family. God will honor your honesty.