Firstly I hold hatred against anyone who has an abortion. I have recently had a gorgeous baby girl, who I named Chelsee, and is 7 weeks old. If anyone had an excuse to have an abortion it would be me!!!!! I am 16 years old, still in school, still living at home and my future ahead of me. When I found out I was 6 months pregnant. I had just received my GCSE results! My parents were devestated. I couldn't abort it and didn't want to! If I can survive with a child at 16 and still continue in school then I am sure other people can too. Even if they can't, at least put it up for adoption. I thought it would be hard, yes! Of course it is, I'm not lying. I manage. And I've now got a beautiful baby daughter to show for what I went through!!!!!

YOU CAN DO IT!!!!!

It was in the fall of 1987. I was 19 years old with a wonderful boyfriend when I found out that I was pregnant. I was so scared and afraid of my situation. I felt I let everyone down-my parents, siblings, friends, and God. I was so depressed that I was persuaded to end my situation by having an abortion. See, I was convince that was the only way to go. I didn't want to lose my boyfriend because he wasn't ready for a child. He was only eighteen years old.

My young and scare boyfriend then told me that he loved me, and that he will stand by me. We were married a month later. It will be thirteen years this year. Yes, it has been a challenge. We managed to both graduate from college, and we both are teachers. My college friends named my twins, "the college brats" because they went to classes with my husband and myself. We have three beautiful children. My twin daughters and handsome son. I look at my twins and I often cry. It would have cost two hundred and fifty dollars to end their life on that fall day. I thank God for giving me the strength to say no, and to stand up for what I believe. I became an adult on that day. I learned a lot about myself. I hope this letter helps someone in the same situation that my husband and myself were in over thirteen years ago.

My husband, Dave, and I had just bought our first home. With our sons, John, age 2, and Jimmy, 9 months, we had moved out of cramped military housing at Ft. Harrison in Indianapolis, to a three bedroom ranch in the suburbs. It was a small, tract home, but to me, it was the closest thing to heaven on earth. My husband, Dave, was a career military investigator. He had completed long years of schooling and training and was now a criminal investigator with the Army's Criminal Investigation Division.

The view out the back of our new home overlooked a creek. Each morning at the kitchen table, it was as if we were the special guests of nature's own wildlife show. Some days, there would be ducks on the water. Other days, a family of muskrats swam together, building a dam of sticks in the creek. When it was sunny, the boys and I would occasionally venture into the creek to dig up crawdads. We laughed as the mud oozed up between our toes. We enjoyed cookouts on the grill we had bought at the local drugstore. We roasted wienies sitting in plastic lounge chairs. Yes, this was a fine life!

I came from a large family. I enjoyed the racket and constant companionship, the closeness of always having one or more of my brothers or sister at my elbow. The transition from big sister to mother had come easily and naturally to me. Now, my own boys were the most precious things on earth and more fun than anything I'd ever known in life. I marvelled at their perfect faces, their little toes, the way they could say things in just such a way of perfect innocence. Dave was a great father. I adored watching the boys with him as he worked in the yard. Dave would show them how to dig and it wouldn't be long before someone was throwing worms, or rolling down the hill in a fit of giggles. I knew I wanted to have several children. Now that we had a home of our own, all our dreams were coming true.

It was a crushing blow when the doctor told me that I should not have more children. An old injury to my spine had come dangerously close to permanently crippling me during my last pregnancy. Earlier, a ruptured ovarian cyst had required life-saving surgery. Now, I had developed more cysts on my ovaries and endometriosis. The doctor recommended I have a hysterectomy.

Perched on the edge of the examining table, I sat woodenly as the doctor talked about this life-changing event as if it were little more than a splinter. Inside, I wanted to run away from the man who was trampling my dreams with each word. The procedure was relatively simple, he said. I would be in the hospital overnight, have surgery the next morning, and I could go home the next afternoon. No more children. That was all I could think of. Stop being selfish. Some people have no children at all. Be thankful, I chided myself. Why me? came the reply. Knowing that other people grieved did nothing to stop my own grief. Please, Lord. Only God could know how I felt at that moment, how I longed for another child.

The doctor sounded far away as he described the risks of surgery. "If you don't have any questions, then your surgery will be scheduled in two weeks," I heard him say.

A little voice had suddenly begun to nag me. "I want a pregnancy test," I blurted. The sound of my own voice suprised me. Where had that come from? I wondered. I had no reason to suspect that I was pregnant. To humor me, though, the doctor ordered a pregnancy test. The results would be back the next day.

I began to cry as I got in my car to go back home. My dreams of a big family had been shattered in a matter of minutes. When I told my husband, Dave, later that night, he tried to comfort me, reminding me that we already had a beautiful family. That certainly was true. Nonetheless, I began to have nagging thoughts that maybe I was pregnant. Even I recognized that this was just too coincidental, though, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

But I couldn't shake the feeling. By the time I called the doctor's office the next day, I was so sure I was pregnant that I was shocked to learn that the pregnancy test had been negative. Stop it. You know you're imagining things. Get past this. But I couldn't. I was pregnant. I just knew it.

The next week, I went to the doctor for a pre-operative physical exam. While I was there, the same little voice began to nag me again. I asked for another pregnancy test. The docture clucked at me, "You're just having last minute doubts. It's perfectly normal. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

But the nagging voice insisted. "I really want another pregnancy test, just to be sure," I said.

"Okay, we'll do one more test," the doctor agreed. This time, they drew blood for a test that the doctor said was more sensitive and could detect an early pregnancy.

Again, the test was negative. Okay, you heard the man. It's just last-minute jitters. Go home and enjoy your babies.

But the voice didn't go away. As the day of my surgery approached, I began to eat healthy foods that I had only eaten when I had been pregnant with John and Jimmy. I craved cottage cheese, another sign. I felt great. I had always felt good when I was pregnant. Surely I was pregnant. Could I really be imagining all these things? I felt a flutter in my abdomen.

Dave drove me to the hospital the evening before my surgery. He kissed me, smiled, and said, "See ya' in the morning," in an upbeat way apparently intended to make me feel better. Then he went home to take care of the boys.

That's where you need to be, I thought to myself.

Be quiet, I said to the nagging voice. I changed into a nightgown and crawled into the hospital bed. My doctor came by to see me. "Are you ready for your big day tomorrow?" he asked jauntily.

I told him I wanted another pregnancy test. Patting me on the hand, he said, "They don't do pregnancy tests here in the hospital until 9 in the morning and by that time, you'll be back from surgery. Stop worrying about this."

Well, that's that, I thought. But the nagging voice suprised me again. Suddenly, my words were not my own. "If I had been in a car wreck and they needed to know if I was pregnant, surely they could do a pregnancy test on the spot." I insisted. "Get the hospital to do whatever kind of test that is."

"Okay, okay," he replied with a rueful grin that barely concealed his exasperation. He ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Really, it's normal to have these doubts, but you aren't pregnant. You just had a test last week."

I told him about my cravings and about feeling a flutter. "That's just gas," he said. "You know you wouldn't be able to feel a baby this early even if you were pregnant."

I couldn't argue with that. I had counted up the days. If I were pregnant, I couldn't be more than a month pregnant at most. How could I know, how could I possibly be so sure I was pregnant? You're pregnant, the little voice said.

The phone in my room rang at eight o'clock that evening. It was my doctor. "Guess what," he asked.

"I'm pregnant!" I replied, as the words, "You're pregnant," echoed from the other end of the phone.

I was ecstatic!

He continued, "But it's a very early pregnancy, so it won't interfere with the procedure at all."

What? Was he talking about going ahead with the surgery? Yes, yes, that's what he said. He rattled on. I couldn't believe I was hearing this. Yes, abortions were legal now, weren't they? Was this any different? The doctor's earlier words, "it's-just-a-routine-procedure" flashed through my head.

"Are you crazy?" I sputtered into the phone. "That's my child you're talking about!"

As tears of joy welled in my eyes, I barely heard him ask, "Well, what do you want to do?" He sounded a little wounded and genuinely perplexed.

Silently, I thanked the angel who had nagged me and protected my baby, time and again.

"You explain it to Blue Cross. I'm going to sleep, because it'll be the last good sleep I get for another couple of years! I'll go home in the morning," I laughed, putting down the phone.

Hello,

I find your site about a year ago when I was 5 months pregnant. I just wanted to share my story with everyone. I got pregnant when I was 16 and a senior in high school. My boyfriend and I had been together a little over a year. When I told him I was pregnant he promised me up and down that he'd stay with me and we'd get through this together. Well when I was about 3 months he told me that we were to young to have a baby and that I should get an abortion. I feel terrible even saying this but I actually sat down and considered it. I was a senior and wanted to go out and have fun with everyone not worry about a baby. Then something hit me, I couldn't get an abortion. That was wrong, how could I be so selfish? This was not the babies' fault, I knew what I was doing and just wasn't careful about it. I couldn't kill an innocent child just because I wanted to have fun. I told my boyfriend this (the exact words) and not even 2 weeks went by and he left me. I was crushed, not only was I 16 and pregnant but I was without my baby's father...the love of my life. I got depressed and wanted to take my life, I also thought about getting an abortion because I didn't want to have any reminders of my ex.

This whole time my poor parents were clueless about me being pregnant. They didn't find out till about a week before thanksgiving and they were so upset. Especially my dad. Maybe it was because they didn't want me to struggle or to be talked about but my mom wanted me to have an abortion. I didn't understand why all of a sudden she would want me to do something like that. We went to the hospital and I was going to get it done. I couldn't stand up to my mother..still to this day I don't know why. Thank God that I was too far along to have the abortion done (17 weeks). We planned to have it done the following Monday (the week of thanksgiving). I still couldn't tell my mom no. We arrived at the hospital and in the parking garage I just started sobbing to her telling her that I couldn't get it done, I loved my baby too much. All she said was "You have to do it, it's better this way. The baby will be with God" We sat in the car for 4 hours until finally I just got out and went to have it done. Since I was so far along they did the abortion method where they put dilators in. I had 1 put in that day and was suppose to go back and have the other put in the following morning. I cried all the way home and all day and night praying to God that my parents would change their mind and that I would not miscarry. That night my dad and had a talk and he decided to let me keep the baby. I can't even tell you how excited I was to know that I was going to bring my child into the world. My appointment wasn't until the afternoon the following day so I went all night and day with the dilator in me which meant that I could miscarry at any time. About an hour before my appointment I started bleeding, my mom took me to the hospital and I had the dilator taken out.

I continued my pregnancy without complications. I found out in December of 99 that I was going to have a girl. Stephanie Celeste was born on April 27,2000. When I held her in my arms for the first time that was truly the happiest day of my life. She's my angel, she's the reason I get up every morning. I am now 18 years old and she is 6 months old. Every day I thank God for giving her to me. Here is a picture of my lil' Angel, how could anyone want to terminate such a precious lil' life?

I think it's so great that this website is up for everyone to see the truth behind abortions. Keep up the good work. Hopefully this will help a lot of women.

Thanx for listening.