My Caring For Others, & Killing Someone

My ex-husband, my son's father, paid for me to take a course, which would help me to make a living, for myself, since I was a homemaker and a mother, prior to our divorce. The course was taught at the local community college. The RN who was my instructor wrote  "Strives to do her best" on my student evaluation, and "Final Grade   96%   A".  So, I became a Certified Nursing Assistant which, like my being a mother had been, was also a caregiver, immediately following my transferring custody of my baby boy, to his father and step-mother, in order for him to have his best chance in life. [Reference my post "My Son's Other Mother Was Heaven-Sent", dated 8/28/19] Despite my very best efforts, to care for my son, 24/7, as a struggling single mother, I simply couldn't meet all his needs as well as they would be met in this two-parent home which included more stability and income. As heartbreaking as that decision, and the relinquishment, was for me, I simply had to do what was best for my child. It also says alot about me that, right in the middle of the process of transferring the custody of my precious toddler, Jay, to Jim and Linnea, I graduated from the CNA program; and as the class Honor Graduate, with a 4.0 GPA.

I think that speaks to my always trying to do the very best that I can, in a situation, even though the outcomes, many of which are out of my control, can often make it seem as though I am not doing that, in some way or other. I still have my student assessment from the instructor and my job references from nurses I worked with in the hospital, which reflect my striving to do my best and, to provide the best quality care, for the patients, that I could. I had also given my baby the best quality care I could, as well, but it didn't help me to be able to keep him, with me, since he needed much more than that. Both through, and because of, such situations as this was, in my life, I have come to feel that, no matter how hard I have tried, my best is just not good enough, somehow, for me to end up with happier endings to the chapters of my life. Because trying my best, and doing my best, are very important to me, it's been both frustrating and disheartening that I have not ended up with more to show for all of my effort, in my own life. At a time when I personally could not have been more burned out and brokenhearted, I had to step into the role of giving excellent, direct, hands on patient care. By God's Grace, and my self-discipline, I was able to do that, and well. Underneath, though, my own needs were still there like a thorn in my side (Reference 2 Corinthians 12:7-9), throbbing, but silenced by others' indifference, to them.

To add insult to injury, when I did reach out, to others, for help with my heartbreak, they did not understand where I was coming from, at all, with all this pain and loneliness inside me. When I confided, to two of the nurses that I worked with, my very recent, and raw, custody decision for my son, Jay, they seemed sympathetic, to my face. Not long after, though, I was in a bathroom stall, in the ladies room, on our hospital floor, when the two of them came in, together, and, not knowing that I was in there, they began to discuss what I had told them, concluding that I could not possibly have really loved my son to have done that with him and that the only reason they could think of, for my doing that, was for me to simply want to 'free myself up', to be some kind of party goer (which I didn't do, and actually have never even been comfortable doing because that just seems so superficial, to me). That told me what they really thought . . . of me. I wasn't partying, by any means! I was making a little above minimum wage, and, was barely surviving, financially, or emotionally. I was living in an old, low rent, apartment, that I walked to work from because I had to let my car go back to the dealership after I could not keep up with making the payments, because I was barely even eating, as it was, due to a lack of money. I lay awake, at night, listening to mice, scurrying around my apartment, and chewing on my belongings. Even eating my loaf of bread, that I needed, myself, to survive. The maintenance man set traps, but then I lay in the dark hearing them SNAP, and then, often, the mouse screaming in pain before it finally died, while I lay there as horrified for it as I was for me. Once, a mother mouse died in the trap, and when it did not return to its nest of helpless babies, which were living underneath my kitchen sink apparently, the panicked babies all began to cry out for their mother. Just what I didn't need; their real heartbreak added to my own, which it already felt like I was drowning in.

I went to see the pastor, of the church I attended at the time, for one counseling session, about all this that I was going through. I described my unmet needs, my loneliness, and the challenge of my pouring myself out, for others, day in and day out, all while feeling that there was no one pouring anything helpful or healing into me on a personal level, causing me to feel dangerously depleted, in my spirit. His only response to all of this, during our one time, one hour, scheduled session, together, was to keep looking at his watch, indicating to me that he would much rather be doing something else, than discussing my heartache, and then, he summed up our session, by simply saying to me "I don't know how God stands any of us!" implying that I was just being selfish, for wanting, even needing, my very human needs to be met. People had come through my life, with their needs, and then trashed it, while getting their own needs met by me, often at my expense. When was it my turn? My needs were just as real, and as valid, as anyone else's, though it certainly hadn't seemed that they were treated that way by others, very often. Feeling further wounded, by his characterization, of my intense pain, and longing, I felt as though I was suffocating from lack of love, during the next couple of Sundays that I attended church, and sat listening to this man preach. I finally fled from there, during the service, and I never returned. I didn't feel that my soul was being fed, what it desperately needed, there, and I didn't feel loved there, either, except for my friendship with Vivian Gulleen, whom I had met there, and I went to a play, and on other social outings, with. [Reference my 8/21/19 post, "A Lesson To A Younger Woman, From An Older Woman . . . ."]  I had felt like I was just being told to shut up and 'stuff it', by that pastor, which was how my parents had treated me, my whole life, in their attempt to control me by robbing me, of my voice, to speak out about what was going on, and how I felt it.

Since I was so squeamish, about all medical procedures, it was an odd career choice for me to become a CNA, working first in nursing homes and then in a hospital. However, my being such a devoted nurturer, to others, made me an excellent nurse's aide. The nursing staff all had high praise for my work with the patients, but for me the most important thing of all was the fact that the patients themselves frequently told me that I was their favorite nurse! I was able to make a positive difference in the lives of so many people, in that job, and I loved doing that! I was in an interesting career field, which was ever challenging, and ever changing, also. As I took his vital signs, the older Jewish gentleman would teach me Yiddish, calling me a shayne maydl. When I was making the bed with clean linen, in a middle-aged woman's room, I listened to some of the audio tape, that she was playing, on 'Jesus Counseling', which explained how to go to a place, spiritually, using your imagination, and have talks with Jesus there, so to speak, which took on an interactive energy, with Him, then. [Reference Romans 12:2, Ephesians 3:20, and Matthew 13:34]. It so fascinated me that she told me to take the cassette home, to listen to all of it, and bring it back, which I did. The concept it taught me helped me, then, and for the rest of my life!

Very rarely did any patient not want me to be directly caring for them. One, that did not, was a diabetic man, who was admitted to the hospital, to have both of his legs amputated. His nurse told me that he requested I not be assigned to him, because I was too cheerful for him, to deal with in his despair. Once a female patient was admitted who was seriously ill. The doctors and staff were trying to figure out what was wrong with her. I also had to chart on the patients that I cared for so, in her case, I ended up being the one that put them all quickly on the right trail for her diagnosis. I charted that she was very jaundiced which is an extremely important symptom. The nursing staff challenged me, about that, before the doctor saw it, saying that the lighting in the patient rooms caused skin to have a more yellow appearance. I responded that, while that was true, when I was standing beside her, at the mirror or by the window, and she appeared to be alot yellower than I was in the very same lighting, that she is very jaundiced. The nurse then went in to check, between her skin and the patient's, and came out saying, in a quite surprised way, that I was right about this, and that she had overlooked it earlier, because she assumed it was simply due to the lighting in the room. They let the doctor know that I was the one who had observed, and charted, it originally, greatly helping with the accurate diagnosis of her condition. I felt like I was doing important, meaningful work, as a Nursing Assistant, which also helped me adjust, to not having my son, with me, since I gave that conscientious care to my patients, now.

The Assistant Head Nurse, whom I had worked for at the hospital, wrote this reference for me:

                                                                                                        "June 11, 1985
                                                                                                         Omaha, Nebraska

To Whom It May Concern:

     Debbie Carlin was a nurse's aide under my direct supervision . . . . During this time I observed her giving direct patient care at Lutheran Medical Center. Debbie likes working with people. This is reflected by her caring attitude and the kindness with which she carries out her assigned duties. She is very conscientious and strives to meet the needs of those people she works with.
     Debbie is an excellent employee and would be an asset to any employer.

                                                                                                        Sincerely Yours,
                                                                                                        Martha Binkard
                                                                                                        Assistant Head Nurse"

There is both good and bad to everything, in life, however. At my first CNA job that I had, which was in a nursing home, a co-worker stole my paycheck, when I already could not keep up, with my rent, and could barely afford any groceries, after she had offered me a ride, somewhere, to seemingly be helpful to me! I got the check back, after alot of hassle, and stress, and lies, from her, about that, but the camaraderie evaporated for me there, from that incident, and others. At the second job that I had, as a Nursing Assistant, in another nursing home, I slipped, and fell--- hard!--- on a wet floor, which had simply appeared to be shiny clean, to me, because there was no CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign on it, at all, as a safety warning. I was lucky, that I did not get any permanent back damage, or other serious or lasting injuries, from that fall, but the chaplain for the nursing home, who was part of the managerial staff, but also a personal friend, of mine, was privy to a conversation between the Head Nurse and HR, in which they planned to run me off after, and because of, my fall, because they wanted to avoid a Workman's Comp claim, or a potential lawsuit, if my consequential injury from that proved to be a serious or a lingering one, although I never sought to do either one of those things. They had also put the required sign in that hallway, after I fell there, claiming that it was there, all along, when it wasn't, to try to cover their own negligence, which had caused my fall, and injury. I applied at the hospital as soon as the chaplain told me about their plan, to get rid of me, now, and was quickly hired there. I liked this third, and final, nursing job environment, the best of all, which also seemed to be the most honest and ethical, of them, as well, as far as the people that I was now working with, and for!

Still, cleaning colostomies, shampooing away peoples' head lice, and dealing directly with the patients who had tuberculosis, and other potentially contagious illnesses (this was before HIV came onto the scene), were not pleasant tasks for me to do, nor was helping the patients who were uncooperative, overly demanding, and irritable for no real reason. One of them even cost me my career in this field, by injuring my lower back due to her selfish and hysterical obstinacy in such a way that my back then began to continually be a problem for me, following that initial incident, until I was finally forced to leave this type job, altogether. This was a woman who was a chronic alcoholic, and was continually in and out of the hospital because of all the damage to her body, from that. She had ruined her liver, and her abdomen was very distended. I was told to take her for a procedure, downstairs, on one of her (many) re-admissions to the hospital. At the most vulnerable point (for my own body to be put at risk of injury) during the transfer of her from the bed to the wheelchair, as I was supporting much of her weight with my slender frame, without warning or reason, she suddenly lunged back toward the bed, in the opposite direction than I was in the midst of taking her. As she did that I had to bear all of her weight with my own body to keep her from hitting the floor with hers, and as I got her back onto the bed, then, I felt a tearing sensation, across my lower back, and was then barely able to stand, because of that.

After making sure that she was safely settled, back onto her bed, where she had begun taking herself (and me, with her) after suddenly screaming out that she did not want to go, during the transfer to the wheelchair, I limped toward the Nurses Station in alot of pain and let them know what had just happened. After several (unsuccessful) rounds of Physical Therapy, for this back injury, which she had caused, along with prescriptions for muscle relaxers and pain pills, which did not seem to help me, very much, and had undesirable side effects, I became despondent. I was dealing with several serious, and sad, things in my life, all at the same time, including now watching my career 'go down the toilet' because of this patient's behavior, who did not seem to care about herself, or her own health, and had badly damaged me, and mine, due to that. One evening, out of despair, I drank alcohol, along with taking some pills, and after reaching out, to my mother, by phone, in my intense physical, and emotional, pain, only for her to simply hang up on me, I managed to call an ambulance, to take me to the ER, which was in the very same hospital that I worked in. [Reference my 5/8/19 post "More Of My Memories Of My Mother" for more on this] My career, in nursing, where people had needed my nurturing, and I could make such a difference, with that, had been very therapeutic for me, especially as I was just learning how to live my life without my son, Jay, being with me. So, losing that career was a huge blow, adding to my distress, and discouragement, at the time, which I already had way too much of.

During this time in my life, while I was working at the second of the two nursing homes, I met a neighbor, at the apartment complex, where I lived. We never dated. We never even had a real relationship. Certainly not a romance. I was not even attracted to him, or impressed by him, in any way. I was just really lonely, and he was there, just to talk to some. One day he invited me over, to his apartment. It was the only time that I ever went over there. When I arrived, he just sat on the floor with his back against the furniture reading the newspaper. I was so grateful for any company, at all, to distract me, for a while, from my heartache, that I sat on the floor, near him, and watched him read the newspaper. It reminded me of how my mother had always held the newspaper up, like a barrier, to communication, between us, as I was growing up, shutting me out and causing me to feel that, whatever was in its pages, must be far more important, or interesting, than me, since that was the situation, in first that, and now this, attempt of mine at interaction with this other person. As I describe this interaction with this guy to you, now, it will likely sound as if I MUST be leaving out some details about all this, but I assure you that I am not. So, this IS as pathetic as it sounds. After I had simply sat there, in silence, for some time, watching him read the paper, just to have the crumbs of this human contact in my own life, he finally finished reading and sitting the paper down, he came over to me and began to undress me. I simply sat there and let him, because by then it was deeply drummed into my soul that I wasn't worth any more than this; by my parents, my husbands, my employers and co-workers, the pastor . . . . There seemed to be abundant evidence that I was not of any more value than this, to other people. There is also an extremely strong message sent to females, even from a young age, both subliminally and overtly, that we must bargain, with our sexual desirability, to have any hope at all of our ever having any of the love that we so need in our hearts and lives.

Here is one of my free verse poems, which reflects these things in my thinking, from my social conditioning, that was written during this period, of my life, on September 1, 1984, and is very revealing, as far as how I was feeling, and what I was struggling with, as a young woman then:

                                                             September Saturday

Evening.
               Late summer.
A warm wind whips the trees and teases my body,
            my hair, with its caresses.
                                                       Soon it will rain.
Dare I acknowledge--   tho I cannot acquiesce to--
these emotions within me?
                                      I long to lie naked
with my feet raised against a tree trunk,
letting the rain beat down upon my vulva and run into
                                                                    my vagina
and down      over my breasts.
                                                 I ache to be caressed,
explored,
               appreciated for my being a woman.
Such a lovely creature to be, in a man's grasp!
Ummmmm . . . I close my eyes & fantasize.

Curled up now instead among pillows on my bed,
                                                                               alone,
with the latest copy of Cosmo,
stroking my thighs as I read an erotic story and
feeling my nerve endings                   tingle!
How lovely to be a woman!
How lonely to be a woman,                alone,
on a stormy, sensuous, Saturday night.
How inexplicably, inescapably marvelous and torturous,
                                     simultaneously.

The rain begins, softly, in perfect harmony with
the romantic songs I have on the stereo.   Sin?
Don't tell me about it, tonight.
TONIGHT . . .
I'm sure the biggest sin           is      that I lie here alone
with no one to give my love to.
My cuddly, caressing, warm, wet, musky, moaning
love . . .

With all the social rules, regulations, restrictions--
                                           & incompatible
astrological signs--
                                 it's a miracle any two people
ever find each other & get past it, all, into the
  beauty of sharing . . . the love, the joy, the peace.

(I wonder if I have anyone out there? Somewhere?
 I long to sail away, on a wave of sensuality, but there's no one to
                                                                                     man my vessel,
 swim my     ocean,
                                     taste my salty spray on their lips.)

Only fantasy keeps this September Saturday night
from being a total waste of me as a woman.

I sail into a reverie on a wave of longing . . . .

                                       ----D.C. [Note: for Debby Carlin]     9/1/84

He had not conversed with me at all, while I was there, nor had he even tried to 'sweet talk', or romance, me. He had barely acknowledged that I was even there in the room with him, and he wasn't saying anything to me now, either, as he took my clothes off of me, while I just sat there, silently, and let him do that to me. I simply sat there like a statue, rather than a human being, a person with a will, of their own, while he undressed me. Then, once he had my pants off of me, he put his penis inside of me, still saying nothing at all to me, and for less time than a minute, I simply sat there and let him, because by then I believed that this was the best that I could ever have, of human interaction, or anything close to companionship, affection, or even love, since I WAS DAMAGED GOODS. I felt that, for this guy to also be treating me this way, now, he must have sensed that 'invisible sign', which I now felt was, apparently, permanently tattooed across my forehead, which people seemed to, somehow, know was there, and treated me accordingly, when they came into my life; which informed them that I was nothing but 'DAMAGED GOODS', that they could therefore treat casually and carelessly, due to that depreciation. I wasn't on any birth control, because I was not having sex, with anyone, and I was not trying to have sex, with anyone. I was trying--- hoping--- to be, and to feel, loved at some point, by someone. That was what I wanted, and needed, which is the deepest longing of the human heart; but what this guy (and I don't even recall his name, because we never really had any type of real relationship, at all, and I was only around him this one time) was doing was not 'lovemaking', by any means. It was sex. He was sitting on the floor and after taking my pants off had pulled me onto his penis, in an upright, straddling, position. As I realized what he was doing, to me, I still let it happen. I didn't try to stop it. I sat like a zombie, dying inside, all over again, for so many reasons, in that moment. Then, somehow, as if I woke from a bad dream (instead of the actual nightmare, that was really going on, at the time) I simply said to him, "I can't do this" and I stood up, put on my pants, and went back to my apartment. The entire thing was no more than one minute of time.

[Note: By this point in my life, I had already experienced my uncle Jim touching me with sexual intent, when I was an adolescent, and, rape, by a virtual stranger, and, several other, assorted, sexual assaults, and attempted sexual assaults, along with what I would certainly characterize as emotional abuse, by my parents, throughout my relationship with them, and in my marriage to my son's father, which had led to the break down of that relationship, and ultimately then my giving up custody of my son, all of which I was still suffering from, as I was struggling to adjust to what was left of my life, now, after all of this had happened to, and taken a huge toll on, me. Reference my posts on my parents, my first two marriages, and my Air Force career, for more on all these things that I went through. So much of that backgound, on me, dovetails into why this moment happened, in my life, that I am speaking of in this post, now. Additionally, this link is for an extremely enlightening, and informative, article, by Farahnaz Mohammed, titled "The Repetition Compulsion: Why Rape Victims Are More Likely To Be Assaulted Again", that really does an excellent job of explaining exactly why I felt, and therefore acted, like I did, now. I saw myself, very clearly, in what she was saying, here: https://www.girlsglobe.org/2015/08/04/the-repetition-compulsion-why-rape-victims-are-more-likely-to-be-assaulted-again/  Please read it!]

It wasn't surprising that I felt upset, and was emotional, with me going through so much. At the second nursing home where I worked then, I had fallen on the freshly mopped floor and gotten injured, in that fall. I was having to job hunt, again, because of my employer's position, toward me, after my injury made them legally liable, although I never threatened any action about that, and it healed up well, after some time. I was experiencing extreme poverty issues, since I was making close to minimum wage, which were causing me to be unable to fully cover my rent, at times, putting my residing in my apartment at risk. With so little money I hardly had anything to eat. I had to turn my car back into the dealership, because they told me that they were about to repossess it, from me, anyway, since I was already a couple of payments behind, on it, with no way to catch up. Last but not least, I was still trying to deal with missing my son, so badly, after transferring his custody, from me, to his father and step-mother, for his sake, which had felt like it nearly killed me, as a very loving mother, who had so conscientiously cared for her child. So, with all of that going on, in my life, which was more than enough to make my stomach feel like it was in a knot, it wasn't until the ER doctor, at the hospital that I had applied to, was doing my pelvic exam during the pre-hire physical, and said to me as he palpated my abdomen "Did you realize that you are pregnant?", that I even really confronted that possibility. It was hard for me to believe that was possible, from so little contact between me and that guy, the one time! All I can say is, apparently, I got pregnant very easily, both with my son, and this time; and, I was a woman that never wanted to ever be pregnant, in my life, for reasons that I've already covered in other Blog posts, here. In fact, after, and because of, this happening to me twice, now, I had my OB/GYN 'tie my tubes' (and to "burn or scar the ends of them, so they can't somehow heal back together!") by a Laparoscopic Tubal Ligation, which he did for me when I was still a much younger age than this was usually agreed to, by a woman's doctor, because he knew well that I remained a woman that had not ever wanted, or intended, to be pregnant in my life. I was 28 years old when I asked to be, and got, sterilized, on January 7, 1985. Even after that, I had an underlying fear, since I had gotten pregnant so extremely easily, both times that I had, that my body might heal itself, from the sterilization procedure, and I could still end up pregnant, again, then, which I had heard had happened to some patients, on occasion. Being concerned about protecting myself, from STDs, as well, I have gone through the rest of my life having very little sex, anyway, and the few times that I did outside of marriage, I also used condoms, for added protection. I have been very risk averse, to any, and all, complications which could come from my having sex, making me extremely (pun intended) 'gun shy'. I've lived celibate for decades.

I was absolutely flabbergasted, that the (one minute, or less) physical connection with that guy had gotten me pregnant! It did not seem that he had even had time to ejaculate, at all, before I had mustered the last little bit of self-respect, that I still had, and pulled myself away, from him, that day. He and I never were even around one another, except for that one time, nor had any type of real relationship, together. It was confusing, and horrifying, to me, and, became part of my employment physical for my brand new job, that I had to have, since the nursing home was trying to get rid of me after I was injured there from their negligence. It felt like the bridges were being burned, in my life, not just behind me, but ahead of me. I had to have this job, to survive! I was alone. My being able to make a living was all I had. I remembered from when I had been pregnant with my son that once the Morning Sickness kicked in, I was rendered literally unable to hold down a job because that was so severe for me. I came home from the job physical and called my mother. She gave me the 'You are shaming the family' speech, again, only this time, she also said that she was sending me money, for me to get an abortion, although I didn't ask for, or want, that from her. What I did need from her I never got, in my life, which had alot to do with how I ended up in these situations, to start with, due to extreme emotional deprivation, in me. [Reference my Blog posts on my mother, for a better understanding of (the effects of) this]

I called my close friend, Ada, and told her I was pregnant. I knew that she cared about me, and I trusted her. This time, however, she agreed with my mother, saying that my only option, in the dire situation that I was currently in, financially, physically, and emotionally was for me to get an abortion. I balked at that, even though I could see why she would say that, given my desperate situation. She advised me to exercise really hard, saying that she had heard some women had miscarried their babies, that way, so, since this was still extremely early on, in the pregnancy, I did that, but I didn't do it much, or long, because it made me so sad. In the meantime, my Start Date, for the new job, was approaching, and I knew that I could not hold down a job, when the Morning Sickness started, for me. Also, I had very little food to eat. My mother's check came in the mail, for the abortion, and I showed it to Ada, but I still didn't want to do that. However, Ada, seeming rational, in a world where everything was either upside down, or falling apart, for me, continued to calmly but urgently tell me that I had no other choice, at all, in my situation, but to get an abortion. So, she drove me to one of the abortion clinics, and went in, with me. I'd been told to bring a robe, and the check, from my mother, over the phone, when I had called, to ask about an abortion. As I sat there, answering the intake questions of the lady behind the desk, I suddenly got up and ran out, leaving my mother's check sitting there, and tossed my robe onto a fence, a ways down the street, as I fled, from there, so I could run faster. I heard Ada behind me, calling to me, but I didn't stop. Eventually, she got her car, and coming alongside me, after she finally caught up with me, she said "Debby, just get in the car!" Getting in, I said, "Ada, I'm NOT going BACK there! I CAN'T DO THIS! I don't KNOW what I am going to do but I can't DO this!" She said she would take me home, and that she had retrieved the check after I left there, and also my robe from off the fence, as I fled, and she was trying to catch up to me on foot, at first. Once we'd gone back to my apartment though, she logically, and lovingly, went back over the dire straits of my current life situation, again, while continuing to say that, this time, at least, my mother was right, and I HAD NO CHOICE but to get an abortion. With the new job looming closer and closer, and my situation seeming darker and darker, I acquiesced, once again, and on a Saturday morning, Ada drove me to another abortion clinic, and this time, that happened.

There was the intake with the woman behind the desk, again, asking me the questions, which I can't even recall now, because I was so overcome by horror at this whole situation. The check, from my mother, to pay for this, was signed over to this clinic, and Ada was there, with me, for emotional support. I went through my life having almost no emotional support from anyone, for anything, but I had it now, from her, for this. There was no advocate for the baby there, though; not even me, it's mother, now, which I assure you, to this day, I have never forgiven myself for. I have been crying even as I am writing this post, but I am hoping that my sharing this will lead other women to choose life, for their babies. Just choose life, and let God work out the details, whether a childless couple adopts the child, or some other viable solution presents itself. I am telling you, truthfully, that, in your heart of hearts, you will never be able to get over doing this, to this helpless being in your belly, if you have the abortion. We are made to love our offspring, not to kill them. I was shocked by how full this waiting room was, with other young women like myself, all silently sitting there, looking down at our feet, no one talking, to one another, at all. I daresay that all of us would rather not have been there. Something else striking, to me, about this scene, at that abortion clinic, that I strongly feel needs to be pointed out, was the absolute absence of any of the males involved in this. Every one of these babies, that were about to be aborted, came from their fathers, who had impregnated each one of us. While our society rails at the women getting these murderous procedures, WHERE ARE THE MEN WHO CREATED THESE LIVES? Why are THEY never in this picture, it seems? They were most certainly right there, present and accounted for, when these women, including myself, got pregnant by them. THEY should NOT be ignored, in this equation. THEY DO share the responsibility, and blame, for the death of these purely innocent beings. We women pay such huge prices for these men that see the extent of THEIR sexual responsibility going no farther than getting themselves off. I did see that guy, who'd impregnated me, in the parking lot of the apartment complex one day as he was coming home, and I told him that I was pregnant by him, then. His reaction seemed to be the standard, male, one, of complete unaccountability, and selfishness, as he said to me those two all-too-common comments, "How do I know it is mine?" and, "Just get an abortion!", and that was the end of that, as far as he was concerned. To him, this just wasn't his problem.

As the intake was done, on each one of us, they led us into a large room, where steel gurneys were lined up in a long row, and IVs were started on each of us in turn. Starting with the young woman at the farthest end of this row, of us, we were each wheeled in to a much smaller room, one at a time, one after another. I was somewhere in the middle, of this row, of gurneys, laying there, listening, to some vacuum noise, in the otherwise solemn quiet, start, and then stop, not long after, which began shortly after each woman was wheeled, out of sight, into that adjoining room. I don't know, now, what was in that IV or if I ever knew, even back then. It might've been a sedative, or even something to start the death of the baby (Yes, 'the BABY'; NOT 'a speck of tissue', or a non-person, but a CHILD, there inside of me. We are talking about MURDER here, whether you acknowledge that, or agree with that, or not, and I AM A MURDERER, because of this moment in my life. It IS what IT IS!). When the nurse came, and wheeled me in, to the little room, she folded my arms, across my chest, then pulled up the lower half of my hospital gown, wrapping them tightly inside it until it looked, and felt, like I was in a strait-jacket. I attempted to sit up, but I couldn't, while I immediately started saying to the doctor and to her, "I don't want to do this! I have changed my mind! You can just keep the check! STOP! STOP! STOP! . . ." until it just went black, for me, as I heard that vacuum noise begin. The next thing that I recall, I was still saying "STOP!  STOP!  STOP!" only, I groggily heard the nurse, saying to me, now, "It's all over, honey" and realized then that I was back out in the larger room again now. Someone told me, later, that, with the open IV, in my arm, they had simply pushed a button, to release a drug into it and had knocked me right out. But I had told them, before the vacuum noise began, that I had changed my mind. So, was that too late, to do that? They hadn't listened to me! Did they want the money, that much? Or the baby dead, that badly . . . . Or, both? I didn't know. They'd put a big menstrual-type absorbent pad, on me, because I was bleeding heavily, now, Helping me get dressed, they relinquished me to Ada's care, and she drove me home to my apartment.

On the way there, I turned my face toward the passenger side window, away from Ada. By the time we got back to my apartment I was bleeding so heavily that it had leaked through the pad. Ada said that she would go, and get me some more pads, but I told her to please just go away, and leave me alone now, so she did. With that blood leaking out and down my legs, I lay down on my bed and turned my face to the wall, with tears just streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to, and started to, reach out to the Lord in my deep pain and distress, because all my life I had turned to Him, about anything and everything. But I stopped myself, this time, saying to myself, silently, through my tears, "I CAN'T do that NOW! I can't do THAT, anymore, EVER AGAIN. I'm a murderer, and He KNOWS it! I can't EVER go to Him, again, about anything, now . . . ." [This is how our sin makes us feel, toward God! Reference Genesis 3, especially verse 8, to see the very first time that this ever happened, between people and God.] As I lay there, more alone in that moment that I ever felt in my entire life, feeling the sticky blood underneath the pad and on my legs, feeling certain that I could never come to God about anything, ever again, because of this BIG sin, I just took in the stillness, and the aloneness, and the hopelessness, I was feeling, while also realizing that my back was hurting alot, because of being on the steel gurney, for the murder of my child. My subconscious thought, in that moment, was a longing, to have my back rubbed, to rid it of that awful aching, which was reminding me of the reality, of this tragedy, that had just occurred. No sooner had I had that unspoken thought, than I had that feeling, that one gets, when you are in a room, alone, but then, sense someone else has entered; and you look up, and see them, there, after feeling their presence, before you ever saw them. For a moment I thought that perhaps Ada had come back, after all, bringing more pads, as she had wanted to do, for me, because my face was to the wall, and my back was to the door, of my apartment. I turned slightly to look over my shoulder, intending to tell her again to just go away, because all I wanted was to be alone, right now, in my grief. I was shocked, to see that this was NOT Ada.

It was the Lord, Jesus! He is so completely pure, righteous, and sinless, and I could FEEL that, emanating from Him. By contrast, all I could feel, oozing FROM ME, then, along with the blood flow, from the abortion, was that I was now a MURDERER. I was feeling mortified, by that, so I quickly turned my face back to the wall. I just could not look at Him. I was so ashamed. I didn't say anything to Him, at all, because I didn't feel that I could, now. He was so holy, and I was so sinful. I couldn't fathom WHY He was even willing, or wanting, to be with me, there, then, at all. He didn't say anything, to me, but HE began to rub my back, which was hurting BECAUSE OF the gurney that I had lain on while my baby was killed! It felt so good, to feel the pain leave my back, from this warmth, and motion, of HIS loving hands. I KNEW that I deserved to be hurting instead, and, even worse than that, after what had just happened, rather than feeling the relief, and the healing, that He was providing me, now. I also knew why He was not saying anything, to me, at all, about it. Since He is TRUTH, and SPEAKS only truth, He couldn't comfort me, in my deep distress, by telling me anything like "It's okay" or "It's alright", because BOTH OF US knew that those things were NOT TRUE. His pronouncements are always righteous; but He is always loving. What I had just done was NOT okay, and was NOT alright, in His Book; literally. What He was demonstrating, to me, that day, though, as He lovingly rubbed all of that pain out of my back, which was due to the abortion, was HIS GRACE! That memory, of HIM, doing that FOR ME, on that awful day, became the very picture, to me, of what HIS Grace IS, and what it DOES. By definition, Grace is UNMERITED FAVOR. He offers that to each of us, because "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). "Grace" had always been more of an abstract, and a religious, concept FOR ME, until that day, in my life. Ever since then, this memory has been the defining moment, that has allowed and enabled me to comprehend and experience God's Grace, in my life. It is personal, and relational. It truly is AMAZING GRACE!

Romans 5:12 ESV “Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned—"

John 3:16-17 ESV “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

1 Corinthians 2:9 ESV “But, as it is written, 'What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him'—"