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What Ever Happened to Baby
Jane?
by Vanessa Harris
Partial-birth abortion is a controversial subject in our society today. The topic of
partial-birth abortion can spark heated arguments on the Senate floor, in the
workplace, to the Pro-Life and Pro-Choice groups. I believe to get a clear
understanding of what partial-birth abortion is it should be seen from the
baby’s viewpoint.
My name is Baby Jane; I was conceived through a
one-night stand. My mother, who is a very successful businesswoman, started a
small business in lower Manhattan that just recently expanded. My father is
someone my mother knew briefly before my conception.
Before my mother knows I exist, I am already eighteen
days old, my heart is formed, and my eyes are beginning to develop. At two
months, my mother has not seen her menstrual period, and makes an appointment
with the doctor. By this time I am well proportioned, being 1 1/8” long and
weighing 1/30th oz. All my organs are present, and my heart is beating sturdily.
My stomach produces digestive juices and my liver is making blood cells, even my
little kidneys begin to function, while my taste buds are being formed.
After my mother discovers she is pregnant, she goes
home despondent. The next few weeks are a whirlwind. She cannot locate my father
and the real problem is her business. What will she do? Who can she trust to run
it? She discusses her situation with close acquaintances. They have many
solutions, but which one is right? The subject of abortion enters the
conversation. Would this be an option?
I am now 4 months old, I have fingerprints, my
eyelids and palms are sensitive to touch, and I can even suck my thumb, and have
fingernails. I can kick, turn my feet, make a fist and even practice breathing.
I can grasp a hand, swim, and turn somersaults. If I were born now I would not
survive.
My mother has kept her monthly doctor appointments. I
am 6 months now. Fine hair grows on my eyebrows and head. I have a chance of
surviving at this age.
From the outside it seems that my mother has resolved
her feelings about her pregnancy, but she is taking the advice of a close
acquaintance, and is seeking information about abortion. She finds that there
are many different types of abortions. One is the menstrual extraction method.
This is a very early suction abortion, often done before the pregnancy test is
positive. Another is the suction-aspiration method. In this method, the
abortionist must paralyze the cervical opening and then stretch it to insert a
hollow plastic tube with a knife-like edge on the tip that cuts the placenta
from the inner wall of the uterus. The abortionist then proceeds to suck the
baby’s body into pieces. This suction is 29 times more powerful than a home
vacuum cleaner. Then there is the Dilatation and Curettage (D&C) method.
This procedure is similar to the suction method except the abortionist inserts a
curette, a loop-shaped steel knife, up into the uterus, and cuts the placenta
and baby into pieces and scrapes them out into a basin. Hemorrhaging is usually
profuse.
Because I’m now over 6 months old, the doctor and my
mother choose partial-birth abortion. This is a breech-like delivery. The entire
infant is delivered except the head. Scissors are jammed into the base of the
skull, and a tube is inserted to suck the brains out. The dead infant is pulled
out.
The appointment is scheduled and the day is set. I am
6 ½ months. My mother enters the hospital alone. Where are her acquaintances
now? She is taken to her room, and given medication to ease her nerves. It is
time for the abortion. My mother is prepared and wheeled into the operating
room. Labor is induced. Once her uterus is dilated, the procedure is set into
motion. I feel someone grabbing at my legs with forceps. It is not time for me
to enter this world. I can her their voices. I can just make out my mother’s
voice. I scream in my world, I am not ready. Nevertheless, I am pulled into the
birth canal. I am delivered down to my head. What has happened? Why did they
stop? Something is piercing the base of my skull. The pain is too much for me to
bare. I scream and move to avoid the piercing, however; I am held in place. The
person holding me is puncturing my skull, and opening the hole by opening the
scissors. The scissors are removed. By this time I am losing blood and
consciousness, I can barely feel the insertion of the suction catheter. As my
brains are sucked out my last thoughts are, “Why? Why? Why did my mother allow
this to happen to me? Didn’t she love me as I was being formed in her inward
parts, or was I an inconvenience?” These questions will not be answered now. My
skull has collapsed and I am removed lifeless.
There are no flowers for me, just a cold
slab for my little body to lie on. How could this have been prevented? Not just
to me, but the many other Baby Janes and Joes. What laws are there for my life
to be preserved? There are laws to preserve the wildlife and the trees, and
there are laws to save the sparrows, but my life is worth more than many
sparrows. I could possess a hope and a future, nevertheless; the law allows such
barbaric crime to be brought against me. Who will eventually stand for my
rights? What government official or Supreme Court judge will be bold enough to
go against the grain, and stop calling good evil and evil good?
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