It is October 17th, 2019. We are in a drab procedure room at the Kaiser hospital complex in Hollywood. I am holding the hand of my wife – my brave, strong, amazing partner – as her procedure is about to begin.
It is June 1st, our wedding day. The celebration is joyous, we are surrounding by friends and family, we are so happy and our future is bursting with possibility.
It is June 14th. We are on our honeymoon, and we just checked in to an amazing cliffside hotel on the island of Santorini, Greece. We are sitting by the pool and sipping cocktails while gazing out at an endless expanse of blue ocean. We take the steep stairs down to our hotel room, tipsy and holding hands.
It is August 28th. We are sitting anxiously in an exam room, waiting for the doctor to perform our first ultrasound. She shows us the little clump of cells that will grow into our precious baby boy. Everything looks good, she says.
It is early October. We put a silly little sticker on her belly that says “11 weeks” and take pictures. We excitedly plan for our future. We can’t wait to tell our family and friends.
I don’t remember what day it is. I just remember the profound silence when the doctor turns on the audio loop and there is no heartbeat.
It is October 17th, 2019. We are in a drab procedure room at the Kaiser hospital complex in Hollywood, waiting for our abortion procedure to begin. We are so desperately sad. Our baby was so very wanted. My wife looks at the doctor anxiously and asks, innocently, what would have happened if this was 50 years ago, before Roe vs. Wade?
The doctor answers, without hesitation, you would have died.