There are many different reasons women terminate their pregnancies, or continue with them in challenging circumstances. In advance of the referendum on whether to retain or repeal the Eighth Amendment on May 25th, The Irish Times has asked readers (women and men) to share their personal experiences. This is one of the stories we received.
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“I know the baby in my womb will die. It will die as soon as it leaves my womb or shortly afterwards.” On October 2nd 2010, I started a pregnancy diary. This was my first entry.
At a routine 20-week pregnancy scan, my consultant bluntly told me that our second child had anencephaly, and would not survive beyond birth. I was distraught and overwhelmed.
While I was still reeling from the shock, the consultant moved swiftly on to discussing our options. He said a lot of people in my situation take matters into their own hands, and go to England to terminate the pregnancy. Twice he used the word "barbaric" in relation to Irish policies and the prospect of continuing with the pregnancy. He told me to return in a week to let him know what my husband, Martin, and I had decided.
This was a very difficult time for both of us. We struggled to make sense of the situation. The tone and language used by the consultant suggested that continuing with the pregnancy would be a preposterous option. The very fact that he spoke about termination so quickly after diagnosis made it feel like a foregone conclusion.
Many very loving and very caring family and friends felt we should not “put ourselves through the pain” of continuing with the pregnancy. It was understandable that they wanted to spare us. We also had an overpowering desire to do anything we could to extricate ourselves from the situation. It was unspeakably sad. Could we really watch our child die? Bury her in a white coffin in the cold ground when she should be warm and safe in our arms?
In reality, there is no way to avoid pain when you are in that situation, no matter what you decide. No option is pain free.
Martin and I ultimately agreed we would not be the acting hand in ending our child’s life. We would respect and celebrate her natural lifecycle, no matter how short it would be. In our hearts, I think we always knew termination wasn’t for us. But as long as we kept our options open, we felt as if we were somehow staving off the inevitable.
When we made the decision, we let our consultant know. His choice of words and general tone during this appointment left me very distressed. I felt he demonstrated a remarkable lack of sensitivity and impartiality. It confirmed our impression that he did not see the point of continuing with the pregnancy in situations like ours.
At our request, we were transferred to an exceptional consultant who never revealed or hinted at her own position on the subject. She took her cue from us, and was supportive and non-judgmental. I am confident she would have treated us with equal respect if we had made a different decision. We were so lucky that our support network also included wonderful midwives, counsellors, friends and family.
I won’t pretend that the next few months were easy. There were some dark times. But there were also moments of peace, clarity and profound meaning. We found immense reward and healing in respecting our child’s lifecycle, and in the memories we created as a family.
We named our little girl Talia, and we worked hard to celebrate her time with us. I have some wonderful memories of my pregnancy: our first child, Mia, then two, painting all over my tummy “for Talia”, unseasonably warm autumn days and family walks by the sea, thoughtful Christmas gifts from family and friends, like a star being named after Talia.
Talia surprised us by coming two months early on December 29th, 2010. She lived for one, peaceful hour. The room felt full of grace and love. I wrote in my pregnancy diary that evening, “circle complete”.
The weeks and months after Talia’s birth were very painful. Being without her felt like a violation of nature. But I took so much comfort in my memories of her, and in knowing how many people’s lives she had touched.
Talia remains a very important part of our family. We had another little boy, Isaac, two years after her birth. The children casually refer to their other sister in heaven and it’s wonderful.
Our aim was to normalise Talia’s existence and presence in our family. We didn’t want her name to carry huge burden and heaviness, and it doesn’t. We chose the rainbow to be Talia’s symbol and whenever we see one, we all shout “Hi Talia”, and continue with our day.
Our circumstances are referred to quite a bit in discussions about the Eighth Amendment. I am concerned about some of the language being used: words like “inhumane”, “horrific” and “barbaric” are put together with “fatal foetal abnormality”. These terms convey the sense that continuing with the pregnancy in this scenario is unthinkable, pointless and beyond human enduring. That is certainly what our diagnosing consultant had suggested to us. Yet this is not universally true.
For us, continuing with the pregnancy gave a sense of peace and healing, which I know we would not otherwise have found. In circumstances like these, everyone must find their own meaning and their own path to healing. This was our path, but we could not judge anyone who chose another.
I don’t fully identify with the rhetoric on either side of the referendum debate. The discussion is often so polarised and heated. I sincerely hope that in these final few weeks before the vote, we listen more to each other. We should hear and consider as many stories and perspectives as possible before we vote.
This is our story, and it’s just one story of so many.
