Over 20 years ago, I had an experience that will be familiar to many women. I had a series of miscarriages, including one for which I needed a medical procedure to protect me from infection — which is to say, to protect me from possible death.
If the circumstances had been just slightly different, and if Roe v. Wade had not been the law of the land then, I could have died. Or more specifically, I could have been allowed to die by doctors who refused to intervene for fear of prosecution and imprisonment. I grew up in Tennessee, where almost all abortions are banned now. And when you ban abortion, you don’t just affect women seeking abortions — you make so much basic reproductive medical care riskier than it should be.
My story was both wrenching for my family and also commonplace. These things happen to women’s bodies, requiring routine health care. All of it has become politicized — and much more dangerous as a result. I fear that under a Trump presidency the situation will get much worse.
It was February 2002 when my unborn daughter’s heart stopped beating. I was almost 29 weeks pregnant, with a 2-year-old son at home. At the hospital, the doctor gave me and my husband two options. I could be induced, go home and wait for my water to break and deliver naturally, or I could have an immediate cesarean section.
My husband and I were beyond distraught and trusted our doctor to help us make the right decision. She told us that if we waited the risk of infection would grow, and might affect my ability to have children in the future or even endanger my life. We knew the best option both medically and emotionally was surgery. An hour or so later, we held our precious daughter Graça for the first and last time. A couple of days later I was able to return home to our son, to recover and to grieve our loss.
We began trying to have another baby almost immediately, as I was in my late 30s. Over the next two years I became pregnant five times, three times naturally and twice with the help of in vitro fertilization. In the first three pregnancies, I miscarried between eight and 10 weeks. On our first I.V.F. attempt, I became pregnant with twins — though both their hearts stopped beating by 15 weeks. The doctor who saw me for the procedure to empty out my uterus was a New York legend. He had been providing abortions since before 1973, when Roe legalized abortion across the country. I was grateful for Roe v. Wade that day as he explained what needed to happen, and how it needed to happen quickly.
In 2004, we decided to try I.V.F. one more time. Our gorgeous daughter Tallulah was delivered that November.
Earlier this year, Tallulah, now 19, told me that young women today are choosing I.U.D.s instead of the pill for birth control because “they can’t take it out of you.” I shuddered at the effect abortion bans are having on women and girls in the wake of Roe v. Wade’s demise. I know that my daughter and other women could die because of them.
Women have, in fact, died. ProPublica reported recently that in 2021, just after Texas lawmakers all but banned abortion in the state, Josseli Barnica, a 28-year-old mother, died of an infection after health care professionals at a Houston hospital delayed speeding up her miscarriage, letting her suffer for 40 hours before giving her medication to help advance her labor. She left behind a baby daughter and a husband. Even though doctors surely knew that infection was possible, as was the case for me over 20 years ago, they delayed speeding up the delivery or emptying her uterus. The medical professionals responsible for her care likely delayed treatment because they feared violating the law. For almost two days, Ms. Barnica prayed for doctors to help her go home to her child, and the medical team did not give her the care that she needed.
ProPublica has reported the stories of several women who died after their states enacted severe limits on abortion access. “There are almost certainly others,” Kavitha Surana, a reporter for the publication, notes.
Every woman who has conceived knows that each pregnancy is an unknown journey of risks and rewards. No medical professional could ever tell me why my first pregnancy was so easy, and why I miscarried so many times after my son was born. I was surprised at how difficult and how risky pregnancy was for me, but I assumed those risks with the knowledge that my health care team would do everything possible to help me deliver a healthy baby — and that ultimately, my health was paramount. I never worried that I might die because a doctor refused to treat me. That assurance no longer exists for women across the United States.
I voted early for Kamala Harris in Tennessee, where many of our leaders seem to believe protecting guns is more important than protecting women’s lives. I trust Ms. Harris to do better than them. If you make a different choice, do so knowing that our lives are on the line.
The post Women Are Dying in Post-Roe America, and Your Vote Matters appeared first on New York Times.
