I Had Seizures After Delivering My Kids. When I Got Pregnant Again, I Chose Abortion.

This article is part of POPSUGAR's 50 States, 50 Abortions, a large-scale storytelling project that aims to elevate the voices of people who've had abortions. For more information about how to find an abortion clinic near you, please visit The Cut's abortion service finder.

This was something I never thought I'd do — not because I was anti-abortion, but because I'd always planned to bring all my pregnancies to term.

By the time I was 35, my husband and I had two kids. When I found out I was pregnant with each of them, I was happy and excited and felt an instant bond. They were my babies, and I'd do anything to protect them. Both pregnancies were fine, but after they were born, I had medical complications: about a month after each birth, I suffered a massive seizure. Both times, we were lucky because my husband was home to get the baby out from under me. It led me to worry: Will this happen again if I have a third baby? What if my husband or another adult isn't home when it happens?

When I found out I was pregnant again, I knew abortion was the right choice for me because of my reaction to the positive pregnancy test — I was absolutely livid. My anger stemmed from trying to reach a career goal, and I didn't see it being successful with another child in tow. But I was also sad because there'd been so much pregnancy-related loss in my inner circle lately, and I wasn't trying to conceive like they were. It felt unfair. Also, I was nearing 40. Who could say this child would be healthy or in need of additional help? These were services we couldn't provide due to finances and our location. And as a person who has disabilities herself, the fight — especially with the COVID pandemic — has really been taken out of me. I just did not feel fit to be a mother to a newborn right now.

Ultimately, my decision to have an abortion came back to health and safety — the possibility that I'd have another seizure when the baby was a month old was too great a risk. Also, my husband and I wanted to become better providers for the children we had now.

In South Dakota at the time, the abortion process required two trips to an abortion provider. During the first visit, you're asked why you want to get an abortion, and they try to get you to change your mind. The second trip is the actual abortion. I didn't want to have to go through all of that. Luckily, I knew about Red River Women's Clinic, which was then still located in North Dakota, because a friend volunteered there. She was able to connect me with them, and I scheduled an appointment. (Editors' note: Before a trigger law in South Dakota completely banned abortion following the overturn of Roe v. Wade, the state had a 72-hour waiting period, according to the Guttmacher Institute. North Dakota has had a 24-hour waiting period since as early as 1993.)

As the date loomed, I started having second thoughts and became hesitant about the abortion. I thought, "Maybe we can make everything work." But ultimately, ending the pregnancy turned out for the best. When I got home from taking the first pill at the facility, I just holed up in my bathroom and let the second medicine do its job. I felt lost. It was a hard choice. It's one I never want to go through again, though it really showed what supportive friends and family I had.

I was not pro-life, but I was not pro-choice either. I was in the middle. I have a medical background, so I knew why some abortions were necessary. Mine was loaded with medical rationale — my risk for seizures was too great. But it still was hard. Society doesn't acknowledge the grief of abortion. It's easier to pretend every baby is wanted, loved, and born.

Not every pregnancy goes smoothly. Things do go wrong, and it's not the fault of the woman. Even when she does everything right, if a pregnancy doesn't result in a live birth, she faces all kinds of repercussions that would never be levied on a man. The overturning of Roe v. Wade is the biggest slap in the face to women: you are not a person, just an incubator.

— Anonymous (she/her) (South Dakota), as told to Melanie Whyte

Image Sources For "Click For Stories From Each State": Unsplash / Aaron Burden, Getty / Sergii Iaremenko/Science Photo Library, Unsplash / Manik Roy and Photo Illustration: Patricia O'Connor