The first child my husband and I had died 3 days after being born. The second lived a month. You wouldn’t put your dog through what my poor baby endured for 28 days. The last thing I ever wanted was to get pregnant again. I can’t take birth control pills, they make me violently ill. I tried to have my tubes tied when I delivered the second time, but the Catholic hospital I delivered in prohibited tubal ligation. So I got an IUD, and a year later had to have it surgically removed when it grew into the lining of my uterus. My husband and I tried condoms, but I still got pregnant again. So we thought, okay, we’ll try a third time, but it quickly became apparent this baby was suffering from the same issues that took the other two. I was devastated, but there was no way I would put another infant through the horrors that awaited him. So my husband and I made a deal. I was going to have an abortion, and he was going to vasectomy. I traveled 150 miles away to the closest clinic and what came next broke my heart. I dissolved into tears on the procedure table. The doctor was so kind, a nurse stayed with me until I was composed enough to leave. Having an abortion was the most emotionally excruciating, wrenching experience of my life, but even if I could have a do-over, I would do it again. And no one has the right to question my choice.