“When a painful life decision is rendered obsolete by outside forces. A final irreversible choice is made.”

Joelcy Kay | Editor | Edge of Humanity Magazine

‘Give me children, or I shall die.’

Genesis 30:1

Have you ever stood on train tracks, as the train speeds towards you, racing against time itself, as it hurtles straight at you and mows you down, ploughs right over you and all that’s left is a squashed blob on the ground? I have, I have been that blob, that blob trampled into the floor, floored totally. The news hit me in the face, in the gut, in the heart, tearing, shredding, twisting me apart.

This baby would not survive inside of me. Not survive. Not Survive. NOT SURVIVE. No matter what.

It didn’t matter that I’d been eating right, taking supplements and antioxidant filled berries. It didn’t matter that I’d given up caffeine and alcohol and standing near people smoking cigarettes. It didn’t matter that I meditated, prayed, tree bathed daily. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. This baby would not, would not, could not. Live. It was alive right now, at this moment, at this point in time, she was alive. I would carry this life, this light, this love inside me, right now.

BUT she was only safe in me. She would never breathe actual air, no oxygen would flow life through her nose, mouth, throat, lungs, blood. No red blood cells would carry life to her organs, to her perfect fingers, to her perfect nose, to her perfect eyelashes, to her perfect toes.

‘But even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.’

Luke 12:7

She wasn’t viable. I wasn’t a viable maker, creator, incubator. I wasn’t a viable option for her. I had failed her. It didn’t matter that I wanted her. It didn’t matter that I needed her. It didn’t matter that I was her and she was me. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough.

So I waited

to make the appointment, we needed more time…more time…more time…together, before

I said goodbye.

They said it was ok, that there was no rush, not really. At this stage there was no threat to me and even later there’d be none to my life. I would survive, not whole, but alive. We could wait. A bit longer.

‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born…

Ecclesiastes 3:1

So I waited

and waited and waited.

I took her

to the park, to the zoo, to the baby groups, yes without a baby outside of me.

She deserved these things, she deserved to experience, she deserved to live.

So I carried her

on walks through the woods, to petting farms, to classical concerts, to punk concerts, to pop concerts, to pantomimes, and we laughed. And we lay together in the garden, looking at the cloudless sky, being lulled by the scent of lavender and I talked to her and I felt her and she reached up and held my heart in her tiny perfect hands.

…and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;’

Ecclesiastes 3:2

But then

it was time

we couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait, could not wait, any longer.

It was now or never

and never came with risks of future hers and hims not materialising, never having a chance to exist, never having a chance to breathe.

So I carried her

at 7:00am

through the rain

through the woods of picketed signs:

‘abortion is murder’

‘not your body, not your choice, murderer’

‘abortion is not health care’

‘mom, I’m not a mistake’

‘baby killer.’

Pictures of foetuses shoved into my brain, crosses around necks flashing in my face, Bibles raised like guns ready cocked and aimed, words finding their targets, piercing like thorns.

‘Murderer!’

‘Sinner!’

‘It’s not too late to change your mind honey.’

‘What about her choice?’

‘We pray for this woman God and her precious child God, we pray that she will not commit this terrible sin God, we pray that she will turn from this path God.’

God. Oh God!

Voices bombarding.

I tried to protect her tiny body from being pierced by the arrows of hate fired at us, from being stained by the dirt flung at us, from being struck by the rocks launched at us. I tried to close her eyes, cover her ears, hold her heart and pushed through.

‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast a stone at her.’

John 8:7

We opened the doors and were swallowed down the long corridor, a faulty light flickering in the gloom. We walked past hard plastic chairs filled with the waiting. They were red. The sound of the clock was deafening.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

We met with a nice lady, with light blonde hair, in a pale blue dress that hung below the knee. She smelt of rose perfume and antiseptic and death. She offered me weak coffee, in a beige mug and sympathetic platitudes.

‘Well God does sure work in some mysterious ways, and I know that this is real hard for you hon, but God has a plan for y’all. You’ll be a stronger Mama to a child one day, yes Mam you surely will.’

She smiled.

I did not scream in her face.

We picked a day to say goodbye.

June 25th 2022. 7:00am.

I wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready, was not ready

and my girl wasn’t either.

But I told her that we had to be brave, that she was going to a better place where life would run through her forever. Where there would be no pain, no shame, no hateful thorns being shoved through skin.

‘And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will not exist any longer, and mourning or wailing or pain will not exist any longer. The former things have passed away.’

Revelation 21:4

I told her

that I would see her again

one day…one day…one day…

But today

we had to be brave, both of us,

and tomorrow

even more so.

But we would make it through.

We would endure.

That night the wind was screaming outside as the countdown started to the 7 o’clock news, the TV flickering soft light across the living room couch. The news started and the man with the suit, no stubble and short grey hair said that our day would never come. With a polite smile he explained to us that I had no right to decide what would happen to me, to my body, to my child. That even though she was inside me, part of me, my heart, my soul, I had no choice, no autonomy over her or myself. He explained that this had been decided, that this was what was best for us all, for her, for me.

‘For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’

Jeremiah 29:11

Then at 7:30pm the phone call came, calmly, professionally, politely cancelling my appointment.

‘We’re very sorry for any inconvenience that this may cause for ya’ll.’

Because I’d waited

our day was gone.

Because I’d waited

this would go on.

This time of preparing to die, of my heart being shredded, of the odds of any danger insidiously increasing, any future hims or hers moving further and further away, drifting off into space, beyond the stars, beyond time. Time that I could never get back because I’d waited.

Now I would wait some more.

Wait for what I would have to endure. The painful act that women claw through, crawl through, climb through, because they know at the end of it is life and love and joy and hope and possibility.

But for her, for me, it’s an act. It’s a journey that can only end in death. It can only end on that day, at 7:00am when the sky is crying. It can only end with me in a hospital room, machines beeping, doctors running, faces grim or lined with sympathy, with them trying to minimize the damage to me, with her not breathing, with me as that blob on the floor.

‘For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’

Genesis 3:19

Text © Grace Davies

I am a 40-year-old female writer, originally from Failsworth, Manchester, which is often described as a deprived or ‘rough’ area. I now live in The Highlands of Scotland, with my wee boy, an overly friendly dog, and a very grumpy cat. I work as a Pupil Support Assistant in a local senior school and have just completed my Bachelor of Arts (Hons.) Degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, for which I received a First Class Honours. I did live in Alabama for a year, which gave me an insight into the mindset that led to the Roe vs Wade ruling.
I am working towards becoming a teacher, because I love each of my pupils, no matter what, and want to inspire each of them to dream beyond where they are presently. I am taking my own advice, and pursuing my dream of becoming a published writer, by putting my writing out there in the hope that it will resonate with someone.

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