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The story of Kate Cox having to leave Texas to end a nonviable pregnancy that threatened her chance of having more children may be processed by some people as a rare, even unique, occurrence. But I can attest, both as a former expectant dad and as a Texan, that it’s not a rarity.
When my then-wife and I found ourselves in a similar situation I, who grew up in a conservative Roman Catholic family, began questioning my assumptions about the role government should play in such decisions.
In fact, it was when my then-wife and I found ourselves in a similar situation that I, who grew up in a conservative Roman Catholic family, began questioning my assumptions about the role government should play in such decisions.
It was more than 25 years ago. My wife, Nikki, was pregnant, and we were excited about the expected arrival of a new son we’d name John. We had begun to make plans and decorate his room. Hope filled our hearts in anticipation of this new life in our lives. After six months of being exceedingly careful and making regular visits to the doctor, we drove from our house in Texas to her doctor’s office to see the baby’s progress on the ultrasound.
We both noticed something in the doctor’s eyes that worried us, and we knew something must have been wrong when he called in another doctor to look at the ultrasound with him. We knew the news wasn’t going to be good. This is what they told us: John had developed a tumor that was growing dramatically. He could not survive. He’d likely die before Nikki’s due date.
In one instant, our hope and happiness suddenly turned to anguish, fear and then anger. But worse news was yet to come.
The doctors explained that because of Texas’ restrictive abortion law, we had three options:
1) We could take the chance on an experimental surgery being done in California on babies in utero. The chances of success were tiny, and the chances of Nikki being harmed were great, as doctors realized that the sickness she’d been experiencing wasn’t morning sickness but a sign that she’d begun mirroring John’s illness.
2) We could fly to Kansas to end the pregnancy. The doctors recommended that if we chose this route, we should do so using a false name. The issue of abortion in Texas was too politically charged, they said, for us not to disguise who we were.
3) We could carry the baby until it died, the result of which would be a stillborn child.
What an awful menu of options to present to a young couple who had to process all this in a moment’s time. We never shared this story outside a small group of our family and friends, but Nikki gave me permission to share this story in the hopes that it may help others.
Cox found out that the baby she carried had trisomy 18, a fatal diagnosis. She sought a court order to terminate the pregnancy. A lower Texas court granted it, but before she could terminate the pregnancy, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton convinced the state’s Supreme Court to stay the lower court’s order. After Cox announced that she was leaving the state to end the pregnancy, the state’s high court ruled against her.
She shouldn’t have been put through any of that.
Nikki carried the baby until John passed, and then she gave birth to a dead child.
Nikki and I agreed that there was no way we’d choose the first option because I refused to lose a son and a wife simultaneously.
We considered going to Kansas, but with the doctors suggesting that we stay anonymous if we sought an abortion there, it felt like they were telling us we were doing something wrong. We decided against it when we were assured that John wasn’t in pain.
Of course, that left the third option.
Nikki carried the baby until John passed, and then she gave birth to a dead child. The days and weeks leading up to that stillbirth were excruciatingly emotionally painful for both us. Nikki had acute health complications during the birth process. After she recovered, we buried John in a San Antonio cemetery. After all that, I began fundamentally reassessing my view of of abortion.
Because of my Catholic upbringing, I’d have probably been described as anti-abortion. I wasn’t for banning the procedure outright. I believed exceptions should be put into the law but that the government had a right to intervene.
But the reality of what happened to us convinced me that even with the best intentions, legislative and government involvement does not work. In fact, in the real world, it’s cruel. That’s why I came to believe that the only people who should be making these decisions are the women involved and the doctors. They are in the best position to decide what is best, and we should honor that fundamental freedom of bodily autonomy.
Otherwise, we are letting legislators and judges decide — no matter the consequences. And, for us, those consequences have lingered for nearly three decades.
What happened to us convinced me that even with the best intentions, legislative and government involvement does not work.
It’s outrageous, but Texas women like Kate Cox face even more restrictions than Nikki and I did more than 25 years ago. There are even more legislators in the room telling them what is best for them and disregarding any and all trauma that might come about as a result of their legislation.
Let us understand that we can have policy disagreements and different approaches, but we should never create more innocent victims because politicians want to impose their views and judgments ahead of a mother in her most vulnerable moment.
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