When I was in labor with my eldest daughter my life was at risk. I had found out hours before being induced that I was suffering from severe preeclampsia when I had a minor stroke in my kitchen while assembling salads for my partner and I.

I lost vision and feeling on the right side of my body for about a minute, and then I told Joe to call a nurse but couldn’t remember the word for telephone. Luckily I was able to have a vaginal birth while monitors beeped loudly telling me my blood pressure was pushing 200 over 100.

My doctor Julie is out of town tonight but here is a shout out nonetheless — thanks for keeping your cool about how much danger I was in so I could keep my cool.

The birth of my second daughter was delightfully uneventful. Five hours. 2 pushes. A handful of stitches.

So of course then I had two perfect angels at home and by the time Inka and Kemer were 5 and 3 respectively I was ready for one more. I know our family is complete as is, but I don’t feel like I am ready to say goodbye to having more. Maybe some of the mothers out there can relate, but essentially my body aches for another baby.

Thus we started trying and on the day of my 36th birthday I had a positive pregnancy test. Now my thoughts were so full of things I would accomplish in the summer of my 36th year before baby came. Trail run as much as possible before it became uncomfortable. Camp with the kids a lot. Be lazy and allow myself to eat ice cream and veg in the sun while baby grew and changed my body once again. And already in the first 9 weeks of pregnancy it was a doozy with kid schedules and exhaustion. But our ultrasound at 9 weeks showed a strong heartbeat so we elatedly told everyone who wanted to know including the kids.

And then heartbreak struck not long after when at 12 weeks I received the results for my genetic testing and it showed the fetus may have a chromosomal abnormality. What did that mean?

Julie (my same doc and at this point my good friend) was camping out of service so she couldn’t help me navigate the diagnosis. I scheduled an ultrasound at Maternal Fetal Medicine in Boise a week later. The ultrasound tech was gloriously insensitive, making cute baby voices as she pointed out the perfect fingers and toes, profile, etc., while I lay there praying the test was wrong and this little girl would be okay.

However, the ultrasound confirmed I had monosomy x and cystic hydroma, which meant the fetus that to my amateur eyes looked normal, would never survive outside the womb. And that is when the MFM doc told me a year and a day ago (before Roe v. Wade fell) he would have offered me a D and C on the spot as the recommended course of treatment.

He sat with me while I wept and mourned what I already perceived as a pregnancy loss. Thiswould never be a baby. When I pulled myself together enough to be rational he handed me a piece of paper that had a few abortion clinic phone numbers listed and said ‘good luck’.

According to the state of Idaho I was now on my own. ‘What happens if I don’t terminate?” I asked. “You either miscarry later in term which can result in many complications, go into sepsis, or have a stillbirth’, he responded. Was there a choice? I asked if they had office space I coulduse and before I drove the 3 hours home I called every clinic on that piece of paper to see how soon I could schedule an abortion.

Fun fact: you can only get an abortion in Eastern Oregon until 13 weeks gestation, Eastern Washington until 15 weeks, and then you have to go to Portland or Seattle. I was 13 weeks and change when I went for my ultrasound, and I have family to support me in Spokane, so that meant I had a week to get an abortion scheduled, flight booked, and childcare covered while my parter was at work. Not to mention I wasn’t well informed on the organizations out there to help with this financial burden.

You pay for these procedures up front without help from insurance, and then you have extra expenses (and a postpartum journey not unlike childbirth) to plan for. The worst part was going home and knowing I had to walk around with my pants not fitting and tell my kids and friends and family what was going on. Because abortion has always been a dirty word. And after the fall of Roe v Wade, it was also a dangerous word. My partner was afraid someone would try to hurt me if we told people.

The procedure went fine and my kids sometimes still talk about how the baby in moms tummy was sick so I had to go get it cut out (their words), but we can almost laugh about this now.

What I can’t laugh about though, and what I will never stop fighting for, is the restoration of reproductive rights. The Texas GOP is trying to tell me I am a murderer who deserves the death penalty, when I know that my body made a mistake by holding onto this pregnancy.

And that is why we have doctors that should be able to help women make informed decisions.

So I am fighting everyday. I want my daughters to know that if they need an abortion one day and it is still illegal, I will help them. I need them to know that if they are raped and it results in pregnancy I will help them. If they are not ready and they need an abortion I will help them.

And if god forbid they have a fatal fetal diagnosis for a wanted pregnancy like I did, I will help them.

And I will no longer be silent, because my silence will not protect me or my children.

And I refuse to be afraid to tell my story any longer. I am not a hypothetical. I am not a murderer. I am not a slut (or maybe I am but how is that your business).

My partner and I are still trying for a baby. And every month I cry when I get my period. But I am hopeful that in the summer of my 37th year, or 38th year, or 39th year, I will once again look forward to growing another baby and thinking about a future with a little one.

And I hope that, when that happens, I still have a choice.