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My first child died at somewhere around seven weeks. I carried her (I call the child her because it's most probable that it was female) until somewhere around thirteen weeks gestation. After a great deal of bleeding, I was convinced that a D&C was the wisest medical course.

I never got to bury my first child. I still wonder what they did - threw the "tissue" out with the contaminated waste? Cut "the tissue" up to examine with laboratory tests? I don't know. I know the medical staff did find the baby because it was set aside, I suppose to prove I had really had an actual pregnancy rather than some sort of other issue.

It has been a bit over four years since going to the emergency room at about two in the morning. I still grieve that child, the one I wasn't really allowed to grieve. I have a living son who was conceived soon afterwards, a boy that I carried in terror and still have to fight with myself to allow to be out of my sight, and we lost another daughter a year and a half ago to hydranencephaly.

Although I understand that the D&C may have saved my life, and that we had to deliver my youngest daughter to preserve my health and that she would not have lived more than about the hour and twenty minutes that she did no matter how long she would have been carried, I constantly feel pain that I killed my children. I can't understand how anyone would purposely end their child's life; I live with the pain every day of what was medically unavoidable. Pro-choice bothers me because there are cases where "choice" isn't really part of it.