This is Britainie Nelson‘s story:
Rewind 11 years and you would have found me, a young, “normal’ 18-year-old American girl with normal interests. Normal at least according to our MTV, BET, post-sexual revolution American culture. Boys. Music. Parties. Sex. Drugs. And a pretty clear conscience to go with it all. At that tender young age, I had already entertained a “conservative” number of partners. I eventually found myself pregnant.
I didn’t really care to weigh my options. Abortion was my only option. My decision was solely based on selfishness. I didn’t want this baby. I couldn’t wait to get rid of the heaviness I felt just from carrying the awareness that a baby was growing inside of me.
A quick trip to Dallas ensued. I ducked like a coward when my boyfriend and I passed the picketers across from Planned Parenthood’s abortion center. I met conviction. Outside the clinic felt dark. Oppressive. Tormenting. It was excruciating. With cold sweats and heart racing, I could not wait to get inside. And relieved I was when we entered the welcoming area.
Oh, the deception! There was peace. Many were smiling. A surreal sense of lightheartedness in the room caused me to wonder. Ladies 25 years and younger filled the room to near full capacity. Many were there with their mothers. Some with their boyfriends. Some alone. We were all there with the same agenda. In a few minutes we would be lying on an operating table, high on narcotics administered to calm our nerves and numb our pain, and allowing the doctor to rip our baby out of our protective wombs with a powerful vacuum machine. It was there I killed.
Britanie’s story continues here: Full Article Link