Luana Stoltenberg,  Davenport, Iowa

Testimony before the South Dakota Task Force on Abortion

October 2005

 
            My name is Luana Stoltenberg, and my life has been devastated by abortion. I have had three abortions because I believed I had no other choice.

I was 17-years-old when I had my first abortion. I was too afraid to tell my parents that I was pregnant, so my boyfriend drove me to an abortion facility that was out of state. I was scared to death during the entire ride. I knew in my heart this was wrong. Everything in me cried out saying “it” is a baby – I was pregnant with a baby.

When we arrived, I paid my fee of $250.00 cash and was seated in the waiting room with several other girls. They took each one of us separately into a room to do our paper work and talk to us. The nurse asked me how I felt about this. I told her how I was feeling – that I was sure this was a baby and that it couldn’t be the right thing to do. She quickly informed me that this was just a “blob of tissue.” In fact, she told me that this abortion would be safer and easier then if I carried to term.

All of the staff were all dressed in white uniforms. They were the adults; I was the teenager with no medical knowledge or experience. I saw them as medical professionals and believed they must know what they were talking about. I thought I could trust them, so I listened to them. I believed them. I was a scared teenager that needed help, so I went through with the procedure.

           I laid on the cold table waiting for a doctor that I had never met to do this procedure on me. I was given no anesthetic for the pain and, even if I had been, I don’t think any amount would have dulled the pain that was in my heart and mind that morning.

The doctor came in and was very cold and unfriendly. He told me to lie still – that it wouldn’t take long. He said I would feel a tugging sensation and just slight cramping. That was untrue. It was extremely painful, and I didn’t think it would ever end.

I could hear the increased labor of the suction machine when a part or limb of my baby was being extracted. Each time I tried to sit up enough to see what was going into that jar – to see if it was a baby, my baby, - but they kept pushing me back down and telling me to lie still. As soon as the procedure was over, the jar with my baby’s remains was quickly wheeled out of the room so I wouldn’t see it. They knew it was a baby. They saw her head, and her tiny little arms and legs in that jar. 
 

I wasn’t told about fetal development with me. I wasn’t told that my nine-week-old unborn baby that they were ripping from my body had a heartbeat at day 18, that her brain waves were functioning at day 40. I wasn’t told that she had toes, fingers, and even finger prints – or that she could suck her thumb or feel pain. Why didn’t they want to tell me that? Were they afraid that I would change my mind? Would it have been a “wrong choice” if, after knowing all the facts, I changed my mind and chose life for my child?

When the procedure was finished I was sent to a waiting room with the other girls. I was given a cup of juice and some cookies and told I could leave after 20 minutes if I felt alright. In 20 minutes I told them I felt fine, when, in fact, I had never felt worse. I just wanted out of there.

I was given a small pill to take on my way out and told me it would help shrink my cervix. I was in severe pain on the way home. I lay in the back seat crying and bleeding profusely on the entire trip back. When I got in the house, I immediately called the abortion facility and told them about the pain and bleeding. I was told that I was no longer their problem and that I needed to call my own physician. There was no way I was going to do that. I was too ashamed and didn’t want my parents to find out what I had done. That was why I had driven so far away. So I painfully laid there and wondered if I would die.

I did die that day. I died on the table with my baby. The happy, fun loving, compassionate, caring Luana died that day. I was never the same. Never.

I broke up with my boyfriend shortly after the abortion. I couldn’t stand to look at him. It was too painful. He reminded me of the child I had killed. I became depressed and angry. I started drinking heavily; doing drugs, and became very promiscuous. I absolutely hated myself. I thought the only way anyone else would possibly love me was if I gave sex in return.

My life was spinning out of control. I became pregnant two more times, and chose abortion each time. Each experience was similar to the first, except the second abortion, I was shown a slide presentation of blobs of tissue. I told they were only removing blobs of tissue like that on the slides – that it wasn’t a baby at all.

This second time it wasn’t a professional, medical atmosphere, with adults dressed in white. It was an old two story house in a college town. Those who worked there had on jeans, and tie-dyed shirts, and looked like hippies.

My third abortion was done at the same place as the second one. Only this time I was so ashamed and embarrassed that I didn’t even give them my real name. I used the name of a friend of mine. I cringe now to think what would have happened if there would have been complications or if I had died. Who would they have called? Would my parents have ever found out what really happened to me?

By this time my life was a mess. After each abortion I would move to different city, thinking no one would know me and that, maybe, I could start over. But that wasn’t my problem. Having abortions didn’t solve any problems. It only created new and larger ones.

Abortion didn’t remove the fact that I was a mother. I was still a mother. It’s just that my three children were dead, and I killed them. Wow, how do you deal with that problem?

The way I dealt with it was more alcohol, more drugs, a deeper depression, a self-hatred and self-destructive behavior. I had constant thoughts of wanting to kill myself. I thought of ways I could do it that wouldn’t be painful. Then the thoughts turned to actual attempts. I tried to kill myself three different times. The first time I tried to slit my wrists. Twice after that, I turned the gas on in my oven and lay on my kitchen floor, crying waiting for the pain and guilt to go away. Each time friends came banging at my door and interrupted my attempts.

I hated myself for what I had done. I couldn’t run away from myself or live with myself, so I thought I would make myself pay for what I had done. I saw no hope and no way out.

In 1981 I finally found hope and forgiveness in Jesus Christ. I accepted Him as my Lord and my life began to change. Two years later I met a wonderful man, and we were married. We wanted to start a family, but we were having no success. I went in for endless tests. I had a laparatomy, and a laparoscopy. Then I had a dye test to determine if and where there were blockages in my fallopian tubes. Again it was very painful, and I had no anesthetic.

In the midst of this procedure my doctor looked at me and asked if I had ever had abortions. I had not put it on my paper work and would never tell my doctors because I was too ashamed. I admitted to her that I had three abortions. She showed me on the screen where the suction from the vacuum aspirator had sucked my fallopian tubes down like an accordion and spiraled them. One was 90% blocked and the other was 100% blocked. The she told me that I would never be able to have children because of the abortions. She also wanted me to have a hysterectomy because she was afraid of the risk of having an ectopic pregnancy.

She then told me the test was completed, that I could get dressed and she left the room. I was only 26-years-old and was trying to process all this information. I literally laid there paralyzed as I let it soak in that I would never be able to have children. That the only children that I would ever carry, I killed. Then I started thinking about my husband. Here was this wonderful man who married me knowing my past. How was I going to go out there and tell him that he was never going to be able to have his own biological children because of the “choices” I had made before I met him? I couldn’t think of a single reason why he should have to live with the consequences of my mistakes. I wondered if he would stay with me or if he would want a divorce.

My husband is a man of honor. He stayed with me for better or worse. It was a very hard road ahead of us. There were a lot of tears, a lot of pain, and a lot of sleepless nights. I went through counseling and Bible studies. I learned how to accept God’s forgiveness for what I had done, and then I tried to forgive myself.

There was also a lot of anger. I was angry at the abortion workers. I was angry that they didn’t tell me the risks of the procedure and that it could cause infertility. I was angry that they didn’t tell me I would have severe pain during every menstrual cycle because of the damage. I was angry that they didn’t tell me about the development of my child. I was angry that they didn’t give me all the facts and let me make the “choice” for myself. I thought they were “pro-choice.”

I was angry that they lied to me, and when they were telling society that they care about women. I was angry that they didn’t tell me that I might feel immediate relief but that I would live with the consequences and pain everyday for the rest of my life. Yes, I had a lot of anger to work through and a lot of forgiving to do.

There were also other people in my life that my abortions affected. I called my family together and told my mother and father that they had three grandchildren that they would never hold. I told my brother and my sisters that they had nieces and nephews they would never meet and that would never be a part of our holiday gathering and family photos. I asked them to forgive me for altering our family tree and removing generations from our family linage. I asked them to forgive me for changing what was meant to be, and “playing God” with life.

I want to thank you for listening today and leave you with this thought.