I never thought in a million years I would be telling my own abortion story.
I’m an ER nurse. I’ve built my career on saving lives—running codes, stopping hemorrhages, stabilizing patients when seconds matter. Abortion was never something I imagined intersecting with my life. It was something that happened somewhere else, to someone else.
Until it was me.
As Congress demands answers from the Trump administration and the Federal Drug Administration about mail-order abortion drug safety data and oversight—with lawmakers like Sens. Josh Hawley, R-Mo., and Bill Cassidy, R-La., calling for investigations—I read those headlines differently.
For me, this isn’t theoretical. It’s about what happened when abortion drugs were just a few clicks away, no in-person exam required, and I was under pressure at home.
I was separated from my husband and preparing for a divorce when I became pregnant. When I told him, he didn’t rage. He gave me an ultimatum: abort the baby, or he would fight to take our other children from me. He made it clear he would use custody as leverage unless I “fixed” the situation.
That threat—losing my children—is what broke me. He insisted I would be “saving multiple lives vs only one fetus.”
His pressure was constant: “The clock is ticking.” “Order the pills.” “Get it done.” I was already emotionally exhausted from a failing marriage. Now I was terrified of a custody battle that could upend my children’s lives. I had my first panic attack. I spent days in my room, barely functioning.
Eventually, under the pressures, mental distress and threat of losing my other children, I lost sight of the risks & caved to the demands of my ex-husband. I ordered the abortion drugs online.
There was no in-person appointment. No ultrasound. No physical exam. No private screening for coercion. Not even a video call with a provider. My entire communication was via a chat app.
The drugs were mailed to a hotel across state lines and I drove there to retrieve them. I took the first round of drugs under my ex-husband’s surveillance. He was there to confirm I actually did it.
It broke my heart because, as a nurse, I understood what I was holding. I knew the risks: heavy bleeding, retained tissue, infection, and possible need for emergency intervention.
I was borderline anemic at the time. That increases the risk of significant blood loss. In a hospital setting, that history would prompt careful counseling and evaluation. Instead, I received a brief chat message noting I might have heavier bleeding and should reach out if it was excessive.
No one assessed me in person. No one reviewed labs. No one ensured I wasn’t being threatened at home.
After I took the first round of drugs, my nursing background kicked in. I couldn’t stop picturing what they would do to me—intentionally triggering contractions, potentially delivering my baby alone in a bathroom, watching a tiny body outside the womb because of a decision I made under duress.
I had enough. I couldn’t take the second round of drugs. I refused despite all of the pressure, insistence, and fear. I would not be pressured anymore.
Out of the shadow of my ex-husband, I scheduled an ultrasound at a local pregnancy center. I will never forget that moment while there—seeing a heartbeat still there. Strong and steady. My baby was still alive!
I started a progesterone regimen in an attempt to counteract the effects of the first drug.
When my ex-husband found out, he told me to “finish the job.” The custody threats resurfaced. He drove me to an abortion center. But I couldn’t walk through those doors. I had already come face-to-face with the reality of what I was about to lose.
Months later, I delivered a healthy baby girl: Kaylie Grace.
The first time I saw her face, I fell completely in love. I named her Grace as a reminder—to give myself grace for the choice I almost made when I felt cornered and afraid.
Today she is joyful, spunky, and healthy. Her older siblings adore her. The very children I was told I might lose are still with me and cherish the sister who nearly wasn’t here.
As lawmakers scrutinize the oversight of mail-order abortion drugs, I hope they understand this: when these powerful drugs are prescribed and shipped without in-person evaluation, there is no safeguard against coercion.
In emergency medicine, we are trained to screen for intimate partner violence. We separate patients from controlling partners. We ask direct questions: Are you safe? Is anyone pressuring you? That cannot be done through a checkbox or chatbot.
Mail-order abortion was presented to me as convenient, simple, empowering. In reality, it made it easier for someone to pressure me quickly and privately. It removed the human interaction that might have uncovered the threats hanging over my head.
I used to think abortion would never touch my life.
This isn’t an abstract policy fight. It’s about whether we treat abortion drugs like a casual consumer product—or like what they are: powerful drugs that are designed to end one life and have real risks for the other life.
I am still healing. I still sometimes cry and whisper apologies when Kaylie Grace is asleep. I’m overwhelmed with the gratitude that she is here.
I am an ER nurse. I understand risk. I understand informed consent. And I know this: No one should be able to obtain these high-risk drugs through the mail.
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