[What if the consequence of abortion was blindness? This is a fictional series creating a decision-making dilemma for mothers considering abortion. Using the fictional side effect of abortion, cerebro-ocular disconnection (COD), blindness, to illustrate a serious consequence for the mother, to see how it effects their thoughts and aftermath.]
Ethan and Rachel sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the ultrasound photo lying between them like a silent witness. The black-and-white image showed a tiny form, curled and fragile, only 10 weeks along. Rachel’s hands trembled as she reached for her coffee mug, while Ethan stared at the photo, his jaw tight.
“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this,” Ethan said finally, breaking the heavy silence.
Rachel closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “We have to talk about it. We don’t have a choice.”
The Dilemma of Abortion
Rachel had just been promoted to senior editor at a publishing house—a dream job she had worked toward for years. Ethan was finishing his master’s degree in architecture, juggling part-time jobs to make ends meet. Their lives were a delicate balancing act, one that didn’t have room for a baby.
But this wasn’t just about timing or finances. The procedure came with a devastating cost: Rachel would lose her eyesight permanently due to the release of cerebro-ocular disconnectin (COD), a hormone triggered during fetal demise that caused irreversible optic nerve damage. Every woman who underwent the procedure faced the same fate—complete blindness within 72 hours.
“Do you really think we can handle a baby right now?” Rachel asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re drowning as it is.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “And you think we can handle you going blind? That’s… that’s forever, Rach.”
“I know,” she said, her voice breaking. “But so is having a child.”
The Decision to have an Abortion
They spent days debating, each conversation more painful than the last. Ethan argued that they could find a way to make parenthood work—move to a cheaper apartment, delay his graduation, lean on family for support. But Rachel couldn’t see how they could give their child the life it deserved when they were barely holding their own lives together.
“I’m not ready to be a mother,” she said one night as they lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. “And I don’t want to resent our baby for everything I’ll have to give up.”
Ethan turned toward her, his voice raw with emotion. “But your sight, Rachel… I don’t want you to lose that because of this.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I know it’s not fair to you, but it’s my body… my choice.”
Ethan didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was resigned but steady. “Then we’ll do it together.”
The Aftermath of Abortion
The procedure was scheduled for a Friday morning. By Sunday evening, Rachel’s world had gone dark. She sat on the couch in their living room, her hands running over the fabric of her favorite throw pillow as Ethan unpacked groceries in the kitchen.
“Did you get the almond milk?” she called out, trying to sound casual despite the lump in her throat.
“Yes,” Ethan replied from across the room. His voice was cheerful, but she could hear the strain beneath it. He was trying so hard to keep things normal for her—to be her eyes when she couldn’t see anymore—but nothing felt normal.
Simple tasks became monumental challenges:
– Navigating their home: Rachel tripped over furniture she could no longer see and burned herself twice trying to cook dinner.
– Work adjustments: Her publishing house offered her an assistant and screen-reading software, but she struggled to keep up with deadlines and felt like a burden on her team.
– Emotional distance: Ethan grew quieter over time, his frustration spilling out in small ways—a slammed cupboard door here, an unreturned smile there.
The Strain on Their Relationship
Ethan tried to be supportive, but he couldn’t hide his resentment entirely. He missed their long hikes through state parks and lazy weekends binge-watching TV shows—things they couldn’t do anymore because of Rachel’s blindness. He felt guilty for feeling this way but couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept into his heart when he saw her struggling.
Rachel noticed the change in him and blamed herself for it. She wondered if she had been selfish in making the decision without fully considering how it would affect him—not just emotionally but practically as well.
One night, after another tense dinner filled with silence, Rachel finally broke down.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sat on their bed in darkness. “I’m sorry I made this choice for both of us.”
Ethan sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t apologize,” he whispered fiercely. “We made this choice together.” But even as he said it, they both knew there was an unspoken truth between them: while they had agreed on the decision, its consequences fell more heavily on Rachel—and yet its weight was shared unevenly between them.
Reflection on Abortion
Months later, Rachel began volunteering at a center for visually impaired individuals and found solace in helping others navigate their own challenges with blindness. Ethan threw himself into his architecture work but often felt like he was building something fragile—both in his career and in their marriage.
They stayed together because they loved each other deeply, but their relationship bore scars from their decision—scars that neither time nor effort could fully heal.
In quiet moments alone with her thoughts—or what passed for solitude now that darkness was constant—Rachel would sometimes wonder what life might have been like if they had chosen differently: if she had kept her sight and raised their child instead of choosing freedom at such a high cost. But was it freedom?
A Lost Life
Months later, Ethan and Rachel attended their niece’s birthday party at a local park—a sprawling green space filled with children running through sprinklers and climbing jungle gyms. As they sat on a picnic blanket listening to laughter echo across the playground, Rachel found herself imagining their child among them: giggling as they splashed through puddles or climbing fearlessly up monkey bars with Ethan cheering them on from below.
She reached for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it tightly, tears welling behind her unseeing eyes. “They would’ve loved this,” she whispered.
Ethan nodded silently, his gaze fixed on a little girl chasing bubbles nearby—a bittersweet ache settling in his chest as he pictured what might have been.
Freedom from What?
Their decision had brought freedom from parenthood but replaced it with an emptiness neither had anticipated—a void made heavier by moments like these when they couldn’t help but imagine what their child might have been like: curious and imaginative or shy and thoughtful; someone who would have filled their lives with laughter and love.