“Answer the question,” the doctor asked for the second time. His stern voice startled me. “And I need the truth!”
I sat in the examining room in stunned silence. I answered his question the first time. I told the truth! Why did this doctor think I was lying? I did not understand what was happening here, and told him so.
“Look,” he said gently. “I know that women are afraid to admit they have had abortions, even spontaneous ones. But you are only halfway through this pregnancy and there are problems. There has been much obvious damage done to you, and I am concerned that you may not be able to carry this baby to term. I am only asking how many pregnancies you have had in order to be a better doctor to you during this crucial time.”
Again, I told him this was my first pregnancy. I looked him directly in the eye when I said it. People who are lying divert their eyes when they are speaking. Couldn’t he see I was telling the truth?
Frustrated, he said he would not ask me that question again. He said this was not a game of “Truth or Dare.” He explained he felt I was daring him to doubt and thus have to prove the validity of my answer. He said he had no intention of playing a game about such a serious matter.
I was twenty-nine and expecting the child I had prayed for. Now I had a doctor insinuating that this was not my first pregnancy. How dare he? How cruel of him, knowing I had waited so long for this to happen. How dare he indeed!
He ordered me to bed for most of the remaining months of pregnancy. In faith I believed that this child would be born full term. God honored my faith.
My daughter was born so quickly that it surprised everyone. Everyone, of course, except the doctor. He looked at me with knowing eyes, and said that no woman has a “first” baby in such a short time. I despised him at that moment, and consoled myself with the fact that I would never have to step foot in his office again after my post-delivery checkup.
The years went by. At the age of thirty-eight, I was told I needed surgery. This new doctor told me that there was so much damage that surgical intervention was well overdue. He was obviously surprised that I had a nine-year-old daughter. He said to always consider her my “miracle child.” Again, I was baffled by the doctor’s words.
When I turned forty-three, the flashbacks began, horrible scenes that left me shaken for days. I pushed them away for a long time. However, in my fiftieth year, my emotions crumbled and I was shattered in a million pieces. I could no longer deny the truth of how I was raised. That life included teenage terminated pregnancies for the purpose of a satanic cult. I finally understood how not one, but two respectable doctors had spoken the words they did. I had told them “the honest truth” as I knew it then. They dared to question my “truth.” In return, I dared to question theirs.
Truth or dare? What a game that was played between those doctors and me! The saddest part of all is that there seemed to be no winner. They knew the truth of my life through physical evidence. I knew they were mistaken. My repressed memories were secure through a system of denial. Nothing could penetrate my wall of resistance which was hiding the truth from me, not even the words of two doctors.
Oh, but Truth, Jesus Christ, had other plans! He wanted me to “win” this game, to be the victor over the horror that I lived through. Only by being willing to see the past could He set me free. He allowed my wall of denial to come down, revealing those repressed memories. That’s how much He loves me. It has not been an easy road, but Truth has prevailed, and I am His new creation.
Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God has shown me the children I never knew, each one safe in His arms. One day my grown daughter and I will join them, rejoicing for all eternity, in a place where no one would dare to doubt the truth of God’s love.
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