My name is Hajime White and this is my story. As a teenager, I learned what it meant to have no control over my body when I suffered the stillbirth of my first child, a baby boy. At that age, and during that time, going to the doctor and finding out you were pregnant was scary enough. No educational book, pamphlet, or medical literature could have prepared me for the trauma that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

I worked for years as a doula in my state of Arkansaswhere I provide support and care to mothers and babies, people who don’t always receive the care and attention they need from us. the state medical system. My experience at 15 taught me that the fight for the right to abortion, for access to information, support and reproductive care does not only concern people seeking abortion. The more restricted our access to life-saving medical care, the more people will suffer like I did so many years ago.

Most states have their own abortion policies and laws in place, including here in Arkansas, a Bible Belt state where abortion has historically been somewhat restricted and where a almost total ban on abortion has been in place since 2022 following the Dobbs decision of the Supreme Court. In my own work in the southeast region of the state, I strive every day to provide women and their babies with the support I didn’t have when I was younger. But I face state-imposed restrictions on care and resources every day. As our elections approach, I fear we are rapidly evolving into a state that treats patients and young mothers the way I was treated so many years ago: coldly, with a lack of communication and ‘vital information, and no support..

Growing up in the black community, abortion was not a word that came out of people’s mouths. You I had to have this baby.

But in my situation as a young teenager, it was different. My then-boyfriend, now husband of 32 years, and I were scared, but we wanted our baby.

When my prenatal visits turned into a Pap test every two weeks, I didn’t know at the time that this wasn’t how prenatal visits were supposed to go.

Imagine that during your 21st week of pregnancy, you go to the doctor for your prenatal visit. You can hear your baby’s heartbeat fading thanks to Doppler, never to hear it again. They tell you the baby is not alive. This is when the trauma sets in.

But you are not admitted to the hospital. You are sent home, with no real explanation. You don’t think at the moment to ask for more information. After years of working to support mothers during pregnancy and childbirth, I now know that what I experienced was what we call a “soft abortion.” or clandestine abortion, in which a pregnancy is not viable, but is allowed to continue.

And then you feel the baby moving in your body. You feel a surge of hope. You seek a second opinion, encouraged by your step-grandmother. You go there that night with your family and your then-boyfriend, now-husband, only to be told, “Yes, the baby is gone and it’s a boy and he has no brain.” . It sinks in: your baby is dead, inside your body. You think you’re going to die too, because there’s a corpse inside you.

Again, you are sent home, not to the hospital. Again, still no explanation, no control over your body.

You still have hope because you feel the baby moving inside you. You later discover that the baby was trying to expel itself from your body. Now you go to the hospital to be admitted for initiation. You arrive to be checked in, you have your gown with teddy bears on it and your own teddy bear in your hospital bag; you packed it as a security blanket. Once you arrive in your room at the maternity ward, your family enters, one at a time.

Years later, you find out that your family was told that you might not survive and that you would have to say goodbye. And you, in the room, not knowing what is being said to your family. Now your mother is sent to the room to tell you to sign this form, it’s for the best. You try to read what is for the best. Later, you discover that your baby has been taken away to be donated to science.

My life was in the hands of the doctor I trusted to care for me and my unborn child. Just to be left with scars – emotional, physical, mental, anger, sadness and a whole lot of whys.

She is a mother who today has nothing left of her son. Only memories of tragedy. No baby, no grave. I have to do my own therapy. To tell my story every chance I get to keep myself sane.

My husband and I have raised six daughters since that first pregnancy, and each one has brought us joy. But I still carry the trauma.

What my husband and I experienced back then in doctors’ offices and waiting rooms was a warning. I had no control over my body. I was given little information.

Now I fear we are going back to the way things were. I fear for others who experience the same lack of control over their bodies, in so many different situations.

Laws that seek to control people’s bodies can harm all of us, not just those seeking medical care for an abortion. My name is Hajime White and this is my story. I hope this doesn’t become your story too.