The Mom Seeking Out-Of-State Abortion

Because no two paths to parenthood look the same, “How I Got This Baby” is a series that invites parents to share their stories.

In 2021, Kailey, a stay-at-home mom with three kids — ages 6 months, 4, and 7 — living in West Virginia, found out she was pregnant. It was unexpected, but she and her husband were excited. “I was like, ‘Oh my gosh!’” Kailey recalls. “‘This will be something I’m not used to — having two under 2!’”

But at Kailey’s 20-week ultrasound, she was devastated to learn that their baby boy, whom the couple had already named Clay, had a rare anatomical abnormality called lower urinary tract obstruction. A blockage was preventing him from passing urine, which is a serious problem because after midpregnancy, amniotic fluid is made primarily from fetal urine. His kidneys and bladder were severely affected, and even in the best-case scenario, Kailey’s doctor told her the baby would face at least three years of dialysis, followed by a kidney transplant and constant medical challenges. 

Here’s what happened to Kailey and Clay next:

We got this news before the end of Roe. At that time in West Virginia, abortion was legal up to 20 weeks, and I was a couple of days past that, so I knew I couldn’t terminate the pregnancy in my state. But my doctor didn’t even bring up abortion as a possibility. Instead, he told me the only way to give my baby a chance to live was to travel to Cincinnati, about three and a half hours from my home, for specialized procedures and surgery. I didn’t question it.

I went to Cincinnati with my sister and my youngest daughter. I remember going into it thinking, I just have to get through this. I have to get through these procedures, and Clay’s going to be fine. Deep inside, I knew Clay wasn’t going to be fine, but I had hope because that’s what my doctor had led me to believe.

The first day there I had an MRI, an ultrasound, and meetings with the doctors. After the tests, I met with a team of seven maternal-fetal medicine specialists. Each of them had a slightly different perspective, but they all basically said that my case was severe and that I should go through with the procedures and the surgery. Some even said, “We’ve seen miracles!”
But I’ll never forget one doctor, who I thought was the most real. He bluntly told me, “This is not going to be a healthy baby. This is not going to be an easy road. This is not something a baby should go through.” He said if I were his daughter, he would suggest termination. But because he was so outnumbered, and because of how much hope I had and how much I wanted the baby, I didn’t hear him. I was lost in a fog.

I underwent a test that was kind of like amniocentesis. I was awake and could view what was happening on an ultrasound screen. The doctor used one needle to drain one of the baby’s kidneys to see if he was continuously making urine — that is, if his kidneys were still somewhat working. Then, with a second needle, they inserted synthetic fluid to see if he was able to move around and if he was swallowing it — or kind of breathing it in — like a healthy baby would with amniotic fluid. That would show his kidneys were still doing something, that there was still a little bit of hope. We discovered that while he was able to swallow the fluid, he wasn’t able to pee it out.

A week later, I returned to Cincinnati for more planned tests. The hospital visits and procedures were fully covered by insurance. We had to pay out of pocket for travel expenses, which was a lot — just the hotel and car rental for one visit to Cincinnati was around $900 — but my insurance reimbursed us eventually. I brought my husband and our two youngest kids. This time, the procedure was even more intense. They used three needles. The first two were to drain his second kidney — they wanted to see if that kidney was still working at all — and to put more synthetic fluid in. The last needle was to drain his bladder, which was completely full. With the first procedure, he had actually swallowed all the synthetic fluid they put in, so by the time I went back, there was no fluid left around him again. They had to put more in so he could move and so they could see if his kidneys might still be able to make urine.

The last needle was the hardest part. The baby’s umbilical cord was in the way, and he kept moving, so the doctor had a really difficult time getting the needle where it needed to go. I remember just lying there, watching the ultrasound screen, seeing them trying to avoid his cord and him squirming around. It felt like the needle was in there for at least seven minutes — way longer than the others. The whole time, I was trying to stay still, but it was painful. My placenta was anterior — in the front — so some of the needles had to go right through it.

I could feel the pressure and the tugging. It was a lot to handle emotionally and physically.

The next night, I woke up in our hotel room at three or four in the morning and thought, Did I pee the bed? Then I lifted up the covers, and the bed was soaked in blood. I walked to the bathroom silently to avoid waking up my kids, but my husband heard me and got up. He slipped on the blood on the floor — that’s how much there was.

It turned out the last needle had made a small tear in the baby’s amniotic sac, and because of that tear, all the synthetic fluid they had put in came out, along with gushes of blood. I wasn’t about to wake up my children in this crime scene and traumatize them, so I drove myself to the emergency room. That was hard, but I made it.

At the hospital, they admitted me, monitored me, did ultrasounds, saw where the tear was, and basically told me there were no more options. They told me I was no longer eligible for the surgery to save the baby.

The next morning, the main MFM specialist who had been treating me came to the hospital and sat down with me. He said, “I became a maternal-fetal medicine doctor because I love babies. I want to save babies. I want to do everything and learn everything I can to help babies. But in this situation, termination would be equivalent to putting down an animal out of kindness.” He said he doesn’t agree with abortion, he’s pro-life, but in this situation there should be no other option. And then he said, “But unfortunately, due to the laws, you just have to go home and wait for his heart to stop.”

I went to a weekly ultrasound to see if the baby’s heart was still beating, and it was beating every single time. My midwife, who was part of my OB/GYN’s practice, saw just how much pain I was in and how horrible this was for me. She suggested I look into termination. At this point, I was already more than 26 weeks pregnant, so my only viable option was to seek care out of state. She recommended a clinic in Washington, D.C., because it provided later abortion care.

I left that appointment, thought about what she said for two seconds, and immediately called the clinic. I didn’t want my son to be born to suffer. I also knew that watching my baby suffocate until he died was not something I personally could go through.

I was in tears on the phone. The first available appointment was two weeks away. Those two weeks were even harder than the previous three. I was just sitting there thinking, This is the last time I’m going to feel him kick.

About four days before my appointment in D.C., I was putting up Halloween decorations and I felt a huge gush of blood. Immediately, I thought, Oh, this is it. This nightmare might be over and I might not have to go to D.C.
I called my doctor and he said that since the bleeding was intermittent, I should wait until the morning to come in for an ultrasound. Then, at the ultrasound, he said, “He still has a heartbeat. We don’t see you bleeding consistently enough to admit you, so just go home and keep us updated.” The next day, the problem persisted. So I called again, went in for an ultrasound, and was admitted to the nearest hospital.

The maternal-fetal medicine specialist assigned to me knew what I was planning to do — to go to D.C. for an abortion — and he treated me horribly. He wanted to treat the baby with magnesium and steroids to “help his lungs and his brain develop” even though there was no chance he’d survive. He kept saying, “If this was a healthy baby, you would be doing everything you could to fight for him.” And I was like, “You’re right. But that’s not the case!” He and the nurse kept questioning me, saying, “Why don’t you want to fight for him?”

He said he couldn’t treat me until my bleeding became “a fountain of blood,” at which point he’d perform a C-section. Then he left the room. My mind was just blown.

By then, I was in incredible pain. I have never experienced pain like that before. It came on so fast — very sharp pains on the right lower side of my abdomen. I was screaming, “I need something!” They gave me Stadol, which is an opioid. They said that was the only pain medication they could give a pregnant person. It knocked me out. I was still awake, but I was gone. My midwife kept saying how sorry she was, that this shouldn’t be happening, and that she wished she could make the doctors care about my life more, but her hands were tied. Other than her, it seemed like nobody else was on my side.

Then my regular OB/GYN came in to see me. I had been with his office for my previous pregnancies as well, and he actually delivered my youngest daughter. I asked him, “Why can’t I just be induced and hold the baby until he passes? He has a zero percent chance to live.”

And my OB/GYN said, “You’re requesting that I perform an abortion, and my morals and my beliefs do not align with that. I think you should seek treatment elsewhere.” And he walked out. I had been his patient for so long. When he did that, I started to cry. I thought, Is this real life? Do other people go through this? Is this how they treat people when their life is on the line?

I was also still out of my mind from the painkiller. It truly felt like they were trying to shut me up just because I was asking to be induced. And through all of this, I was alone — my husband was at home taking care of our kids.

I asked for the papers to sign myself out against medical advice, and the nurses rushed in and said, “You could bleed out at any time. You could hemorrhage and die.” I responded, “If it seems like that could happen at any minute, I should be treated right away. Or else I’m going to advocate for myself and go to the place where they are going to give me care.”

I didn’t want to wait to possibly hemorrhage and bleed out, so I signed myself out.

The drive to D.C. took about six hours. My husband drove, and I wondered if I would hemorrhage in the car. We kept having to stop and pull over because of the blood gushing and the pain coming and going. I was wearing a pad, but it really wasn’t enough. Looking back, I definitely should’ve used a diaper.

Thankfully, we made it. The procedure in D.C. cost $8,800, and we had to put down a $200 deposit, bringing the total to $9,000. We also had to rent a car, but thankfully the Brigid Alliance — a nonprofit that supports people traveling for abortion care — covered the car rental, hotel stay, and gas. They were truly lifesavers — without them, I honestly don’t know how we would’ve made it to D.C.

My memory of the clinic is somewhat blurry because it was such a traumatic experience. On the day I arrived, the doctors and nurses explained everything that was going to happen and how it would happen. I was not very educated about abortion. They told me that when you’re that far along, usually they can’t get the fetus out in one piece. That scenario had never crossed my mind. I had just assumed I was going to have the baby and be able to hold him after, and I couldn’t imagine the alternative.

The doctor came in and began asking me questions about my previous pregnancies and my labors, and I shared that my first three labors were really fast. I believe that because the doctor knew that, the team was able to perform the procedure in a way that allowed me to hold my baby.

Someone handed him to me — he was wrapped up in a blanket. And I just remember his face. It was so perfect that it was hard to believe he had so many problems. But then, I remember a nurse said, “We suggest that you not unwrap his blanket because of how small his chest is, compared to how big his belly is.” That was because of all the abnormalities. I had wanted to hold him and see him so badly, but that kind of ruined it. I’d had three healthy, chubby babies, so holding a very, very small baby — he measured much less than 27 weeks — I thought, I should not be seeing my child like this.

I handed Clay back. For a long time, I regretted not holding him longer.

Almost exactly two years later, in September 2023 when I was 31 years old, we took a vacation to the beach. I had recently sold my kids’ cribs, the safety table, everything we had bought for Clay. I was like, “I’ll never be pregnant again. I’m never having another baby. This is it.” But then, on vacation, I took a pregnancy test.

It was bittersweet because I was terrified to be pregnant in West Virginia again, especially after the fall of Roe. But a small piece of me was still excited thinking that maybe I’d get to have another healthy pregnancy. That Clay wasn’t the end of my story with pregnancy.

Now, my husband, he would have a football team if he could. He was so excited. I’m sure deep down it was scary for him, but he felt like he needed to be strong for me. His excitement made it a lot easier.

I found a different OB/GYN, and he was very sensitive, really great to me, knowing my past. From the beginning, he took time to listen to my entire story and made it clear he would do whatever it took to make me feel safe and supported. He took all my concerns seriously and never once made me feel like a burden.

From a health perspective, this pregnancy was easy. With my first three and with Clay, I had hyperemesis gravidarum, where you’re very sick, throwing up all the time. With this pregnancy, I still got sick, but it was nowhere near as extreme as in the past.

Yet no matter how easy it was, it didn’t take away from the fact that I felt like I couldn’t breathe until my 20-week ultrasound. The sonographer was so kind and took her time, reassuring me that the baby looked 100 percent healthy — especially pointing out how good his kidneys looked and that there was no sign of LUTO or any other abnormalities.

At 39 weeks, my husband and I went in so I could have a scheduled induction — that was my choice. It helped me feel more in control. They gave me an epidural and the medicine to induce me and then they told me to try to take a nap because nothing was supposed to happen for a few hours. But I knew I was going to progress fast. Within an hour, I was pushing. I hit the button to call them back, pushed three times, and the baby was out. The moment I heard him cry, I finally felt like I could breathe. We named him Chris.

As soon as the baby was born, they handed him to me right away for skin-to-skin. It was such a relief. But something in me also just kept thinking, This is how I wish it could have been with Clay. It just sucks when life deals you that card. To have gone through all that and then be able to have a normal, healthy pregnancy where everything is easy and smooth, you just think, Why didn’t I get that with him?

Looking back, I feel like somebody should have sat down with me at my 20-week ultrasound and said, “Yes, you can go to Cincinnati and do all this. But also, you could go another way — you could have an abortion — and that would also be a selfless decision.” I just feel that both options should have been put on the table. I was really naïve back then.

Eventually, I found out the needles used in my procedures in Cincinnati had damaged my placenta. When I was 26 weeks and started bleeding, it was because I was having a slow placental abruption. Had I not checked myself out of that hospital and advocated for myself, I might have lost my life or my fertility.

I firmly believe that if I hadn’t gone to D.C. for that procedure, I wouldn’t have Chris — I wouldn’t have the healthy, happy 1-year-old I have now.

He has been my easiest baby so far. He’s the sweetest baby. He’s so happy. And this may be a little woo-woo, but it feels like there’s a piece of Clay still in him. I don’t know if Clay sent him to me, but I do feel like there’s some type of bond there. Sometimes, when we’re lying down, Chris will literally just hold my face and look at me. He’s always done that from the beginning. Having him healed a part of my soul.

The names of the subjects have been changed to protect their identities.

Want to submit your own story about having a child? Email thisbaby@nymag.com and tell us a little about how you became a parent (and read our submission terms here).

See All