How dare you, Donald Trump – my baby was 'ripped out of my womb' because I was going to die

I fought like hell to get pregnant. And I wanted those babies more than anything. Let me be clear: this was the very worst day of my life

Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump holds a child as he speaks during a rally at the KI Convention Center on October 17, 2016 in Green Bay, Wisconsin (Getty Images)

I’ve written this story more times than I can count because people keep saying bullshit like what Trump said in the debate last night. In case you were smart and didn’t watch, here’s what he said:

“If you go with what Hillary is saying, in the ninth month, you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb of the mother just prior to the birth of the baby.

Now, you can say that that’s OK and Hillary can say that that’s OK. But it’s not OK with me, because based on what she’s saying, and based on where she’s going, and where she’s been, you can take the baby and rip the baby out of the womb in the ninth month on the final day. And that’s not acceptable.”

Listen, you f*****g idiot. What you described literally never happens.

If a baby is near full term and the mother is sick — say, like me, dying from a pregnancy related disease like preeclampsia—they deliver the f*****g baby alive if possible. In fact, if the baby is past viability, they will whisk it to the NICU once born and do their damnedest to save that baby’s life.

But here’s the thing: viability varies. Foetuses, you might be surprised to know, grow at different rates and are impacted by different things so “viability” is fluid and is not a one-size-fits-all determination of the likelihood of the baby surviving outside the womb. And sometimes babies are so sick they won’t survive—even in the ninth month of pregnancy. Even so, those babies are DELIVERED, not “ripped out”, you f*****g asshole.

Not that you’ll listen to me, you selfish opportunistic prick, because I’m extremely low on your personal p***y-grabbing scale being both old AND fat, but here’s my story, briefly.

I fought like hell to get pregnant. After our first IVF cycle, I was pregnant with twin boys. At a routine ultrasound appointment at 23 and a half weeks pregnant, we found out one of the twins had died. My doctor asked me to come from the ultrasound clinic to his office to chat once we learned this, and it was during that appointment that I was given three standard tests: I was weighed, my blood pressure was taken, and my urine tested for protein.

The results were terrible. My blood pressure was ridiculously high, I’d gained 18 pounds of fluid in just a week or so, and my urine dipstick actually turned black because there was so much protein being shed by my body. (Find out about the symptoms of preeclampsia here.)

It was preeclampsia, a disease that effects some 5 to 8 per cent of pregnancies. 76,000 women each year DIE from this disease. And guess what cures preeclampsia? Only one thing: ending the pregnancy.

Here’s the good news: in most cases, preeclampsia develops later in pregnancy, and most of those babies are saved. This is fantastic, although it’s also worth noting that preeclampsia is one of the leading causes of cerebral palsy.

But that’s not what happened to me.

Once I was admitted to the hospital, I started getting sicker. I started vomiting. My blood pressure soared. My head hurt so badly I thought it would kill me. I stopped producing urine as my organs began to shut down. I was moments away from seizures, comas, and death — yes, motherf****r, DEATH—when a team of doctors surrounded my bed and told me I had to terminate the pregnancy or my surviving son and I would BOTH die.

Let me make this very, very clear: this was the worst f*****g day of my life. It was absolutely wrenching, devastating, and horrid. My husband and I sobbed after we received the news.

We wanted those babies more than anything.

(Another note: if you tell me that the doctors lied to me and my surviving twin was far enough along to go to the NICU, go back and read what I said about viability. Because of the nature of my disease, my surviving twin was tiny and near death. He would not have lived. So spare me your “prolife” bulls**t links and faux kindness, m’kay?)

And my doctor—who happened to be only one of TWO doctors in the Philadelphia area who knew how do the procedure that would save my life—said it was also the worst day of his professional career. It sucked. For all of us. So f*****g much.

Donald, what you described literally never happens. EVER. Nope, not once. Not ever. In EVERY SINGLE CASE of pregnancy termination done in the final trimester of pregnancy it is because the mother is dying or the baby’s condition is incompatible with life.

Do you understand? Oh, why the f**k did I even ask that? Of course you don’t. Because you live in an alternate universe while the rest of us are over here living in motherf*****g reality.

Asshole. F**k you, Trump. Just that. F**K YOU.

Cecily Kellogg writes regularly for Medium and you can read more of her articles here. This post was originally published on Medium and has been reposted with the author's permission