It’s time for Ky women to stand up: Our medical stuff is between us and our doctors.

In May 2020, my husband and I were fortunate enough to become pregnant with our first child after a long year of trying.

After seeing a disturbing amount of blood in the toilet at 9 weeks pregnant, I went to the emergency room to confirm what I already knew was happening and, most importantly, ensure that the fetus had passed completely out of my body.

You see, the first thing doctors tell you about miscarriage is if the deceased fetus or any “products of pregnancy” (as they say) remain in a woman’s body, she is at immediate risk for infection and even sepsis. In which case, she would need what is colloquially called “an abortion.” Given miscarriage occurs in an estimated 1 out of 4 pregnancies, this is unfortunately something that happens often.

I was lucky the doctor said—all of my child had flushed down the toilet.

Is this gross to you? It definitely is to me. Frankly, it is so gross to be a woman. I’ve known since I was a teen that in order for me to have a family, I’d need to go through some really gross things—invasive exams, patronizing doctors, a labor and delivery where all kinds of gruesome and slippery things would come out of me, and of course, risk serious medical trauma and even death.

Being a woman comes with so much gross risk in fact, that an emergency room doctor, in the early months of a global pandemic, looked at me in a bed full of blood and “products of pregnancy,” mask askew, crying for the child I so deeply wanted, and called me lucky.

And in some ways I was. I received the medical care I needed, and was sent home with some ibuprofen and a “better luck next time”, neither of which did anything for the physical and mental pain I was feeling.

But here’s my opinion for the opinion page: I’m not lucky. I’m a person with a uterus living in Kentucky, where there is a constitutional amendment on the ballot to determine if I can make medical decisions for myself or not.

Where’s the luck in that? I was born here, went to public school here, went to college here, pay taxes here, own a farm here, and I plan to send the beautiful son we now have to school here. But if we want to grow our family, we have to roll a loaded dice and pray I don’t need a life-saving procedure, because then the state I’ve so loved would turn its back on me. A daughter of Kentucky: valuable for her tax dollars, but not her life.

Kentuckians, by all means, please practice the faiths, creeds, and politics that you so choose. Enjoy your right to life, liberty, and a pursuit of happiness—whatever that means to you. But it’s time for the daughters of Kentucky to stand up and say: please leave our gross medical stuff between us and our doctors. Our lives depend on it.

Vote No on constitutional amendment 2 on Nov. 8.

Laura Ludka is an alumna of Scott County High School, Centre College, and Loyola University of Chicago and lives in Mercer County with her husband, Rich, and son, Henry.

This story was originally published October 27, 2022 at 9:23 AM.