I walked into a giant paradox today. I stood inside a building marked “Women and Children’s Hospital” to visit a relation whose twin daughters were born premature. After visiting in her room, she asked if my wife and I wanted to go down and see the now three-day-old miracles of life. “Of course!” we exclaimed. Who would not want to see these twenty-five week old babies?
We took an elevator up to the NICU, an intimidating place not only in name. After being scanned for valid IDs, checked against the allowed guests, and thoroughly looked up and down by the head nurse, we were allowed to proceed into the inner sanctuary.
The magnetic lock clicked; we walked inside. Before we could go more than five feet, my wife and I turned aside and scrubbed our arms up to the elbow for three and a half minutes. We then cleaned under our nails, dried our arms, and put a smock on over our clothes.
Finally, we could go forward.
We walked up to the chambers the girls lay in, and within seconds someone asked if we could be helped. If you have not noticed, the hospital takes the NICU and premature babies seriously.
I stood looking at the little girls full of needles, cords, tubes moving their little twenty-five week old arms and legs. I was astounded at the level of life these two babies showed. Chests heaved defying the icy cold grips of death. These little twelve-inch, one & a half pound marvels were vibrant! One of the babies kicked her legs and moved her arms several times.
Babies in the NICU ward have their own doctor. Twelve nurses rotate shifts to cover and care for the babies. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of machines stood alert watching and beeping while these little champions battle and grow.
I stood inside a paradox.
Because less than three floors below, babies this age were being aborted.
My mind was struck with a sobering thought: what makes those little babies any different than these two precious girls laboring to breathe before my eyes? All political comments and points aside—how are the babies being given 24/7 care on one floor while life of the same age is snuffed out just floors below? I do not buy the myth and lie fetuses are not human beings until living on their own. I cannot. I witnessed two baby girls breathing in a world they should not have seen for another three or four months. Only an emergency c-section separated these twenty-five week old babies from their peers.
One day after the fortieth anniversary of Roe vs. Wade, I am left speechless. I cannot understand how a place dedicated to protecting twenty-five week old premature babies does not see a distinction between them and the blobs of tissue being aborted.
Why are we so blind to this paradox of life and death?
We are willing to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to save premature infants, but we turn a blind eye to the murdering of fetuses the same age. Why so blind, my friends?