Stormie: A Story of Forgiveness and Healing by Stormie Omartian

questioned. “And he’ll put me to sleep and I won’t feel any pain?”
    “Of course,” the voice mumbled and hung up.
    At three o‘clock a short, stocky, balding man came to my door. He was nervous and constantly mopped his sweaty forehead with a dirty white handkerchief. I got in his car and we drove a short distance to an obscure, low-class motel near the center of town. We entered through the back door and took the elevator to the second floor. He had a room key and we quickly entered one of the rooms. Until now I had thought this operation would be a breeze like last time, but as we entered the sleazy motel room I knew I was wrong.
    “Where’s the doctor?” I panicked. “Where’s the anesthesiol ogist? Where’s the equipment?”
    “Shh! You gotta be quiet. People will hear you.” He snapped. “The doctor will be in as soon as you’re ready. Let me see the cash.”
    I gave him the money.
    “Take off all your clothes from the waist down and lay face up on that chest of drawers.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding!” I said. “Where is the doctor? I want to see him first.”
    “Look, do you want the operation or not!” he spoke gruffly.
    Seeing no alternative, I did as he said. The man then put a blindfold tightly around my eyes and tied a gag over my mouth. “You must not see the doctor or make any noise,” he explained. “These operations are extremely dangerous now. The police are cracking down. We can’t give you anesthetic because we must move fast if there’s any problem. Believe me, this is the best way.”
    I was numb with fright as he tied me to the top of the chest of drawers. No anesthetic? My heart pounded wildly. I didn’t know this man. He could take my money and leave me there. Then I heard the door open quietly and someone else enter the room. The two of them whispered briefly and I could tell the other person was a man. Soon I heard the clanking of surgical tools.
    Then the real nightmare began. The first man placed himself across the top half of my body while the “doctor” began the work of the abortion. As he scraped and cut, I began to cry. I gagged and retched and experienced the most excruciating pain of my entire life. It seemed endless. I groaned so loudly that the man placed the full force of his chest over my face to stifle the sounds. I was afraid I might smother. Finally there was one excruciating cut on the inside of me that felt like it must have severed the baby from the uterine wall. It was beyond any pain I could possibly have imagined. A few seconds later it was over, and the doctor left the room immediately.
    The man untied me, took off the blindfold and gag, and the phone rang. He answered it, but I was in such pain and shock that I didn’t notice what he said. I slid off the chest and stumbled toward the bed for my clothes. Nausea, sobs, and pain racked my whole body.
    The man hung up the phone, turned to me, and said angrily, “Clean up this mess. The police are downstairs and the place is swarming with FBI agents.”
    Just as he said that, I threw up all over the bed and my clothes. Vomit and blood covered my legs. The man, full of disgust, ran to clean up the mess around the chest of drawers. What had been cut out of my body lay in bloody paper towels on the floor, and he wanted that evidence against him destroyed. “Finish cleaning up and flush everything down the toilet,” he instructed as he fled from the room.
    I did not want to be found in this condition either, so as sick as I was, I picked up all the blood-soiled paper towels and followed his instructions. With terry towels from the bathroom I wiped the blood and vomit from my legs, the bed, the chest of drawers, and the floor. I cleaned off my clothes as best I could and hurriedly put them back on. Tears mixed with sweat, mascara, and vomit ran down my face. I was still convulsing with sobs.
    The man came back relieved. “There was a kidnapping downstairs. It has nothing to do with us. I’ll