This week marks 4 years since Texas’ first abortion ban, which passed almost a year before the Dobbs decision. Texas was the first state to outlaw abortion, and now, during the second special session, anti-abortion extremists are trying to force through a fourth ban despite Texans defeating it in both the regular session and the first special session. Their agenda is clear: control and cruelty at the expense of our wishes, our care, our rights and our lives.
Texas is the testing ground. The same lawmakers who passed these bans have also forced through gerrymandered maps, voter suppression, and attacks on trans healthcare during the special sessions. Their goal is clear, to lock down power and control who gets care, whose bodies are protected, and whose lives are expendable. Survivors deserve better, Texas deserves better.
Across Texas, survivors of the ban are navigating unimaginable physical, emotional, and financial harm. Texans are being forced to carry pregnancies they did not choose, pregnancies that threaten their health, or pregnancies that cannot survive. Others are crossing state lines at great cost, risking their jobs and safety to get the care they need. Too many have been denied care altogether and left to suffer because extremist lawmakers care more about control than caring for Texans.
Their stories are not outliers. They are the predictable outcome of laws designed to control, and not care for our bodies, our communities and our state. These stories are not accidents of policy, they’re part of a larger authoritarian playbook that strips away bodily autonomy, silences dissent, and consolidates political power no matter who gets hurt along the way.
Anti-abortion extremists at the legislature don’t want to hear Texans stories because it holds a mirror to their cruelty. That’s not going to stop us from telling the truth about abortion bans. Here are Lauren’s and Sam’s stories:
Lauren Miller – My name is Lauren Miller. When I got pregnant the second time, my husband and I already had a 19-month-old son. So, as we say in Texas, this was not my first rodeo. But from the very beginning, this pregnancy was nothing like my first.
Pregnancy is never easy. The nausea, the exhaustion, the shooting nerve pain in your joints. Before I’d even had my first prenatal appointment, I found myself in the Emergency Room after 36 hours of relentless nausea and vomiting. This wasn’t normal.
But that was when I learned it was twins! Despite the shock and extreme sickness, I was thrilled. I had always wanted three kids! I reached out to friends with twins for advice and started planning a celestial-themed nursery.
We called them “Los Dos” (“The Two”) and, every night before we went to sleep, my husband gave my belly two kisses – one for each twin. Everything changed at the 12-week ultrasound. The doctor explained that while one twin was fine, the same couldn’t be said for the other. In addition to measuring smaller than expected, he had two large fluid masses where his brain should be developing. Further testing revealed that our baby had Trisomy 18 and additional ultrasounds showed one heartbreaking issue after another.
You never want to hear a doctor say your son isn’t going to survive, not even to birth. But what could we do? As my medical providers tried to counsel me on my options, they would stop mid-sentence looking for the right words. It was like they were afraid they would be arrested just for saying the word “abortion” out loud.
I’ll never forget when one specialist tore off his gloves in frustration and threw them at the trash. “I can’t help you anymore,” he said. “You need to leave the state.” His directness was refreshing.
After speaking with multiple doctors and genetic counselors, we kept arriving at the same point: our son, Thomas, would die. It was just a matter of how soon. And every day that Thomas continued to develop, he put his twin brother and myself at higher risk — something that I faced when days later, I had to go to the ER for a second time. None of the anti-nausea medicines were working, and I was shaking and dry heaving so violently that I could not drive. Despite being at risk of organ failure, I was not dead enough for an abortion – a fact reaffirmed by the Texas Attorney General and Texas Supreme Court and never rectified by the Texas legislature. All that the doctors could do was repeat “I’m so sorry” over and over and over.
They told me to go home and pack a bag because when – not if – I returned to the hospital, I would be admitted for the duration of my pregnancy. I would be admitted until I lost both twins.
I just wanted to curl up and cry and mourn. But I couldn’t. Because I had to scramble to make plans to travel out-of-state for an abortion to make sure my now-healthy, two-year-old son, Henry, and I would have the best chance of surviving this pregnancy. We just felt completely lost, like we were in a dark room feeling for a door. We couldn’t even get answers to basic questions.
I’ve shared my story many times because I don’t want anyone else to go through anything like what we went through. The worst part of finding out that we were going to lose our son should never have been trying to navigate a manufactured legislative minefield.
Politicians have tried to turn Texans against one another. To sow confusion and doubt. To make us wary of people we should trust. To create pain and punish those without extensive resources. I was lucky. I had connections to out-of-state doctors. I had family to watch my son. We had the time and money to make the journey. But layers of privilege should never determine which Texans can get access to the healthcare they need.
Politicians in Texas are prohibiting healthcare that they don’t understand. They could do something. But they’re not. They’re doing the opposite. And it’s killing us.
It shouldn’t be controversial for an individual to make the best healthcare decision for
themselves in consultation with their doctors. But you can’t get that in Texas anymore.
This is not healthcare. Healthcare should not be determined by some politician with no understanding of medicine or the critical role that abortion plays in pregnancy care. I have lost one son already. Thomas’s ashes now sit on a shelf in my office, next to me every day. And if the Texas legislature had gotten its way, it is very likely that my son, Henry, and I would be in there with him.
Samantha Casiano –Thank you so much for the work you do. It means everything to me and my family. This fourth abortion ban is truly terrifying. I worry for Texans who wake up every day, get their kids ready for school, go to work to pay the bills, and are too busy surviving to even think how these cruel laws could one day affect their lives if not today, then someday. I know, because I was one of them. My family has worked hard for everything we have, doing our best to stay afloat while raising our children with love. Then came my 20-week scan with my fifth child. We found out she was the baby girl we had hoped for and that her name, Halo, would carry a heartbreaking truth.
Halo had anencephaly, a fatal condition where the brain and skull never fully develop. Nothing could save her. She was 100% incompatible with life and would likely live only minutes after birth. I thought I’d be granted an “exception” to give her mercy and compassion. I was wrong.
When I asked my options, I was told I had none. My doctor, someone I trusted with my life, risked prison for providing the care I needed. From 20 to 32 weeks, I woke up every morning pregnant, feeling Halo move, knowing she would die. No one should have to be a walking casket. I went to my children’s school events, endured strangers’ joy over my belly, and tried to hold it together for my other kids. Even though I broke no laws, we feared saying the wrong thing or searching for care outside Texas.
When Halo was born, she lived just a few agonizing hours. Her eyes bled. She gasped for air like a fish pulled from water. Her tiny body turned from pink to blue to purple before she died in her father’s arms. That trauma will stay with me forever. Exceptions don’t work. Pregnancy doesn’t fit neatly into legal boxes, and denying doctors the ability to care for patients is dangerous. I share my story so no other family is forced into this cruelty. Lawmakers want you to think they’ve fixed the problem, but bills like SB31 don’t even mention fatal fetal anomalies. People think everything is fine until they hear stories like mine.
The people in your life who might need abortion care in the future are in danger if we stay silent. We must keep speaking out and telling our truths. Not every story is like mine, but every story matters. With humanity, unity, and movement, we can make change. Abortion is healthcare. Healthcare is a human right. I hope my truth helps.