Thursday, April 11, 2013

How Did I Survive An Abortion? by Imre Teglasy

Tribulation Times

April 12, 2013  
(Psa 8:4-6) What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou visitest him?  Thou hast made him a little less than the angels, thou hast crowned him with glory and honour: And hast set him over the works of thy hands. 

SHOCKINGDoctors in China Have Performed 336 Million Abortions Since 1971

Official data from China’s health ministry has revealed just how pervasive abortions have been in China since it instituted its one-child policy. Since 1971, Chinese doctors have performed 336 million abortions in a country with a population of 1.35 billion. They have also performed 196 million sterilizations and inserted 403 million intrauterine devices, a birth control procedure that some have said are forced on women in China, reports the Financial Times. China has estimated that without the birth restrictions its population would now be around 30 percent larger.

In the United States, with about one-quarter of China’s population, an estimated 50 million abortions have been performed since the Roe v Wade decision legalized the practice in 1973. Even though many have been calling for a softening of the one-child rule, the number of procedures has remained steady since the late 1990s, with around 7 million abortions and 2 million sterilizations per year. 

EXCERPT VIA Anne Lastman: Broken Branches Issue 92 ( 

How Did I Survive An Abortion? by Imre Teglasy (Hungary)

I begin my story with my family, and especially with my father, who was a major  in Hungary  till the  end  of the Second  World  War. As a professional soldier  with  his religious  conviction  (he was born in a Catholic family of eight  children) he  was  declared a  class-enemy of the new Communist regime and was sacked at once and removed with  his wife and  two sons  from Budapest  to the Great Hungarian  Plain (puszta). They were  ordered not  to leave  their  dwelling  place. He could  hardly  find the  most  basic  job ... he and  his family were  starving.

In  this  sad  plight  my  father's  wife  realized   she  was pregnant. My father  tried  to protect me, but my mother did  not  want  to  carry  me  to  term. But  it  was  not  so simple to get rid of an unborn baby in the early '50s ... so she asked my grandfather staying in the capital to get a doctor who would be willing to perform the abortion. He found such a doctor in Budapest  but class enemies  were not  allowed  to  leave  the  plain  (puszta), so  while  my father  was  absent   she  tried  to  cause  an  abortion by jumping down from a kitchen table; when that failed she took very hot baths in a tub but they were not successful either.  Then  she  got  a  lot  of  quinine   pills  from  her brother. She took  them  but  they  were  not  sufficient  to cause a miscarriage so I was born.

I heard  the story of my birth accidentally  when I was 11 years  old  and  when  my  father  and  I were  staying  in Yugoslavia with relatives. It was late at night and I had gone  to  bed  in the  room  in which  my father  and  my relatives  were   talking.  At  that   time  my  parents had already   divorced   and  one  of  my  relatives  asked   my father  why.  Thinking  I was  asleep,  my father  told  him the story.

As I lay there  in bed, neither a small child nor an adult, I cried, speechlessly, all night long into my pillow. I experienced an emotional earthquake. I felt good myself and I did not know why my mother had tried  to kill me at all.

I  am  still  looking  for  the  answer  which  is  perhaps blowing  with  the  wind, since she died  some  years  ago. There  are  two  different  expressions in our  Hungarian language    concerning "mother".    One of them ("édesanya")  is  connected  with  "sweetness" meaning that  the sweetness of a loving mother has a connection to  the  milk you  get  from  her  bosom. The  other  word ("anya") simply means  that somebody has a mother but this  term  is very  formal  and  has  no special  content of sentiment so one  uses  this  term  in every  official form requiring the  name  of your  parent. In fact my mother tried to kill me, terrorized by the economical pressure of the  regime  and  when  it was  not  successful  she  didn't give me suck, so I was neither able to enjoy her milk nor her love.

Later  when  I was two years  old I was found  by a very nice  young  lady  who  lifted  me  up  to  her  heart  from under  the  kitchen  table. She  bought  me  new  clothes, shoes, brought me to the opera-house for performances (since she was a ballet-dancer) and to the photographer since she was proud  of "her" nice godson ... my relatives told  me  that  I had  usually  called  her  with  this  word: "mother"  (édesanya).

My biological mother could not love me although  I was begging  or  dancing  for her  approval and  acceptance. I studied well, become a well-known  writer by publishing several  books, carried  out  scientific  research and  won academic  honours but everything seemed  to be in vain since  I was  not  able  to win her  love. In my twenties I published a  book  of  poems  and  one  of  these  works reflects on my life story using the ancient  Greek myth of Penelope. In this  poem  you  can  analyse  the  confused bonding  of an abortion-survivor with his parent or with the abuser of her child.


You sit on the stigma of silence with averted eyes
You would draw my face
onto your withered lap Spin it over weave it through with sea-blue veins
with scarlet reed
Spin me over weave me through with snake
with strand of hair Unravel me by night give birth to me by day only kill me by night

You would piece together my bones a stripped-down image
for the walls of your palace bind my skin and gut
as strings onto your harp.
Is it an axe that I am? Propped up in a corner is it a prince?
sewn inside a frog's skin.

(Translated by Eva Kovacs-Hicks, Toronto)

It took  50  years  of pain  and  sorrow to  overcome  the situation of a deeply damaged  (unborn) child and that of a  post-abortive mother  ...  I  always  tried   to  love  my mother ... meanwhile I realized  that  I hated  those  foods (cheese,  beer,  etc)   which   she   liked   whilst,  on   the contrary, I liked the kind of women who have black hair and  eyes, slight  face  which  reminded me  of my  god- mother. So many  times  I asked  myself:  where   is  my mother, how can I love her?

Before her  death  the  Lord gave me the  answer by His merciful  forgiveness. After so many years  of struggling, begging  and  dancing  for her  love I finally was  able  to
reconcile  with her before her death. It happened by not accepting    but    rather   understanding  some    of   the elements  of  the   kind   of  "internal"  terrorism  which pushed  and  pressured her  to kill me. And finally I am going to die too and I badly need this forgiveness of the Lord for my own sins as well.

There  is a picture  in my bedroom above  my bed. This photo  was taken by the sculpture of the Pieta carved  by Michelangelo in the middle of 16th century. The picture illustrates the  Blessed  Virgin who  is a Patron  Saint  of Hungary  and  now she is perhaps my mother and hope and trust  as well.

Against the  civilization  of death  I am now  working  for the  culture   of  life  full  time.  From  the  special  grace offered me by Almighty God, the Creator, I have a large family  ...  The  smiles  of my  children  and  wife  are  my strongest  weapons in  doing  my  duty  to  protect life! Thanks to the Lord!

LINK TO ENTIRE ISSUEBroken Branches Issue 92 for April/May, 2013

VIDEOPersonal Story: Imre Téglásy, Human Life International
Thoughts and Sayings of Saint Margaret Mary: Self-effacement--Detachment
12. May He teach you what He desires of you, and may He give you the strength to accomplish it perfectly! If I am not mistaken this, in a few words, is what I think He chiefly requires of you: He wishes that you should learn to live withut support- without a friend- and without satisfaction. In proportion as you ponder over these words, He will help you to understand them.

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