Cross-sourced from the Leading Edge
Last November my fourth child was born.
It was a moment of great joy for my wife and I, as the births of all of our children have been. But it was also a moment tinged with profound sadness.
You see, on my first trip back into the hospital after my son had been born I was confronted by the sign pictured above. It was stuck to the wall beside the elevators that take parents and visitors up to the maternity wards.
For those that don’t know, Lyndhurst is an abortion clinic.
It used to be located on the other side of town, but now, because of the earthquakes, it is literally on the other side of the hospital complex, and therein lies the truly tragic irony.
On one side of the hospital doctors and nurses dedicate themselves, their training and their skills to safely ushering unborn human beings into this world from the womb. And in this same part of the hospital is the neonatal unit, where medical personal move heaven and earth to provide 24-hour care for newborn babies with a variety of special needs, ranging from prematurity, surgery, congenital abnormalities and those compromised at birth.
And at the same time, in the same hospital complex, merely a few minutes walk away, medical professionals are using their training to end the lives of unborn human beings, largely for reasons of social convenience.
The sadness of this grave hypocrisy struck a deep chord within me as I rode the elevator up to the maternity ward to be with my wife and our newborn son.
Just hours before, at the time of his birth, our son had experienced some trouble breathing unassisted, and I remember watching as several staff members set about suctioning fluid from his tiny lungs and holding a tiny oxygen mask over his nose and mouth to assist him in his attempts to take in air. This went on for some time, and he literally came within one or two minutes of having to be moved upstairs to the neonatal ward for further assistance. Thankfully, at the last minute he started breathing like he was supposed to and it never came to that.
As I took that brief elevator ride, thinking about what had transpired with my son’s breathing just hours earlier in the delivery suite, the full reality of the sign I had seen below outside the elevator hit home to me.
The only difference between my son, and the other babies that would be aborted on the same day, in the same hospital complex where he had been born, and where medical staff had worked extra hard to make sure he was safe and healthy, was that my son was wanted, those other unborn babies were not.
And because they are not wanted, our culture has deemed that those unborn human beings are not entitled to the same right to life, and nor do they have the same worth as the wanted ones, like my son, who was treated with such care and concern by the medical staff on the morning of his birth.
The specter of an abortion clinic which deliberately takes the lives of unborn sons and daughters just minutes away from where other sons and daughters are brought forth from the womb with utmost care and devotion stands as a testament to the callous indifference and the grave ethical stupor that our culture now finds itself mired in.
As I was writing this blog post last week, two stories came across the newswires that reinforce this very point.
Firstly, a New Zealand farmer was jailed for two years and one month for treating his herd of dairy cows with cruelty, and an Australian TV star was reduced to a tearful admission of guilt on public radio after being photographed smoking while pregnant.
Now don’t get me wrong, I think that treating animals with cruelty and smoking while pregnant are both wrong. It’s just that on the very same day that the media was focusing on these two events, almost 50 innocent unborn human beings had their lives violently taken from them in abortion clinics around this country. And it didn’t even rate so much as a single tweet.