At 38, I didn't think I could get pregnant. I've never consistently used a birth control method and even my PCP told me I was getting to the age where I didn't even need to worry about it anymore. I didn't know, and still don't know if I want children. Other people's babies are so adorable but do I want that awesome responsibility? I still don't know.

Four months ago, I reconnected with my first love and I got pregnant the very first time we had sex. When the home pregnancy test came back positive, I was in complete shock. I am normally so responsible, how did I let this happen?

Without even giving it a moments thought, I made an appointment to have an abortion. (I still can barely bring myself to use that word). I told myself that this was "just a procedure" and no big deal. To further downplay what I was about to do, I went to the appointment alone even though my boyfriend wanted to be there for me.

Immediately after the procedure, I was relieved. I wasn't even remotely sad.

When I went for my follow up, I was told that I was still pregnant and the procedure would have to be repeated! I had to do this twice -- does that mean my baby was mutilated and in pain for two weeks?

Four months later, I am devastated. What did I do? I named the "baby," decided it was a boy and have calculated when he would've been born. That baby was a special gift from God -- made especially for my boyfriend and I, and I killed it. I cry about it at least every other day. I mentally beat myself up constantly and consider myself a murderer.

Although I only told a few close friends, I regret telling anyone at all. I feel that I have completely marred the person of good character that I worked so hard to be.

Sometimes I lie in bed and cry wondering if my baby is in heaven and if he will ever be able to forgive me. I am so sad because babies should be warm and safe and not ripped out of their home and killed. I pray SO HARD that my Lucas didn't feel any pain. I wish I had it all to do over again.