I Had to Leave My State of Tennessee to Get An Abortion Post-Roe v. Wade Even Though My Health Was At Risk
I’m a mom of one whose wanted and planned for pregnancy wasn’t “compatible with life”
From a very young age, I knew I wanted to be a mom, and on June 10, 2017, my dream became a reality when I had my first baby at the age of 22. I was a single mom in college and ended up having to take on three jobs just to get by. But I did what I had to do because I loved being a mom.
Fast forward three years later when I met my now husband. His name is Bryan, and a little fun fact is we had dated once before in high school but went our separate ways for about 10 years. But now that he’d come back into my life, we both knew we didn’t want to be apart.
We married on March 20, 2022, and began the search to find our perfect home to settle down and raise a family. After months of searching, we finally found the house we wanted and moved in the weekend of Halloween.
After getting married, Bryan and I both agreed that once we moved into a house we would begin trying for a baby. It wasn’t but a week after moving in that I found out I was pregnant. We were so excited and my daughter, Adalie, who was five at the time, was thrilled to become a big sister! We called our close friends and family immediately to share the good news with them.
Like most couples, we wanted to wait until the first trimester was over before we announced to the rest of the world that we were expecting. Because the majority of miscarriages happen within the first three months of pregnancy, we wanted to make sure the risks of losing the baby were gone before we made the big announcement.
At 15 weeks we announce to our friends and family online that I’m expecting a little girl. We name her Miley Rose. Everything becomes more and more real as we buy a crib, strollers, baby clothes, diapers, and wipes, making the purchases a little bit here and there so it isn’t all one giant expense at the end.
We’ve already started to visualize the life we’re going to have once Miley is born. Adalie is ready to be the big sister who helps. February 20, 2023, is when my routine anatomy scan is scheduled. We make it a family trip to the doctor so we can all see little Miley’s growth.
Once at the clinic and back in the ultrasound room, we’re smiling and talking about what we see on the screen. But suddenly, the technician stops abruptly and says she needs to grab my doctor because she’s seen some “pretty serious things.” She walks out of the room and a knot grows in my throat.
What feels like forever is actually only a few minutes, and then my doctor walks through the door. Immediately, she states that she’s just looked over my scans and there’s no amniotic fluid surrounding Miley. Both of her kidneys seem to have formed abnormally and aren’t functioning. She measures at 15 weeks, a month behind from where she should be.
It's hard for me to grasp what’s being said to me so the first thing I think to ask is, “Is this my fault?” My doctor reassures me that these things can happen and nothing I did to caused it. She continues by saying there are more things she’s seen but wants to refer me over to a high-risk specialist for further testing. We’re sent over to the scheduling department to set up an appointment with a doctor at Tennessee Maternal Fetal Medicine Specialists.
February 24, 2024, just four days after my anatomy scan, I arrive at the high-risk clinic. This time it’s just me and Bryan. I go in with hopes that whatever may be wrong will have a solution. This is a planned for and wanted pregnancy, and I’m going to do whatever I need to so she can live.
I walk into another ultrasound room, but this time there’s no smiling or talking—just silence and the sound of my heart beating loudly. The technician finishes up the scan and says familiar words I’d heard just four days prior: “I need to grab the doctor.” A knot forms in my throat again, this time followed by silent tears.
The high-risk doctor comes into the room and immediately begins to ask me questions. “What was your first pregnancy like?” “Did you have any complications with that pregnancy?” No, it was completely normal, and Adalie came out healthy. She motions for the tech to start the ultrasound again and points at the TV, where we see Miley.
The next five minutes change my life forever. She confirms what my OBGYN told me: that there’s no amniotic fluid, neither of the kidneys are functioning, and Miley is measuring a month behind. But that isn’t all… how I wish it was.
The doctor continues to point at the screen and explain to us what we’re all looking at. Miley’s stomach and bladder haven’t formed correctly and aren’t functioning. They can’t find any lung development. Her heart only has two out of four working chambers.
The biggest anomaly of them all is her brain. She’s diagnosed with having semi-lobar holoprosencephaly (HPE). Her brain didn’t split completely down the middle and with this condition, only three percent of fetuses will survive to birth and most will die within the first year of life. It’s a fatal defect that, matched with everything else, makes Miley incompatible with life.
I feel my soul leave my body the moment she says those words. I’ve never felt disconnected from reality in that way before. I can see she’s talking to me, but I can’t hear her.
She steps out of the room, and I let out a cry that you only hear from a mother who’s just lost her child. The heartbreaking scream that no parent should ever have to experience. A few minutes go by, and she comes back into the room and asks if we have any questions for her. Through tears and sobbing, I ask her what are we supposed to do?
She says that I have two options moving forward: 1. I can continue the pregnancy, but I would be putting myself at risk of a miscarriage, stillbirth, or, if she were to survive birth, she would be put into hospice care immediately after to pass. Or 2. I can terminate the pregnancy, but due to Tennessee’s ban on abortion that was enacted just six months prior, I can’t terminate here. I would have to look out of state, and she can’t offer me any resources.
My husband then asks, “How long does she have?” The doctor says there’s no way to tell. She could pass tomorrow, in a week, or in a month. There’s no way for us to know, but the longer I stay pregnant, the worse Miley is going to get and the higher risk my health will become.
I know I can’t risk putting my life on the line with a five-year-old at home who needs her mom. We leave the clinic and head home to make the most impossible decision I’ve ever had to make. After talking with my husband and my mom, we decide that termination is the best route to protect my life and health.
Though Tennessee has a “life of the mother” exception outlined in the ban, and my doctor stated my life would become at risk if I chose to stay pregnant, I don’t qualify for the exception because I’m not sick enough. So my mom and I spend the following Monday calling clinics in five different states trying to find out which is the most affordable and can get me in the soonest.
The hardest part is finding a clinic that does 20-week abortions, and soon enough that I minimize my health risks. Since Roe v. Wade was overturned, many states across the country have implemented abortion bans, making the safe haven states weighed down with out-of-state patients.
Some clinics don’t do abortions after 15 or 18 weeks. Some allow medical exceptions, and some don’t. Some have waiting lists months out and I don’t know if I have 24 hours to play with. I eventually connect with a clinic in New York City that can get me in the following week, so now I have to figure out how I’m going to pay for it all.
My husband and I have just bought our house and started new jobs, so we’re still trying to get on our feet and are struggling financially. A random trip to New York isn’t in the budget, nor is paying over $1,000 for an abortion. So I start a GoFundMe and post about my situation on TikTok. Thankfully, I already have over 275k followers, and they donate to help me get the care I need.
Bryan and I fly to New York, and I enter the abortion clinic alone on March 7th. This day is supposed to just be pre-op testing and getting ready for the procedure the following day, so I spend my time enjoying the little moments I have left with Miley.
After a couple hours in the clinic, I’m finally called back to do an ultrasound, and I’m happy thinking I’m going to see Miley one last time before I let her go. I quickly notice this ultrasound room isn’t like others I’ve been in; there’s no TV on the wall to see the sonogram images.
I lay down and stare at the ceiling while the technician presses the wand on my lower belly. She immediately asks me when my last ultrasound was; I tell her it was about 10 days ago. She then says, “And there was a heartbeat then?”
I reply, “Yes, there was a heartbeat.” She gets quiet and puts her head down slightly, which prompts me to ask, “Is there no heartbeat?” She slowly shakes her head and says, “No, I’m so sorry.”
There it is again, that scream you only hear when a mother loses their child. I’m broken. Miley—my baby, my daughter—is already gone. My doctor was right; she wasn’t going to make it and now she’s gone.
The tech tells me she needs to tell the doctor what she saw and walks out of the room. Moments later I’m brought back to a different room where the surgeon waits. He informs me that there’s roughly a two-week window when a fetus dies. If the body doesn’t recognize it, you become at higher risk of infections, blood clots, or going septic. My body doesn’t know Miley is dead, and to minimize my risks, they suggest I have the abortion now.
One hour. It’s one hour from the moment I’m told Miley is gone until I’m going under anesthesia. I’m in a foreign city, around people I’ve never met, in a clinic I’ve never been in, without my husband, doctors, or family. I’m cold, alone, and heartbroken.
The abortion is successful, and I’m released out into the cold New York City streets to take an Uber back to the apartment we’re staying in. I bleed profusely for hours after the procedure and am in agonizing pain. I don’t know what hurts more, the surgery or my broken heart.
I know once I’m back home, I’m going to fight to make sure no other woman or young girl ever has to experience what my family and I did. I’ve made it my life’s mission to advocate and push for reproductive freedom and I won’t stop until it happens.
Every woman should be able to choose when and if she becomes a mother, and every woman should be able to have access to reproductive healthcare when and if she needs it. My name is Allie Phillips and this is my abortion story.
Allie Phillips is a 29-year-old wife, mother, sister and daughter. She grew up in a small town in Ashland City, Tennessee and obtained her bachelor’s degree in multimedia journalism from Middle Tennessee State University. Allie and her husband, Bryan, bought a home in Clarksville, Tennessee where they are raising their seven-year-old daughter, Adalie.
Allie is one of the women who was denied an abortion when she learned her pregnancy was not compatible and could cause health risks. She is also one of the plaintiffs in the lawsuit brought by the Center for Reproductive Rights, suing Tennessee for their abortion ban and asking for clarification on the law. Allie is also a candidate pursuing the Tennessee House seat in District 75.
To learn more about her campaign please visit – www.allie4tn.com
You can also find Allie on these social media platforms.
TikTok - .allie.phillips
Facebook – Allie Phillps for TN75
Instagram – allie4tn
Threads – allie4tn
Twitter (X) – allie4tn
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I became increasingly angry on your behalf as I read your powerful story. It is inconceivable that, in the 21st century, women should have to go through what you did. If I lived in the US and in your district, you'd have my vote many times over.
Allie, your story was gut-wrenching. I am a mom of five. This entire web of fertility and reproduction is so complex, so multifaceted, and often incredibly painful. There is no way to know how to grieve all that is lost, or has already been lost, when a serious diagnosis that can put your health at risk is given. May Miley live on through all the ways you and your husband and daughter choose to honor her existence.