"The condemnation of abortion under any circumstance pushes grief and depression into dangerous black spots, making women hide their tragedies, leaving them feeling alone and unsupported.' Sarah

It is not the condemnation that does this, it is abortion that does this. Abortion causes grief and depression. It i s not natural to take the life of your child and no amount of trying to justify will ever change that.

Besides the fact that it seems kind of crazy the way this was diagnosed, it is too bad she did not know about places like http://benotafraid.net/ who would have given her the support she needed.
It is a very difficult, heartbreaking situation, but in the end, if her baby died naturally it is easier than knowing you participated in its death.
http://www.postabortionhelp.org/pre-natal/ppnWitnessA.html

My Unwanted Abortion

As U.S. abortion rights come under yet further attack, Sarah Ivens — shattered by her unborn baby's diagnosis — had to end her pregnancy in one of the most hostile places imaginable.

By Sarah Ivens

I told my husband, Russell, he could look at the pregnancy test first. After all, it was he who, after 12 fruitless months of trying to conceive, had the feeling we'd hit the jackpot; he who'd cycled as fast as his legs would take him to pick up the tests the minute I giddily admitted that not only was I two days late, but I was also tired with sore boobs. When he emerged from the bathroom, clutching sticks with plus signs, I thought his smile would take over the universe. "Really? Really?" I asked, clinging to him in delighted shock. We were finally, joyfully, pregnant.

The state of first-time motherhood was so blissful and exciting, despite the exhaustion and sickness, that I was in denial anything could go wrong. Once we hit the "safe" mark of 12 weeks, we couldn't wait to unleash the news. I was studying for a master's in English at the University of Louisville in Kentucky and was thrilled to be taking a course on the "cult of motherhood." I could now understand everything the female writers from the 19th century felt; I was part of their gang. After four years at a stressful job in New York City, I'd moved south with my husband; found a large, pretty home; and settled into a student's life. The move couldn't have come at a better time.

Because of my apparent dotage (I would be 35 when I delivered), my pregnancy was deemed high risk for genetic disorders, so along with our first scan at 12 weeks and two days, the doctors performed a nuchal translucency procedure to test for Down syndrome and other issues. It involved a blood test and an ultrasound, to measure the fluid behind the baby's neck. Lying on the hospital bed and seeing the faces of the medical staff turn ashen around me, I knew something was wrong. We were told the baby had too much fluid around its neck and brain. I felt woozy and sank back into the bed, my stomach still exposed and sticky from the ultrasound fluid, while Russell asked questions. The only thing I remember hearing was that we needed to see a specialist immediately.