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Have you had an abortion?
Never any question
I had an abortion in early 1969, in Buffalo Children's Hospital, when it was legal in New York State if one could convince a panel of psychiatrists that the pregnancy would be life threatening. I have wondered, occasionally, what the child might have been like, but I have never regretted my decision for a moment. The father of my two wonderful children told me he never would have married me if I had a child, and I knew I could never give up a child and never know what became of him or her--a secrecy generally required in those days. I've now met many women who gave up children, and they were tortured by the fact. The only exceptions were the women--two, I think--whose children had searched for and found them.
At the time I was immature, almost totally sexually inexperienced, and smart enough to know I couldn't support a child on my own. I feared my parents would disown me (and they might have).
I will be forever grateful for the friend who knew how to work the system, the doctors who deemed me suicidal and approved the procedure, and the amazingly kind and concerned doctor who performed the D&C (under general anesthetic) and actually telephoned me some months later to ascertain that I was receiving psychiatric therapy. As well as thanking him profusely, I had to confess that I was actually a professional actor (then I would have said "actress"), working in the theater, and had had to act my way out of the pregnancy. He was stunned.
Only one other noteworthy detail: the hospital put me in the obstetrics ward, where afterward I could hear the newborns.
The attempted guilt trip failed; all I could feel was relief. Forty-four years later I still feel grateful.
At the time I was immature, almost totally sexually inexperienced, and smart enough to know I couldn't support a child on my own. I feared my parents would disown me (and they might have).
I will be forever grateful for the friend who knew how to work the system, the doctors who deemed me suicidal and approved the procedure, and the amazingly kind and concerned doctor who performed the D&C (under general anesthetic) and actually telephoned me some months later to ascertain that I was receiving psychiatric therapy. As well as thanking him profusely, I had to confess that I was actually a professional actor (then I would have said "actress"), working in the theater, and had had to act my way out of the pregnancy. He was stunned.
Only one other noteworthy detail: the hospital put me in the obstetrics ward, where afterward I could hear the newborns.
The attempted guilt trip failed; all I could feel was relief. Forty-four years later I still feel grateful.
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