I was one year and 2,500 miles away from an abusive marriage, with a 3 year old daughter and a brand-new MS degree. I wanted to finish grad school, raise my child, walk on the beach. My parents shunned me because “no one in our family has ever been divorced.” (My father subsequently divorced and remarried three times — guess I kicked open that door.) Then I learned I was several weeks pregnant despite using birth control. Two men were potentially the father and I asked neither of them what to do. I had no doctor, but friends suggested a local GP who saw me the next day and scheduled an abortion for two days later, the next appointment time available for anything. No one called me a slut, made me look at fetus images, or told me to think longer about my decision. On abortion day, I took my daughter to stay with a friend, drove to the GP’s office, and was taken straight into a regular exam room. Ten minutes later, I paid my $85 doctor bill and left. That night I had dinner with a friend. We ate fresh-caught haddock cheeks and played four-handed piano. I picked up my daughter and went home. No regrets ever. The End . . . NO . . .
↧
