'I waited at the Newark bus station with a carnation in my lapel. The woman who drove me to the abortion told me that if her daughter ever got pregnant, she’d kill her.' (Share your abortion story by emailing myabortionstorymsmagazine.com).
I am your daughter. I am your wife. I am your mother. I am a retired U.S. diplomat. And I am angry. Last House on the Left
A sweltering day in the Midwest served as the backdrop for my secret abortion. I wore bell bottoms and a halter top. My mom’s signature perfume, Chanel No. 5, accompanied us into the sterile room which reeked of disinfectant. She didn’t know that, at the time, contraception was illegal. The birth control pill was always in the news, then themyThe Comstock Act of 1873, named for a guy whose anxiety about sex drove first the state of New York, and then the United States, incorporated birth control devices into anti-obscenity laws. So, because of that 1873 law, my mother was not able to get a diaphragm in 1952. Not until 1965 would the Supreme Court rule that married couples could legally access contraception.
I had little sense of my tiny place in the history of abortions, but mine changed me. I became a women’s healthcare clinician, advocate and educator. Over a 40-year career, I taught hundreds, perhaps thousands, of clients and students about family planning. I learned, from discussions with women of all ages, that many who sought abortions had used a contraceptive method that failed. Some already had children, were married, or couldn’t afford—financially or emotionally—to raise more.
The doctor had told me the abortion would be $1,000. I didn’t have that kind of money; it was one-third of my salary. We finally settled on $700 cash. Since I appeared to be calm, they gave me fewer drugs. I woke up to loud screams and realized that they were mine. The doctor yelled “my neighbors,” slapped me, and I was out again.
I found out I was pregnant in January 1966, during my senior year at Georgetown University. I knew nothing about birth control, and even if I did, access would have been difficult without parental approval—which I was not going to receive. My family was Catholic and considered premarital sex a sin. My overriding certainty was that no one, especially my parents, could ever find out I was pregnant. I could see no way out other than abortion. I was terrified and had no idea where to turn for help.
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