It was 1961. I was an art student, two months pregnant, penniless and estranged from my parents. My boyfriend, also a student, had to borrow a hundred dollars from his mom for the only doctor we could find to perform an illegal abortion
It was called PACKING – a tube inserted deeply in the vagina – terribly painful and unforgettable to this day. Then a shot of penicillin and instructions to stay physically active till the bleeding starts. Lastly I was given the doctor’s business card and told to contact him if needed.
Three days later I was hemorrhaging hopelessly. My neighbor called for an ambulance. But first the police came and badgered me on and on for the doctor’s name – which I refused to reveal. At last I was taken to the hospital and told how close I had come to dying – the fate of a young woman my doctor had tried to save just one week earlier.
Six years later I was called before a Grand Jury to testify against the doctor who had performed the abortion. (His business card had been found in in my apartment and that was the beginning of a long surveillance of his practice)
I did not menstruate for seven years after the abortion. Then one day my period returned and a month later I became pregnant. My son is named for the doctor who saved my live after that illegal abortion. If not for him I would have died, my son would never exist nor would his daughter.
We must think more deeply about the term Right to Life!
Remember that our stories are ours to tell. We’d love to hear your story too!