I was fourteen years old when I had my abortion. The most difficult part of the whole ordeal was pushing my way through the mob of angry protesters. I remember one of them grabbing the hood of my sweater and pulling me back. They shoved gruesome photoshopped images of fetuses in my face, called me a murderer and told me I was going to burn in Hell.
Being as young and underdeveloped as I was, my pregnancy took quite a toll on my body—even at 8 weeks. I lost large clumps of hair, my skin turned gray, I had no energy, I couldn’t eat or drink and the little that I did manage to get down was quickly purged within minutes of consumption. Even opening my mouth to speak or yawn made me gag.
The pediatrician warned me that the risks involved with continuing my pregnancy could be life threatening. I knew that even if I was somehow able to beat the odds, I was too young to be a mother.
I will never regret my decision. Being pro-choice is being pro-life. I chose my own life.
