Walk a Mile in Our Shoes

I went to see the movie “Call Jane” last night. It was, as I expected, a difficult watch. I’ve read a few reviews and it seems to me that the nitpickiness misses the point. Go see the movie. It’s important.

The Jane Collective was a group of women who formed a sort of underground railroad for women needing abortions in the Chicago area from 1968 until Roe v. Wade was handed down in 1973. There was a similar group, the Clergy Consultation Service on Abortion, based in New York and comprised of faith leaders and others helping them .

Pre-Roe, abortion was a dangerous prospect from a number of different angles. It could destroy the woman’s life emotionally, physically, maritally, legally. Entirely. It could kill her. In 1973, Ms. magazine ran the now-famous photo of Gerri Santoro, whose lack of choice resulted in the 1964 illegal abortion that killed her, forcing Americans to reckon with the real-life results of forbidding safe, legal abortion.

Every American woman in the post-Roe era has enjoyed the right to choose an abortion. Assuming, of course, she doesn’t have someone or something in her life preventing it. Assuming she has access to transportation, funds, time off work, childcare if she has children already, and healthcare. Too many women in America didn’t have reasonable access to abortion *prior* to the Dobbs decision, and now the far right is planning a national ban.

I won’t kid you, some of the scenes in “Call Jane” are hard to watch. And they’re not even all that graphic. But I sat through those scenes thanking God that when I needed an abortion, it was safe and legal. It was performed in a clinic, by a doctor, with sterile instruments, and I was attended to by people who cared.

I am continually amazed by people who think that safe and legal means easy. They’re the same indoctrinated fools who assume that birth control is the woman’s responsibility and that all she had to do to avoid pregnancy was to “keep her legs closed”, to “control herself”. Who think schoolgirls go to Planned Parenthood on their lunch breaks and have abortions. The ignorance of women’s bodies, of the process as well as the procedure, and the smug assumption that their imaginings are facts, are incredible.

In 1984 I was in college. Being an informed Woman of the ‘80s, I normally used contraception. My boyfriend and I had broken up two months previous, and we were trying to “stay friends” because we actually still loved each other. One night, things that neither of us expected to happen, did. We were unprepared. I can hear some of you saying “then you shouldn’t have done anything” and you are right, we shouldn’t have. But sometimes situations get out of hand, and there you are. Judge not. I did think about it. I honestly thought I was not near the date I should have been ovulating – but, according to my calendar, I must have ovulated several days prior to when I would have expected it to happen. Or perhaps the sperm, which I *now* know can live up to five days afterward, made it until the expected ovulation date. A few weeks later, I started having weird, very strong cravings – garlic pickles and smoked almonds. It worried my mom, but I was certain there was no chance I could be pregnant.

But I was. Young. Single. Not finished with my education. Not together with the boy, who was panicked and terrified – as was I. I had no health insurance. My family’s main breadwinner had been out of work for long enough that it was a significant stressor, emotionally and financially. I had to tell my mother. She cried and wondered aloud where she went wrong. My dad cried, but not in front of me. My mom was so distraught the doctor prescribed tranquilizers. I remember laying in bed at night, wondering how to find out how many it would take to be lethal, without being so many that I would throw them back up. Wondering which would be worse, facing my mother if I didn’t do it right, or facing my Maker if I did. I spoke to my priest. I spoke to my doctor, who was Catholic. They were both supportive. They both suggested terminating the pregnancy. My priest told me that God understands. I wanted to believe him, but to myself I always thought that God would let me know – that if I had done wrong, I wouldn’t be able to have children later. I asked a friend who had been through it for help, and she guided me to a clinic. My mother and my boyfriend came with me, and sat in what must have been an epically awkward silence waiting for me.

The worst part was the waiting room with the other women. There were seven of us, mostly in our twenties but one woman who looked to be in her late thirties or possibly even early forties. No one spoke. No one but me seemed to even be looking around. I don’t remember anyone making eye contact. I wondered what everyone else’s stories were, how they got here, how they all were feeling about taking this step. We were in a room full of people, but we were all alone.

There are so many reasons a woman might not want to bring a pregnancy to term. Nearly one-fourth of American women will have an abortion. Prior to my unplanned pregnancy, I was unequivocally pro-choice, but I didn’t think I could do it myself. It looks a little different when it’s you.

Medical, or chemical, abortion was not available yet in the U.S. at that time. Surgical abortion was the only option – a D&C. If you had a child already, you were given the choice of general anesthesia or staying awake with only local anesthesia. The doctor told me that the reasoning was that if you’ve been through childbirth, not much is going to shake you. So they put me under. I was four weeks along – six weeks if you use the truly weird system of counting from the first day of the last period (which abortion bans do), and not from conception. I cried for days afterward. I wanted children. I love children. I loved my boyfriend and I specifically wanted *his* children. But I also wanted to be a good mom. A good provider. And I was scared. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready, and neither was he.

We often hear about the failures of contraception, the incompatibility with life, the mistakes and surprises and criminal predators. But I, at least, don’t often hear about the monsters. I had a monster in my life. One of those your-body-my-choice monsters. That happened, no coincidence, I’m sure, shortly after my eighteenth birthday (he was several years older than me and we had been dating for a few months). Afterward I cried. He told me to shut up, because it was “no big deal”. Having been raised to believe that a woman who was not a virgin was “used merchandise” and that no decent man would ever have her, I believed, as used merchandise, that I had to marry the monster. He certainly pushed for it, hard. He didn’t want me to go to college, he didn’t see the point because I was just going to stay at home and raise babies, right? But I had always planned on college, and I wanted to be able to support myself and any children I had should the need arise. We had many fights about it. He tried to blackmail me, threatening to tell my parents that I wasn’t a virgin. He was very religious – he told me that he believed that the Devil had sent me to tempt him. He shoved me into a wall because I wasn’t sufficiently excited about a surprise party.

I learned something incredibly important because of him. I learned, at the ripe old age of eighteen, that I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend it with someone who treated me that way.

I didn’t escape that trap only to stop short of the goal and risk being unable to properly support myself and my future kids on my own. I didn’t get away from him just to be dependent on someone else. So I had an abortion. I thought it was the right decision then, and I think it was the right decision now.

I no longer believe that God, if it exists, has any interest in who reproduces and who does not. I have seen too many unwanted and abused children to believe that those parents were somehow divinely chosen to bring those kids into the world. I have seen too many perfectly lovely, kind, capable people unable to have children; I can’t believe that somehow they were unworthy. Having children, or not, is a private choice and a private decision, and people who do not want a pregnancy should never be forced to bring one to term.

I was lucky. Abortion was legal, safe, and available to me. I was able to discuss my situation with friends and family who loved and supported me. But the choice to terminate that pregnancy was mine, and mine alone. Which is as it should be.

For the love of all women, all children, and all of the men who love and are loved by them, get out and VOTE. We can take nothing for granted.