1972 Freedom

The summer of my 17th birthday, I became pregnant. My best friend and first feminist sister, Katie Bug, sifted through the ads in the back of the “Rolling Stone” and quickly found an abortion clinic in New York City that would do an abortion on an out-of-state 17 year old with no parental involvement.

I had my abortion in 1971, pre Roe v. Wade, in NYC. I had never been outside my Southern state by myself before and I was terrified.

I was 20 and part of a fundamentalist Christian group that worked with underprivileged children in New York City. If I had told any of the leaders, I would have been sent back to my church and family in shame. That had happened to another young woman I knew – she was thrown out of the program, and sent back home – while the young man got a stern lecture but no consequences.

I have had two abortions: the first when I was in my early twenties and newly married, the second when I was about 5 years older.

I was 18, in my freshman year of college and having sex with my high school sweetheart. In late September I thought I had the flu. I never really thought about the possibility of being pregnant until one of my girlfriends saw me vomiting at school one day.

I was married with two beautiful young children. My marriage was tragically ended when my husband burned down our house and himself.