Abortion has left me full of anger. It’s not uncommon. Obviously, my particular circumstances of total conflict in which abortion was not what I “wanted” but somehow what came to seem the better choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, meant that anger was always going to be on the cards.
I think the deepest level of anger is against the horror of the choice, the horror of having to make a choice. Me or the baby, says the raging partner. Our love and approval and support or the baby say the angry parents. Your life as you had wanted and dreamed of it, or this unplanned baby now says your world.
Who can see clearly at such a point? Who can make a rational decision, considering all the angles and possibilities, in such circumstances? And the decisions that are taken are pseudo-rational, highly incomplete because they do not take into account all sorts of factors: what will it be like, emotionally, spiritually and mentally to have an abortion, what will it be like to be the mother of a child whom you can never know, what will it be like to live with this choice? Lies abound, myths are everywhere proffered not on silver platters but on glossy leaflets or in the brash smile of an abortion clinic worker. Want your life to go on uninterrupted, just as it was? Want to have your life as you wanted it, your dreams as you dreamed them? Come, we will help you.
With all the impulsive abandon of a child in a playpen, I threw away my chance of love, of fulfilment, of connection to life at the profoundest level. In retrospect, it seems an act of such madness that it would have been certifiable. At the time it seemed responsible and a horrific necessity, saving all from suffering, including the child. Choice… every day, more willing and unwilling victims are prepared to sacrifice their bodies and their souls on the bloody altar of abortion.