I never had an abortion. I never had to face that dilemma, but I have a story. It’s got a bit of history to it. So settle back. Over half a century ago in 1966, I was a 19-year-old student attending a small college in New York City. The Vietnam War was escalating. Many universities were hotbeds of discussion and protests on the Vietnam War and other issues. Abortion was not one of the issues. Roe v. Wade was not even on any agenda. The word “abortion” was not spoken, much less a legal option for women. Abortions were illegal. If you said abortion it was in a whisper. But so much pain behind that whisper.
During that fall semester at college, I learned a close friend, Ann, had married her high school sweetheart. She had “found herself in the family way.” Translation, she was pregnant and The Boyfriend was The Father. They chose to get married. Very, very quiet marriage congratulations were given. The requisite baby shower was given. Today you might celebrate their decision. Then it was not quite a decision; it was a requirement – by parents, by church, by culture, by law. I don’t know the long term outcome of that marriage and “love” child.
About two months later, a friend approached me. “Do you have any money you can contribute for Joanie? She’s pregnant and needs $400 for an abortion.” Who had $400 extra dollars? Most of us worked to pay college tuition. No insurance would pay for an abortion. No phone listings existed for “abortions by licensed physicians.” Performing an abortion was a crime. Going from person to person, my friend collected the monies. The details of the abortion were shared with only a few close friends. The “doctor” was unnamed, working out of an apartment address in Newark New Jersey. The date was a Sunday; the time was 10:00 pm. Joanie and her boyfriend went at the appointed time.
We, the friends, were left to hold hands, pray, close our eyes and thank our gods it was not us. Because having an illegal abortion in 1966 was dangerous and scary. The procedure could be bungled; the patient could be robbed, or worse. One friend reported to us late that night: “They’re back. She’s sleeping.” I heard she did not talk to anyone for the next 48 hours. I don’t know the short or long term outcome of that illegal abortion.
In 1973 Roe v. Wade established the right for women to control their reproductive processes. Abortion became legal. At that time I was a social worker in a New York City municipal hospital. I was relieved and joyful that this could mean so many women could make a safe decision for their future. Looking back I wonder how Joanie felt. Was she joyful? Bitter? Encouraged?
New York City moved very quickly to establish abortion clinics and support programs in their 18 city-wide hospitals. But still I had to contend with the varied opinions about this new law. Somehow, as a 26-year-old naïve woman I found the guts to speak to my supervisor who continually referred to the Abortion Unit as “the murder unit.” The first time she said this I was shocked into silence. The second time I overheard her speaking to a small group. I was in awe at the fury and anger in her voice and body. The third time she said “the murder unit” it was directly to me. That was going too far. “It. Is. NOT. Murder. It is a legal, medical procedure; freely chosen by a hospital patient. It is not a crime.” And I walked away, probably displaying the same anger and fury in my voice and body as I had seen her exhibit too many times.
Now it is 2024. And once again things are going too far. Roe v. Wade was overturned in 2022 by forces and funds unfathomable to me. Now in June 2024, by better forces, we have gained over 800,000 signatures that also have said this is going too far. Our signatures can insure the right to reproductive freedoms is enshrined in the Arizona constitution. Our petitions will result in an amendment on the November 2024 election ballot for all Arizona voters to address.
My story extends from 1966 to 2024. It must conclude here. I am no longer young nor naive. But I can make this conclusion a triumphant reality. Can you join me?
The names of specific people have been changed in this piece. The experiences and thoughts of the author remain as they occurred.
Eileen Erickson
[email protected]
July 16, 2024