My law school boyfriend and I knew better; we used condoms. Safely. Then, one dark and romantic night, walking in an open field near my new home in Charlottesville, VA, we made love among the grasses.
We knew better. We did not have a condom. We used the “pull out” method: HA! And yes, I felt pregnant the moment my period was late.
There was never any doubt whatsoever that I would have an abortion. We never discussed anything else. We just had to get the money together. I just hated that it took us three weeks.
I called the facility in Richmond, made my appointment, and a friend and I drove there on the appointed day (my boyfriend, a year behind me in law school, was back in North Carolina and couldn’t go with me).
I didn’t pay any attention to the ugly protesters. They had nothing to do with my decision. I just remember the annoyance of having a slowed walk into the facility.
And I remember just barely listening to my pleasant counselor. I knew my mind and I had made it up immediately. Never a doubt.
The abortion itself was over quickly. The only reaction I had was overwhelming relief.
My friend and I went out for an early dinner and drove back to Charlottesville.
The only reason I write this now, 36 years later, is that I chose to participate in the 2018 local Women’s March in Richmond, VA.