HOW IT WAS STORIES

You Just Don’t Know What You’ve Started!

I’d never get an abortion, but — Roe v. Wade Gone? I was there to see women suffering — dying!

There are two walls standing face to face, and nothing is getting through. Today's world is divided into pairs — two sides to everything. At least it can seem that way.

I can’t think of anything that would make me get an abortion. Well, given I’m 74 now, who cares. But I was there when babies were found in the trash and dead girls in back alleyways. I just don’t think some people know what they've started.

I don’t want to talk about anything political! I sure don’t want to talk about abortion and Roe v. Wade.

Roe v. Wade, legal case in which the U.S. Supreme Court on January 22, 1973, ruled (7–2) that unduly restrictive state regulation of abortion is unconstitutional. — Britannica

Were you there? Were you there in 1973 when women were given the right to decide about their pregnant bodies?

Reproductive rights! No woman who was pregnant before 1973 would use a phrase like that unless she was from an educated, rich, protected class.

Did you know that in 1973 a married woman could not get a bank account, credit card, or insurance without her husband's signature? Just a reminder of how different things were back then.

I witnessed an attempted coat hanger abortion.

I was taking boxes of clothes to a friend's home. Well, perhaps you wouldn’t call her a friend. I've always done volunteer work and was taking donations to help her out. I’d been there often. I’d take food, clothes, and cleaning products.

Three happy little children greeted me at the door and I dropped to the floor. Bombarded with stuffed toys bashing me — and giggles, I asked, “Where’s your mommy?”

“In her room,” giggled a beautiful dark-haired girl as she tossed more toys at me.

Rolling over to catch two of the children to tickle their tummies, I said, “Ok, get mommy.”

“She said we had to leave her alone. She’s sick.”

I got up and went down the hall to her room. I heard crying. Desperate crying. Opening the door, I froze. On her back, legs spread wide, she had a coat hanger straightened out. Blood was everywhere.

“Wait, Karen,” I said firmly, and I got on the bed beside her and held her in my arms. “There’s another way.”

She sobbed in my arms. “No, there isn’t anything. I can’t do it. I can’t have another baby. My kids. My kids.” Her anguish was as deep as any ocean. She shivered and sobbed.

I’ve no idea how long I held her while gathering my wits. I was a high-end hairstylist and active volunteer, so I had lots of connections in the community.

“I’ll be here tomorrow morning with some names and numbers of doctors.”

“No doctor’s going to…”

“To save your life?”

I ran her some bathwater and got the children ready for bed. She was still in the tub when I arrived in the morning, so I got her out and dressed.

In my state, in 1972 a psychiatrist could basically diagnose severely depressed pregnant women as incurable while pregnant.

Even though this was legal, not many doctors would do either part, not psychiatrists or physicians. Every doctor knew peers who had been sent to prison.

The doctors I knew limited this activity to their friends and family. Legal but still risky.

I did not believe in abortion and I don’t today.

I was an unwed mother in high school. Not done in 1967. My fiancé gave me some pills, “Take these. They’ll get rid of it.”

I didn’t take them.

I jumped off the overpass on Independence Avenue. Didn’t die though, so I cut my wrists. Didn’t die though.

Was sent to the State Mental Institution — catatonic.

They couldn’t give me shock treatments because they found out I was pregnant.

They couldn't keep me.

Because I was pregnant.

I’ll tell you about it. But not yet.

The point is.

Karen’s wanting to die or self-abort was her issue.

I knew some of the pain she was going through. Not all of it as I did not have other children to protect. Anyway, everyone’s pain is different.

I did not believe in abortion, but I facilitated hers by giving her the number to call the right psychiatrist.

So am I a murderer? I don’t know.

If I did nothing and she killed herself, would I be a murderer? I say YES to that question.

I don’t really know. No one does.

I do know that it’s wrong to make decisions for others based on our beliefs and judgments.

Karen’s children did not lose their mother.

What would you have done?

This is extremely difficult to share. I don’t want to. I have children: birth, foster, adopted, and fictitious kin. I have grandchildren by the lot of them and great-grandchildren from my birth grandchildren. Some of them are worried.

Women are scared. They should be.

Because I was there before Roe v Wade, I must be brave.

They just don’t know what they’ve started. All the horrors of the past will return; babies in dumpsters, dead girls in alleyways, and good people trying to help — going to prison.

Those two walls…

We must find ways to communicate and hear.

Thank you for your precious time.

Be kind to others. Katie

Katie Michaelson is a mother, foster mother, adoptive mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, friend, and crazy plant lady. 9x top writer on Medium. Creator/editor of Welcome to My Not-so-Fancy Garden, The Daily Cuppa, The Daily Cuppa Grande. Editor of Seventy and Still Dating and Woodworkers of The World Unite!!

She loves to learn and create while nurturing others. She writes non-fiction, fiction, and poetry as a retired therapist and farmer, having fun doing stuff. This amazing lady plants hope and herbs, love and lilacs, blessings and blossoms, stories and seeds all day long. What can she do? It turns out, a lot!!!