It was not long after the abortion bans that I sought out an abortion. I was young and very broken after I had been raped. I felt like my body had been torn apart and sewed back together with a very fine thread, so fine that if I went outside the wind would knock me down and unravel me as if I were nothing but a small piece of fabric. Abortion was the first thing that came to mind when I found out I was pregnant. I was horrified at the thought of carrying my rapist’s baby inside of me. I had spent weeks curled up in my bed crying over the trauma that I had been through, and watching the pregnancy test in my hand flash to say ‘pregnant’ sent tears rolling down my face like waves.

I knew it was not going to be easy to terminate my pregnancy. There were no longer any clinics in the states and abortion had been made illegal everywhere. Of course, abortions were still happening. They were done in the backs of alleyways, in abandoned buildings, any place where no one would think to look for women venturing for help. I had also heard of women carrying them out by themselves when they were too afraid to try and find someone or could not get any help. 

The worst part of all of this was that women were dying all over the country and no one was doing anything about it. That was something that came with illegal abortions, and it frightened me. I knew going into this that there was a chance I could die, but I was so broken I no longer cared to be alive. I welcomed death with open arms and didn’t mind if it took me along with what was growing inside of me. I decided there were worse things than dying. Worse things like living in a world where your body was no longer your own. 

It was just me and the man who carried out the procedure in the alleyway I met him in. He had told me that he used to be a doctor for one of the clinics nearby and that when the Abolishment of Abortion Acts had been put in place, he was out of a job. He was threatened with prison time if they found out he continued to help women on the side, but he determined that he wanted to help us nonetheless. When I found out about this man and managed to get into touch with him, I asked him if he was ever afraid of being caught.

“Of course I’m afraid,” he said, “But I’d rather die because I was found by the government than live knowing I did nothing to help those who truly needed to be saved.” It was his response that made me decide to risk it.

It was damp and cold in the alleyway, but I figured I should no longer have expectations that women would be treated in environments that were perfectly clean. I was able to survive the walk to the location just fine, even though I had to pass through some areas I knew had never been safe for someone such as myself to be walking alone. The sun had just set and I was thankful to have the cloak of night to hide what I was about to do. I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

The man I had talked to over the phone turned out to be who he said he was and promised me that I was in perfectly good hands. Normally, I would be afraid of trusting a man I had never met previously to help me when I was in such a vulnerable state, but I decided it was a chance I must take if it meant getting some control back over my life and my body. He sterilized some old medical equipment while I sat down on a blanket laid on the ground and told me to remain as still as possible. For a moment then I froze in fear and wondered if this was really the right thing to do, but I thought of my privilege in being able to do this and persevered. I could feel myself pulling on the strings that kept me together and knew that I could not let them go now.

The alleyway was silent once it was over. I exhaled and listened for just a moment, waiting to be caught by police enforcement. All I could hear was the faint chirp of crickets and a couple cars driving in the distance. I sat up and looked at the man. He had a faint smile on his lips and I wondered how one could still smile in times like these. I reached for my purse and pulled out my wallet when the man lightly placed his hands over mine and said, “There will be no need for that.” I stood up and thanked him then, hoping he was able to see how much it truly meant to me.

I was wrong to think we wouldn't get caught. A couple minutes had passed and I was ready to go home and pretend as though nothing had happened when the beam of a flashlight striked the alleyway. The white light of it was harsh and I had to squint to see who it was coming from. And then there was a lot of shouting. First it was a loud “Hey!” from someone at the opening between the two buildings we were standing between and then we were flooded by officers in black and red uniforms. They were not just apart of the local police, but members of the National Abortion Assosciation. I had heard about their brutality in the news when they caught women seeking abortions, but I never thought I would be one their victims.

They grabbed the both of us and quickly had us struggling with our arms held behind our backs. I didn't have much time to panic, just watched with horror as we were restrained. I felt sick. I looked to the doctor beside me, hoping for some guidance as to how we could get out of there, but all he whispered was, “Try not to resist, it will only make things worse.”

The officers did not say much as they led us to a van with one of the NAA logos on it. I felt as though I had no time to process what had just happened and struggled not to cower under the feeling of trappedness I had. I had no time to think about the fact that I was being sent to my death. Time passed by so quickly, I felt as though I were dreaming. They threw us into the back of the car and slammed the door, sealing us inside. It was very dark, save for the little strips of light shining through the barred windows emitting off of the night sky. I wondered if the stars were laughing at us.

We were seated across from each other, chained to a pole slightly blocking our view of each other. I hadn’t realized it before, but the man before me had very pronounced bags under his eyes and it looked as though he had not slept in ages. I realized this may have been true. The van’s engine roared to life and we lurched forward as we started pulling away. I turned to look through some of the bars on the windows, trying to get a glimpse of the alleyway that had led us to our demise, but I could no longer see it.

“What are we going to do?” I whispered, mostly to myself. I forgot for a moment that I wasn’t alone. I hadn’t expected to get an answer back, even if I was with someone.

“We are going to remain calm,” he said. “I understand that this may be frightening to you, and I cannot claim to be unfrightened myself, but we must try to continue through this pain. I do not know much about the jails they bring those who are caught administering and receiving abortions to, but I know that they are ruthless with their harsh treatment. We are being walked to our deathbeds, and I am sure we will watch many individuals be carried away before our very eyes to go and die.” He paused and looked down. I guessed he was trying to formulate his thoughts properly. “You may be tried, but I am certain that I will not be. I knew going into this that capital punishment was the cost of this job and now I am paying the price. Most women who get an abortion will recieve a proper trial, but we are likely to have the same fate.”

I thought he must have been able to read the look on my face quite clearly, as he reassured me when he said, “It is always the doctors who go first. Some women sit in jail for a long time waiting for their deaths, and by then many of them have accepted it.”

“I accepted my death a long time ago,” was all I said in response.

The car stopped, as if it knew we were done with our conversation. I heard the voices of the officers rise a little and the doors of the van opened. We were unkindly pulled from the vehicle and told to stand still while they grabbed something. I risked a glance over at the man beside me. It was as if he read my mind when he said, in a quiet voice, “This may be the last time I see you, Jane,” he said as I look of sorrow passed over his face. “I am very glad I was able to help you. Stay strong.” The officers came back from the car and pulled us away. I hadn’t even thought about being separated from him and was surprised by the wave of sadness that hit me. 

That was the last time I ever saw Dr. Roe.

Once I was dragged into the jail, I went through many metal detectors and was searched for anything illegal. I thought about telling them that the only thing illegal here was my existence. All of the officials there treated me as if I was a pest meant to be squashed by one of their shiny boots, not worthy of even residing in one of their cells. I was led to a small changing room with stark black and white walls and told to put on one of the jump suits. The clothing was made out of an itchy fabric dyed a vibrant red. It felt like everything in this place was meant to hurt my eyes.

We passed by many rooms filled with women and girls of all ages. Some looked to be about 16, while others looked well into their 30s. They all seemed to be afraid. Their shoulders sagged, as if they were being held down by an invisible weight resting on their shoulders. Most of them kept their eyes focused on the cracked tile floors.

I was then brought into a room and told to wait at one of the chairs for a tattooist. I sat in a chair by a small table holding ink and long needles while I waited to receive a permanent number on my wrist. I clutched my right arm while I watched a woman squirm a couple seats down as she was held under a needle. I waited for what I had guessed was half an hour and then realized it was my turn. I tried not to appear nervous, but I am still unsure if the man could see the fear in my eyes. I was restrained in my chair and titled my head away from the man marking me. When he was finished, I looked at my wrist to see the tattoo that would remain with me until I died, and even after death it will still reside on me. There was a serial number with a configuration of letters and numbers, but what I found myself staring at the longest was a red cross that was drawn right next to it. I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but I thought it was meant to signify that they only saw me as a woman with blood on my hands.

I was taken to a room to be questioned, but not without a long period of waiting before hand. I wondered if that was their way of showing me they had control now over every aspect of my life, even the amount of time I would have to wait to be given the opportunity to speak.

A woman walked into the room a while later and sat down at the table I was waiting at across from me. I could not see her very well with the bright light shining above us, but I could make out a bit of what she was wearing. She wore a black dress and a collection of jewelry on her hands and wrists. Her nails were also painted black, but with a stripe of red on each of her ring fingers. 

She asked me a few questions, my name, date of birth, and other basic background information. And then she got into the questions that I would become very familiarized with in the next 10 years of my life. Questions like “Why did you get an abortion?” or “Do you regret getting one?” I have never given a very clear answer to those questions, as I felt that giving them a true and purposeful answer would only feed their want to make me feel horrible about myself. It was not until recently that I decided to say something more meaningful. I’m not sure what exactly had gotten into me, but I was feeling very fed up during the weeks’ interrogation.

The women who sit across from me and ask me questions are different every time, but always have the same look about them. All of them are dressed the same and I couldn’t help but wonder where they find all these people for the interrogations. They word the questions a little bit every time, but they always mean the same when asked. This time, it was, “What would you have done to get an abortion?” It was asked very matter-of-factly.

I looked the woman straight in the eyes and let out a small sigh. I had determined by this point that I should make them wait for at least a short moment for my answer, so I took a minute to think about what I was going to say. I answered very matter-of-factly.

“‘... I would have done anything to get an abortion… I resent it very much when politicians try to force me to carry a… baby to term… just because it fits their-- and not my-- religious beliefs’ (1). This is my body, not yours.”

They escorted me out of the room after that. I had been on death row for a long time and was not very surprised to find out less than a week later that my time had come to an end. I figured they had come to the conclusion that they were never going to be able to change my mind, and I was proud of that.

It was then that I looked death straight in the eyes and said, “I am not a thread to be unwound.” Unfortunately, death does not like to listen. 

This story was inspired by the 1973 case of Roe v. Wade in which Jane Roe challenged a Texas law that stated abortion would not be legal unless it was to save a woman’s life (“Roe v. Wade” par 1) and the stories of many women who have sought out abortions and have been denied the choice to dictate what happens to their bodies. In the United States, several states have determined that abortion should be illegal and have put many restrictions on being able to recieve one. The only state that has entirely banned abortion is Alabama, making it illegal from the time the pregnancy is known. There are also no exceptions for rape and incest. There are other states who are following in Alabama’s footsteps, such as Ohio and Missouri, who have also put regulations on abortions (“Access to Abortion Care” par 5). When abortion is illegalized, women die. So the more states that abolish abortion, the more women that will seek out illegal abortions and die because of it. There have been about 47,000 deaths and 5 million injuries caused by illegal and unsafe abortions globally (WHO Report par 2), and since an estimated 1 in 4 women will have an abortion at some point in their life (“Roe v. Wade: The Constitutional Right to Access Safe, Legal Abortion” par 6), we can only expect those numbers to rise. It is inhumane to restrict what women can do with their bodies and then proceed to disregard what happens to them once the bans have been put in place.

I have not written this story from personal experience, but from experiences I have learned about and from a place of wanting to create change. In this story, I have included a direct quote from a woman named Kate C. who has described her experience with abortion and why she chose to have one. She was carrying a baby who was very sick and would have lived miserably outside of the womb, so she decided to have an abortion for the babys’ sake. I wanted to include her voice in the story because she truly highlights the fact that it should not be the government’s choice what you do with your body. The government and religion should not mix for it would only cause pain to those around us. Whether it be to save their baby from a torturous death, or because they were raped as Jane was in this story, women deserve the right to choose.

(1) C., Kate. “Personal Stories That Reveal How 20-Week Abortion Bans Would Hurt Women.” Planned Parenthood Action Fund, www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/issues/abortion/20-week-bans/personal-stories-reveal-how-20-week-abortion-bans-would-hurt-wom.

Angelou, Maya. “Still I Rise by Maya Angelou.” Poetry Foundation, Poetry Foundation, www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46446/still-i-rise.

Parenthood, Planned. “Access to Abortion Care.” Planned Parenthood Action Fund, www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/issues/abortion.

Parenthood, Planned. “Roe v. Wade: The Constitutional Right to Access Safe, Legal Abortion.” Planned Parenthood Action Fund, www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/issues/abortion/roe-v-wade.

“Roe v. Wade.” Oyez, www.oyez.org/cases/1971/70-18.

“WHO Report: Safe Abortion Is Essential to Protecting Women's Human Rights.” Center for Reproductive Rights, reproductiverights.org/press-room/who-report-safe-abortion-is-essential-to-protecting-women%E2%80%99s-human-rights.