A long time ago — long, long before I ever entered the Crucible, never mind getting Beyond it — I had an abortion.
In fact, I had two of them.
Now, before you leap to any conclusions here … I wasn’t raped (at least, not then). My life wasn’t in danger. I don’t actually know whether the fetus was in any danger or not. I wasn’t particularly young and I wasn’t even unmarried at the time (for the record, I have never been impregnated by a man I wasn’t married to and I’ve only been married once).
I had those abortions very simply because I found myself pregnant with a baby I wasn’t ready for yet.
It was not in the least bit difficult a decision for me to make. I didn’t agonize over it at all. In fact, I didn’t lose an instant of sleep over it. I don’t ordinarily talk about them much because I’m not into being deliberately offensive and besides, it’s really not anybody’s business. On the other hand, I’m not going to pretend, for the sake of some pro-lifer’s sensibilities, that those abortions were hard for me to choose. They weren’t.