As a young college student, I took a job as a medical assistant in a local clinic.  Although abortion was but one of the services provided, protestors appeared on our sidewalk daily, waving signs, crying, shouting angry slogans and attempting to block cars from entering the parking lot.  During my two years as an employee, one bomb exploded and set the rear of the clinic on fire after hours, and a chemical attack saturated the clinic with a foul stench that made it impossible to go inside for a week and cost thousands of dollars to have professionally cleaned.  I commiserated with the patients who came for birth control or tubal ligations or treatment of a simple urinary tract infection as they fought their way through the angry crowd gathered outside, but praised their loyalty to this doctor’s commitment to serving his community in this important way.

A large part of our mission was to teach women how to take better care of themselves.  Our clientele varied from young adolescents to older women, those with financial means and those who could only afford to pay for their care in installments or trade.  The doctor who founded the clinic was a frequent speaker in philosophy and ethics classes at the local university and lived his generous philosophy of patient care.  He sacrificed much for his convictions, living in a secluded area far from his work to protect his family from those who violently disagreed with him.  His regular workday uniform included a bulletproof vest.

The door to the clinic was a portal to another world. Inside, it was quiet and calm, light and open. Staff spoke both Spanish and English and were united in a sincere effort to provide thoughtful care to every patient.  We offered crisis pregnancy counseling, including both abortion and alternatives, pregnancy testing, HIV testing, free condoms, vasectomies and tubal ligations, birth control, and obstetric services in an emotionally safe, nonjudgmental atmosphere.

Although I considered myself to be a very open-minded person not prone to stereotyping, I was nonetheless amazed to meet women who did not fit neatly into my preconceived notions of the “kind” of person who would choose abortion versus adoption versus parenting.  In my initial medical review with each patient, it was not uncommon for me to try and predict what service any given woman was seeking.  I was very often wrong.    These women opened up and told me their stories, knowing that I was there only to provide them with the care they sought.  I was not simply gathering facts – the first day of a last menstrual period, whether or not birth control had been utilized, relationship status – I was a compassionate ear.  These women were ashamed, embarrassed, frightened.  They peppered their dialogue with justifications and explanations.  The stories they told lit a fire in me as I came to understand just how alone each of them was in making this difficult choice.

Twenty years later, I am still drawn to the tales these women shared of their struggle to make this monumental, life-changing decision.  Women’s sexuality comes shrouded in mystery and shame and is full of mixed messages.  Women and girls in America are expected to walk a fine line of pretty-but-not-too-sexy, flirtatious but not aggressive, and sexually responsive but not enthusiastic.  Sex is supposed to be acknowledged but not detailed and while men can slap each other on the back and celebrate their conquests openly, women are sluts or whores if they publicly discuss their sexuality.  For decades, we have used phrases like “getting in trouble” or “getting yourself pregnant” to describe an unexpected pregnancy, placing all of the shame and blame on the woman despite the firm knowledge that it takes both a man and a woman to make a baby. It is no wonder that making a decision to terminate a pregnancy or not forces women into emotional exile.

And so, twenty years later, I began searching for women to interview for this project. I did not have far to look.  I began by asking my friends if they knew anyone who would be willing to share their story.  Regardless of the ultimate decision they made, I was interested in the process of decision-making and the emotions involved.  I quickly discovered that I didn’t know as much about my friends as I thought I did.  The circle widened and within weeks I was inundated with offers from women who had given babies up for adoption, sought abortions, and chosen to raise their children alone.  I turned to the Internet and posted requests on several bulletin boards.  I found support groups for adoptive mothers, those who had children with various birth defects and genetic anomalies, and rape victims.  I posted an announcement on a comparative religion website and put my appeal for information out on sites for single parents.  I discovered a wonderful book entitled Everything Conceivable written by Liza Mundy that explores the history of reproductive techniques and I visited a website for mothers of multiples.  In three years, I interviewed over 150 women about their experiences facing the decision of whether or not to terminate a pregnancy.

The stories presented here represent women who have very little in common with each other beyond this one, shared experience.  Each one approached the dilemma with her own unique cultural and spiritual framework.  Each woman based her decision on the information she was able to collect at the time.  Each and every one of these women ultimately was solely responsible for the decision she made and was forced to make it within the context of society’s biases, the opinions of friends, family and strangers, local restrictions and an unrelenting deadline.  I am tremendously grateful to each and every individual who trusted me with her story.  I respect and honor the unique challenges every one of them faced and the desire to come to a decision that would affect the rest of their lives.