The Sixth Street Bridge

The Sixth Street Bridge
At the tender age of 17, I walked across this bridge, alone, into Downtown Pittsburgh, with $300 in my pocket that my mother had given me to get an abortion. I went into the Fulton Building (in the picture) and did what I was told to do. I didn't have a choice - if I did, I wouldn't have chosen abortion.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Yesterday, I got in a kind of debate with some folks about what happens to a woman (or in my case, a girl) after she has an abortion.  It still stuns me that some people think nothing happens to a woman who has an abortion except that one minute she is pregnant and the next she is not.  I'm sick of debating friends and colleagues over "women's rights" regarding abortion - if it's such a hard won right and should be so protected - why is it so shameful?  Why is it so hidden and kept secret?  Why are abortion clinics tucked away behind buildings with the windows covered by cardboard or paint? 

I'm not able to make a strong enough case to change some people's minds, but I'll still try from my little soap box here on the web.

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