pro-choice

The first time I felt like I had lost control of my body was over six years ago, when I found out I was pregnant. Biology and time and every facet of my human existence seemed to be working against me. I was afraid and ashamed, because I could have been smarter and more accurate with my birth control and I wasn’t too young or too dumb. I knew better. But, thankfully, there was something I could do about it.

Something had clicked in my head. Suddenly I didn't give a shit when life began or whether or not a fetus counts as a “baby.” I was overwhelmed by the new-found knowledge that pregnancy is unfairly invasive in every single way.

If you believe in bodily autonomy and consent, folks should get to consent (or not) to the process of gestation. Full stop. No caveats.

The anti-choice movement is and has always been about fear and shame. If it weren't, you’d see anti-abortion protestors standing outside clinics with charter buses that take patients to social work centers where they assist them in getting housing, childcare, job support — including maternity leave, enrollment in food programs, and parenting classes.

It’s that last phrase — “at a location appropriate to the patient” — that is the biggest deal. What that means is the doctor and patient can, together, decide where the patient can take the second dose and complete the abortion process. For many (if not most) patients, the most appropriate location is at home.

I know a woman who worked in an inner-city hospital before the passage of Roe v Wade. Every week, staff there saw women come in battling massive infection or blood loss. They actually reserved beds for women like this because it was so common. The cause? Illegal, unsafe abortions. But that was then, right? That was 42 years ago, right? That doesn’t happen anymore, right? Wrong.

I didn't want to go through the experience of having an abortion. I didn't want to get pregnant in the first place. But I was grateful for the option. An option I had fought hard for to protect all women (including myself), marching on Washington, protesting at the Virginia state capital, raising money, collecting signatures. And now I had the chance to turn this unhappy experience into another piece of my own activism.

I believe in reproductive justice. I believe everyone deserves a say in how, when, and if, they choose to reproduce. I believe comprehensive sex education and access to safe and legal abortion are important parts of giving women, girls, and other people with uteruses full agency over their reproductive lives. Could we extend this to cats, too?