Very few people know I had abortions. I didn't want anyone to know while my dad was alive. He is the one that said I had to do it or get out. I did not know there were places and programs that would help me.
My sister took me the first time to a Planned Parenthood clinic, and it was wam-bam-thank-you-ma’am, over and never discussed again. I didn't dare bring up being upset about it. It wasn't allowed. It was a you-made-your-bed-lie-in-it attitude.
The second one I went by myself. My dad said to go do it and nobody was going to help. I was in the Midwest and had to drive several hours to get to the university hospital. I got put on the table and the doctor came in with a few students. It hurt, and he said, “Good, maybe you won't come back.” He was really rough. That was it. Up off the table and get out. I drove home and took care of myself. Both were early, about six weeks. Both were suction methods. Both were brutal to me and my body and the baby. I had physical problems down the road that led to two very early births and eventually a full hysterectomy, including the tubes, overies and cervix.
After I had kids, it hit me hard, what I had done in my teens. Talking about it helped. Jesus helped. I am not angry at my dad anymore. I wish there had been someone to offer me a helping hand.