Deirdre’s Story

I was nineteen. I had been dating a guy for only about a month when I found out I was pregnant. For the first two months, I had only told a few friends. When I told my family when I was about nine weeks pregnant, they were devastated but very supportive, except for my mom. She said abortion right away. I wasn’t sure about anything yet. But I knew if I had a baby that I would end up just like my mom. I didn’t want that. I love her, but she wasn’t the best mom, plus she nineteen when she got pregnant with my older sister. I thought about it for a long time, and realized that if I had an abortion, I could become the midwife I want to be. Nothing was going to stand in my way of that. My boyfriend wanted me to keep it, so did his mother. When she learned about my decision, she asked me why I was killing my baby. I told her I was too young and not ready.

My mom, two sisters and their boyfriends came to the clinic with me, but only my mom could come in to the waiting room. They piped in a local radio station into the PA system. One of the songs played was “Papa Don’t Preach”; I was thinking how ironic that was. I was called in to the procedure room first. I was relieved to get it over with. I was told by the nurse that I could change my mind at any time. I knew that, but wasn’t going to. I was sitting on a bench in a gown and another woman came in to have one. We talked for a while. When I was called in, I was given another chance to change my mind. I said “I’m more determined then ever.” They administered a narcotic for pain and it was over quicker than I thought. After my recovery I went out and my mom hugged me. I stepped out of the waiting room and my sisters and their boyfriends group-hugged me.

As I was walking out of the clinic, I was thinking, what a good thing I just did. For me, and my future.

I marched on DC on April 25, 2004. I wore a shirt saying I had an abortion, and I’m not sorry.