I was married to the text book abusive husband. One night at three a.m. I got the courage to walk out on him. I had no where to go, really, but I went. About a month and a half later I realised I was pregnant. I already had two sons who were being looked after by his mother, I was at the mid-point of a degree. The idea of having another child for this man, of retying myself to this man was such that if I wasn’t able to get an abortion I would kill myself.
,p> I went into the hospital on Friday, I had the abortion and was back in class on Monday. That was in 1976.
I am not sorry.
I have never regretted it. It was not simply a matter of money, it was not simply a matter of giving up my dream to have another child I couldn’t look after. It was knowing that I had escaped him, and would not ever go back, or allow myself to be demeaned, brutalised, and turned into a non-person.
Today, I am a professional, and I have had another child. The two sons I had with my first husband grew to manhood and despise him, the daughter of my second marriage has never known anything but love.
I am not sorry. I would do it again.
