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We were living in Virginia then, sometime in 1971 or early 1972. It was a nice enough day that we were outside, and I was walking behind my father and one of his co-workers as we strolled through the grounds behind our townhouse.
I don't know how the conversation started, but suddenly I heard my father say, "If it happened to Martha, I'd demand that she have an abortion. She almost died once. I'm not going to risk her life!"
I didn't know what he meant. It wasn't until several years later, after Dad had died and I was an adult, that I learned that my mother had had a difficult pregnancy, including a bad reaction to a prescription medication, and that she had nearly bled to death about a week after my birth thanks to a sudden hemorrhage. Her gynecologist told her at the time that she was lucky to have survived, and when she asked about more children he said something along the lines of "you have a healthy daughter. Don't push your luck."
That was why Dad was adamant that if Mum had become pregnant with a second child and things had started to go wrong again, not only would he have consented to an abortion,* he would have raised holy hell to make sure that she got the medical she needed. The joyous birth of his only child had nearly cost him his wife, and he was furious at the mere idea that the state could allow her to die because she counted for less than a fetus in the eyes of the law.
I've been in favor of reproductive rights ever since. No woman should have to depend on her husband's goodwill or the willingness of the local hospital to receive the healthcare she needs and deserves.
*This was in the bad old days, forty years ago, when many states required women to get their husbands' permission to have an abortion, open a separate bank account, purchase property in their own name, or use birth control. Yes. Really.
I don't know how the conversation started, but suddenly I heard my father say, "If it happened to Martha, I'd demand that she have an abortion. She almost died once. I'm not going to risk her life!"
I didn't know what he meant. It wasn't until several years later, after Dad had died and I was an adult, that I learned that my mother had had a difficult pregnancy, including a bad reaction to a prescription medication, and that she had nearly bled to death about a week after my birth thanks to a sudden hemorrhage. Her gynecologist told her at the time that she was lucky to have survived, and when she asked about more children he said something along the lines of "you have a healthy daughter. Don't push your luck."
That was why Dad was adamant that if Mum had become pregnant with a second child and things had started to go wrong again, not only would he have consented to an abortion,* he would have raised holy hell to make sure that she got the medical she needed. The joyous birth of his only child had nearly cost him his wife, and he was furious at the mere idea that the state could allow her to die because she counted for less than a fetus in the eyes of the law.
I've been in favor of reproductive rights ever since. No woman should have to depend on her husband's goodwill or the willingness of the local hospital to receive the healthcare she needs and deserves.
*This was in the bad old days, forty years ago, when many states required women to get their husbands' permission to have an abortion, open a separate bank account, purchase property in their own name, or use birth control. Yes. Really.
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 01:54 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 02:12 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 09:10 am (UTC)From:(In the UK, the law changed so that women could get loans without a guarantor when the ridiculousness was brought home by the realisation that there was probably about to be a Prime Minister who would be able to nuke Russia, but not buy a sofa on hire purchase.)
no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 01:58 pm (UTC)From:She was then stuck in my parents' nice new house in the suburbs, with no car, no friends, no women her own age, and her best friend (my aunt) at work in Pittsburgh during the day. The house is on a rather steep hill, a couple of miles from the local library, and there are no sidewalks, not to mention that walking back *up* the hill would have been all but impossible for her as her pregnancy advanced. She also no longer had a separate income (they didn't lose the house because the mortgage was based solely on *Dad's* income, of course), and she couldn't get unemployment because it was perfectly legal to fire a pregnant woman.
Her doctor, worried that she was "nervous," prescribed tranquilizers. Mum turned out to be allergic to them, and the subsequent drug reaction, which came just as my adult teeth were forming, is a reason why I have a mouthful of crowns.
People have no idea how bad it was for women before the feminist movement. No idea.