"One method of destroying a concept is by diluting its meaning. Observe
that by ascribing rights to the unborn, i.e., the nonliving, the
anti-abortionists obliterate the rights of the living." – Ayn Rand
I am hardcore pro-choice. No lectures please and no pro-life sentiment. I will delete.
I have said before that I had considered aborting my daughter and had a male friend, not the father, offer to pay for it. I couldnâ€™t do it. I did not want to do it. I can still see my 17 year old self, with big 80s hair, walking out the front door of Planned Parenthood with pamphlets in my hand and tears in my eyes. I wanted her father. I needed him. I ached for him. Instead, at the bottom of the stairs was my darling friend R, the guy in town who took all the troubled girls to fix their problems.
I did not fix mine. She wasnâ€™t a problem. She was my child. My daughter. My soon to be first born.
Abortion, for me, at that time, was not for me. I wanted my darling girl. She was part of me. Part of her father. Proof of the love we shared and I wanted to give her life. I wanted her to flourish.
It was fear, religion, lack of resources and support that lead me into the belly of the adoption beast.
This parody, of Shakespeareâ€™s "To be, or Not to be" was written by me the first week I was interred in the maternity "home". I have the utmost respect for Will’s work and mean no disrespect or ridicule by this parody.
I sat at a cold wooden desk and scribbled it on a pad of paper. I had memorized this Shakespeare in high school and it was easy to parody for me. As the bitter Chicago wind blew into my room, I rested my left hand on my swollen belly as my right hand scribble furiously. When I am in emotional hell, I write. Frantically, furiously, often without a goal in mind, I write.
What was not physically present in the room, but is fairly obvious in this piece, is the IV line of Adoption Kool-Aid pulsing through my veins.
I like this piece for its creative qualities. I despise it for the clear support of adoption it displays.
How naive I was.
â€œTo Kill or Not To Killâ€¦â€
To kill or not to kill, that is the question,
Whether till nobler in the mind to suffer
The embarrassment and pain of an unplanned child,
Or to take a vacuum suction to the unwanted growth,
And by opposing end it. To kill, To destroy,
No more. And by destroying to say we end
The heartache and the thousand awful fates,
That unwed motherhood is heir to. Tis a finale,
Devoutly to be felt. To kill, to destroy
To destroy. â€“ Perchance to survive.
Ay! There is the irony.
For in that time of suction what dreams may come,
When we have withered away this mortal soul,
Must give us pain. There is the respect
That makes abortion of eternal life.
For who could bear the taunts and jeers of people,
The parents glare; the boyfriendsâ€™ disgust
The memories of one night; the love lost,
The insolences of society and the injustices
The world forces upon the unwed mother,
When she herself and her conscience make,
With an unplanned child? Who could bear these complications?
To live and sweat in the shadow of welfare,
But that the dread of something after death,
The unborn fetus, from whose death,
No mother returns, .. aches the heart
And makes her rather bear the challenges the child creates,
Than to fly to others she knows not of.?
Thus conscience does make a coward of her.
And thus her only possible solution
Is pondered over with much thought.
An adoption of pain and loss.
With this regard. Her mind is set.
And lose the thought of abortion â€“ Hear her now!
The unborn babe â€“ child in her womb.
Be all her love remembered."