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No comfort or compassion

When I had my abortion, I really wanted the baby, but my doctor, my school counselor, and of course, my boyfriend, all said get an abortion. I was not old enough to make such a decision, but was afraid that it would hurt my parents too much. My guidance counselor provided me with an excused absence from school one day and my 16-year-old best friend drove me downtown to see a judge, who over-rided the required parental consent after interviewing me for 5 minutes stating that I "had a good head on my shoulders." This was probably the biggest injustice done to me because had I been required to tell my parents I’m almost sure I would not have had the abortion. My mother had me when she was 17, and I now believe she would have been a great influence in that direction. But when you’re 16 and pregnant, all you want is the problem solved because you’re in over your head and you’re scared.

All I remember about the experience at the clinic is that they moved me along very fast. There was no comfort or compassion. The abortionist never even spoke to me—let alone introduce himself.

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