I became pregnant in the Spring of '78. The father was in the Navy and I was not able to communicate with him. His cousin drove me to the clinic.

(It was) very scary (no explanation about procedure) and painful. The doctor didn't wait for the anesthetic to take effect. He seemed to be in a hurry.

For five years I tried to pretend that it didn't bother me. But I couldn’t deny that the vacuum cleaner sound bothered me; I'd get tensed up and edgy. I had nightmares and tried to defend my decision by getting very involved in the pro-choice movement. The father cried when I told him what I did.

I drank a lot and tried to bury my sorrows. Finally had admitted what I did was wrong. Started a support group and went through Bible study that went over the stage of grief. This was very helpful because others also had a similar experience. It was like a release valve for some very pent-up emotions.

I'll always wonder about the child I lost. It scarred me physically, causing me to have premature children (one of which died from SIDS).