Reproductive freedom: A choice precisely because it’s so personal

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A disagreement about reproductive freedom with my sister-in-law, whom I love, caught me by surprise. I suddenly realized just how personal this issue is for me.

I’m a 74-year-old woman with adult kids and five grandchildren, and it’s taken me 50-plus years to realize that this issue which has always been important to me is also so very personal.

I grew up as one of seven kids in a very Catholic family. My mom had 11 pregnancies. Within that 11 were two miscarriages and two babies who died at birth. There’s a nine-year gap between my older brother and me. That’s when those tragic losses occurred. As you might imagine, I was prayed-for, wanted, welcomed and so very loved.

No one in my family had ever been to college, so it was hugely special that I chose to go, and scholarships, loans and work allowed that to happen. I succeeded and was selected as a resident assistant in the dorm for my sophomore year. Life was exciting.

But then at the beginning of second semester, just after I turned 20, I became pregnant. It was a terrible situation for me. I felt like I was just beginning to explore what my life could be; what I might do in the world. The distress I felt was enormous. It’s hard for me now to recall what it was like, but that disagreement with my sister-in-law brought it crashing down once again.

Through my distress, I was able to look at options. I lived in a state where abortions could be obtained within a two-hour drive. I knew this because one of the girls on my wing had one. So, I considered that option and agonized some more. The irony was that I was the RA, counseling girls who were my neighbors. And here I was almost failing classes because of this stressful secret.

The young man I was seeing was responsible, sensible and a few years older than me. He was ready to marry and was willing to support whatever decision I thought was best for me. I did love him, but I really didn’t want to be married yet. It was an agonizing time.

The end of this story is that we did marry. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who was cherished and welcomed by family and college friends. My new husband knew how committed I was to finishing school and how disappointed I was at thinking I might not do that.

I went back to college after missing only one semester.

My husband was a veteran and had GI Bill benefits. We both worked part time jobs. A grandmotherly neighbor watched our daughter for free. With help from neighbors, family and friends, we made it work.

Three years later in the middle of my first year as a teacher, we chose to get pregnant. This time a baby boy was born and welcomed with joy. For the record, we’re still married, and we’ve made that work, too.

Today, however, when I think of our four beautiful granddaughters and the fact that they don’t have the same personal reproductive freedom I had, I’m filled with anguish, rage, sometimes despair, and a willingness to work to change that situation.

I was a young woman who went through hell as I considered my options. But I had the freedom to get through that hell, knowing there were options.

My rage comes from having politicians think they know what’s right for a woman who becomes pregnant. In most cases, no one else has a clue what a woman goes through — not even a man who loves her. It’s gut-wrenching and heart-rending and all-consuming. No one has the right to impose their beliefs on a woman who is facing this life-altering, immensely difficult decision.

I made a choice that shaped my future, just as all choices do. But, I was the one who made the choice. It was personal.

The choices women make must be theirs, with all options available.

Mary Lou Rice, of St. Paul, is a retired leadership consultant.