I had an abortion in 1965, before it was legal in the U.S.A. I had to go down to Tijuana, Mexico, to a doctor recommended by a U.S. gynecologist. The time was getting short for my decision to have or not have an abortion as my pregnancy approached 12 weeks. This baby was the child of my beloved boyfriend, but it was before we were ready. Since he was opposed to me having the child, I felt I could not bring the child into this world if the father didn't want it. So I took a bus to the border and walked across into Tijuana and found the doctor's office. I asked to see his medical license, but was trembling so much that I couldn't read the Spanish, though I know Spanish. I paid the fee and the nurse and doctor performed the abortion, which turned out to have no harmful physical effects. I asked the physician whether it was a boy or a girl, but he said he hadn't looked. The doctor said to send my friends to him - as if I would tell anyone what I had done. I took the bus to San Diego and stayed at a motel for that night and cried all night. I had murdered my own child and it still deeply saddens me and my beloved husband when we think about it. But life has been good to us - we married later and have two wonderful, successful adult children, to whom I eventually explained what I had done. We all believe in choice, but do not take it lightly. It is a tragedy to have to make that choice.
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