I’ve seen my insides on camera more times than you can shake a stick at and there is literally never a time that an ultrasound isn’t accompanied by a feeling of sickness, fear and trepidation. I’ve stared at the fuzzy screen, squinting and baffled, covered inside and out in cold goo as I waited to hear if my womb was working as it should, my babies were ‘progressing’ as they should (mostly ‘no’) and to identify the location of the damage after my beautiful girl was desperately dragged gasping into the world through what ‘comedians’ refer to as ‘The Sun Roof’, but most women would refer to as ‘layers of skin, muscle and uterus that are agony as they heal’.
What I’m guffing on about is that having our internal organs fiddled about with is not something women endure lightly. Whether it’s a cervical smear, ultrasound or internal examination, we’d all rather it wasn’t happening. We endure a great deal in the name of our physical health. And like it or not, our pink squishy reproductive bits are often directly linked with our mental health too.
I can take a very balanced approach to this topic, as I have been been on the receiving end of a latex gloved finger more times than I care to count. Some have been to a positive end, but the majority have ended in some sadness, treatment or emotional struggle. But ultimately and primarily each and every time has been as a result of a decision, monumental or otherwise, that I alone have taken.
When I saw the photographs of that MONSTROUS photo banner of an aborted foetus hanging on a wall in Southwark, I felt like I would be the perfect person to have a ‘special discussion’ with the placard-holding, religo-fuckwits of Abort 67, an organisation who profess to ‘uphold the value, dignity and rights of all human life which includes the unborn’.
If they value life so much, then why can’t they care for the living? As the now-famous Angry Pregnant Woman pointed out, no-one knows what journey brings a pregnant woman to the door of an abortion clinic. There are any number of horrors that could be at play. Or she simply may not want to be a mother. And that’s quite alright too. Why is it so appalling that a human being might know herself so well that she knows absolutely definitely does not want children? Or, more precisely, does not to want children at this time. It is absolutely the sounder judgement to not bring an unwanted child into the world – the mere existence of a new law allowing prosecution on the grounds of emotional abuse of children speaks volumes about the poor choices people make and how they impact and damage the most vulnerable among us.
I am constantly at a wrangle with the concept of a ‘Christian Ethos’. My daughter goes to a school where she is expected to say prayers and is taught Bible stories. She is a small happy person for whom ‘being nice’ is just a natural way to conduct yourself, rather than an imposed doctrine of faith. It is actually possible to be a really cool, live-and-let-live kinda human AND have beliefs at any age. What I find most offensive about Abort 67 is the fact that they shed all responsibility for their heinous words and hurtful actions by shifting the responsibility for all of it from themselves and onto a supposedly shared god.
They are playing a part in shattering the mental health of women who are ultimately taking absolute responsibility for their actions and will carry the experience around with them, good or bad, for the rest of their lives. The members of Abort 67 show nothing but cowardice by not standing beside their own formulated, verbalised, transcribed and loudly-imposed-upon-the-world beliefs, but conveniently hiding behind a system that allows them to never grow up and be answerable and accountable for their actions. My six year old learnt around three years ago that blaming an invisible man when she made a boo-boo is wrong. Grow the fuck up, Abort 67.