There's Always A Choice

To Republicans: Please, feel free to ban abortion. I'll wait...

Done?

Good.

What have you accomplished? Nothing. Well, not nothing, but perhaps something you couldn't conceive of, as if you were in full belief that the stroke of a pen simply causes people to behave differently. If that were the case, you're probably actually follow the precepts of The Bible...

But I digress.

So you slam the door on "baby killing," padlock Planned Parenthood, pat yourselves on the back, and call it a day, thinking you have rid the world of one more "scourge." You have put women in their place, depriving them of something you are sure they didn't need anyway.

And somewhere, in a kitchen, or a family room, or a trailer, or a shack, or a church, or a car or a clinic, there sits a woman (or to be far to the transgendered, any person with a womb), clutching the awful news that they are pregnant, at a time, in a place, in a situation, where such a thing is unwanted, or unwarranted, or complicating. It wasn't meant to happen, it wasn't supposed to happen, it shouldn't have happened... and yet there it is, the report, the pregnancy test, saying that it is, in fact, so.

Maybe there is mere fretting, but more likely there might be sobbing, anger, frustration, fear, uncertainty, fright, panic, depression... maybe all of these things, in various levels and proportions. Suddenly, a world which seemed to be operating as smoothly as it does any day, lurches and shakes and shudders, and someone is left to pick up the pieces. They need an out, not because they enjoy the thought of it, but because in this time and place is not the right time and place.

But you've left them no choice... have you?

That's what you think.

You'd like to believe wholeheartedly that your damnation of abortion has expunged the idea and practice from the face of the Earth. You want to believe that anyone seeking one will now simply shrug their shoulders, give up, and bring the fetus to term, to fill the world with another helpless, mewling soul. Anyway, it's not your business at that point...

Don't kid yourself.

Desperation leads to drastic action.

Our forlorn mother-to-be will be wracked with spasms of horror, but will more than likely be pushed to take a course that you refuse to acknowledge: She will do it herself.

Maybe with help, maybe alone, maybe with chemicals, maybe with tools, maybe in a way unfathomable, but she will not be denied the surcease of the pain this pregnancy is causing, will cause, no matter how much anyone abhors it. She will follow through... and perhaps will not live to see the morrow.

You have done what you thought was best for all involved, only to allow the rose-colored shortsightedness you are cloaked in to hide the truth: a woman always has a choice. Short of manacling the pregnant to beds, there is no way to banish abortion. No will, no law, no admonishment will make it stop, merely place it beyond your prying eyes, in back alleys, and motel rooms, and silent apartments.

All because you tried to play God.

Sleep well. When you arise the clinics will be silent... and so will be the screams of women dying in tortured anguish.