Chris Jepson: Her body, her business

In January 1969, I was in the college student union mindlessly playing bridge when my then girlfriend (now wife) approached and pulled me from the game. I was needed, she said, to do a big favor. I have no idea my immediate response but I am confident I said, “Sure. No problem. What’cha need?”

What was needed was a man to go with her (and three girlfriends) to a small town some 30 miles south and confront an abortion doctor. I remember trembling in the back seat as I was informed that “Mary” in the front seat had had an abortion and was in bad shape, that she was bleeding and that the doctor refused to see her because her “problems” according to him were just normal post-procedure discharge.

When I tell you that I wanted to do this about as much as having a root canal without anesthesia is no exaggeration. I knew all the women in the car, liked and respected them all. We took classes together, partied together, went to dances, and did the things we all do as young adults. But now the laughing was over and I was instructed to go into the doctor’s office, insist on seeing him—as Mary’s “fictional” brother—and firmly explain to the good doctor the ramifications of what would happen if he didn’t.

I am not a tough guy. I do not have a threatening demeanor. I am tall, statistically speaking, but the only thing going for me on this occasion was that I was male and as such, an authoritative figure who could speak plainly. The doctor had a regular medical practice and did illegal abortions on the side. Mary was suffering with complications and he repeatedly refused to see her. She did not have the option of simply going to a hospital emergency room. What was started required the doctor to finish, completely.

I did as requested and after an uncomfortable delay in the office confronted the doctor, explained the situation and that if more of the family became involved, well, it would be unfortunate for all involved. The doctor did not believe for a second I was the brother but suffice it to say, recognized that if I was now there, her problem was now his problem. He saw Mary that night.

Abortion rights, reproductive choice continues to be a hot flash issue in America. Planned Parenthood is under attack today for making available body tissue (for medial research, etc.) from aborted fetuses.

This issue is “spun” a lot of different ways and it is anticipated that Republicans and conservatives are now tweaking their attacks on a woman’s fundamental right to control her own body by focusing on the aborted fetus rather than the rights of American women.

I, as a man, will never know the experience of becoming pregnant and all that that implies. That men have any voice in this discussion is at the discretion of women (in my opinion).

This is the crux of the issue. Is it going to be the state (your next door neighbor, etc.) or the woman who decides whether she—alone— has autonomous control of her own body, her own destiny? I unequivocally opt for the woman — in every instance.

That I, as a young man, became involved in the private business of a woman and her body is unacceptable. That the state would be, is even more so.