oday is an anniversary for me. Fifteen years ago today, I woke up pregnant—when I truly didn’t want to be—for the last time. My day started out in a very ordinary way. I riffled through my closet, proclaiming nothing to wear, but eventually choosing a tee shirt, tight jeans, and a thong. What does one wear to an abortion? I drove my then-boyfriend’s house to pick him up so he could drop me off at the clinic.
When I arrived at the clinic, the only sense of nervousness and panic occurred when I saw all of the security cameras and bullet proof glass greeting me at the door. I instinctively knew these precautions were to keep me safe from those who are anti-abortion and choose to threaten people undertaking abortions at clinics. It just left me feeling more sure in