Guest Blog by Jacquelyn Judd

I have asked a number of people to contribute guest blogs to this blog site. More voices than just mine seem in order. If you are interested in joining this guest list, please write to me and I will arrange for your blog to also be posted. Jacquelyn wrote her blog post in response to the “Personhood” issue we discussed on the Sullivan St Press Facebook page. If you aren’t a fan yet, please drop by and “like” it. (www.facebook.com/sullivanstpress)

Before Women’s Rights

Jacquelyn Judd

I was fifteen years old in 1962 when my eyes were brutally opened to the results of illegal abortion: I watched as my
high school classmate/friend bled to death slowly as the result of a botched back-alley abortion. I was to blame–
I and three or four other friends, including her long-time boyfriend. We had collectively decided that an abortion
was the best solution for her pregnancy. This was a big secret to keep. Any abortion was illegal.

In those days a woman (whether she was fifteen or thirty-years old) had few options when she was unwed and pregnant. No matter what “choice” she might make, furthermore, she was already a sinner (in any church).
We were not branded with a blazing A on our foreheads anymore, but we were branded for life emotionally.
Thus the veil of secrecy was the most important part of her pregnancy. It is important to realize that we had
no pregnancy preventatives then except rubbers, which no one liked to use, and diaphragms, I guess (I’ve never
seen one). Every woman that I knew who was having sexual relations douched to prevent pregnancy–not at all
effective. No one was working on that problem. Women were expected to “behave themselves.”

Here were the choices: (1) adoption, which meant, for the teenager, that her parents would find out, and others would
figure it out as well; (2) an expensive back-alley abortion in a secret–and most often very unsterile, filthy–environment;
or if she had no money, (3) she could try to abort the fetus herself. Various manners of accomplishing the latter were
spread as rumors are spread–no one had any proof that these actions were successful. Such actions included douching
with Draino, I remember, or other acidic solutions, but the most popular of the DIY methods was using a hanger (wire,
of course), straightening it out, inserting it through the cervix, and scraping the womb. We knew the dangers of using a hanger:
Puncture wounds, if not fatal, almost guaranteed permanent sterility.

My girlfriend and her boyfriend, although only 15- and 17-years old, planned to marry some day, and they wanted to have
children–then. Also, the fact that my girlfriend was only 15 (underaged) and her boyfriend was 17 meant that if her
pregnancy were discovered, he could be charged with statutory rape. We chose the most secretive and “safest”
method: We would seek out an abortionist.

Most often, abortionists were disreputable male MDs. Most women weren’t allowed into the medical field at that time.
The abortionist found for my friend was quite obviously either a dope-addict or a drunk, she told us. He wanted no
identification from her, and he withheld his identity from her. There was little furniture in the cheap hotel room
but a table and a bright floor lamp. She handed him the money and laid down on the table. The whole, very painful,
abortion took about ten minutes, and she was sent on her way.

And now we were watching her bleed. Like most naive teenagers, I suppose, we expected the bleeding to stop.
When it didn’t we tried to block the flow with towels. We didn’t consider aloud that we should call an ambulance. Her
secret would really be exposed if she went to the hospital. She didn’t offer that solution herself
as she grew weaker and weaker.

Finally we realized we had to call her parents. They got there just before her heart stopped beating.

There was no mention of her pregnancy ever again. There was no autopsy. There was no investigation.
She was quietly laid to rest. She, like her fetus, was gone. We, her friends and her parents and perhaps especially
her boyfriend, were stunned and silent. Forever. Like she.

This event occurred in St. Louis, MO. Jacquelyn Judd can be reached at jacquelynjudd@yahoo.com