All posts tagged: abortion

Why Wait Until 12 Weeks When You Can Share Now?

Some of you will be aware that I’m now working part time for Emily’s Voice, an Australian media campaign that shares stories of real women and families in an effort to uphold the cause of the unborn – in a loving, compassionate and heartfelt way. It’s true that my writing for Emily’s Voice has given me less time and focus for my blog. So I thought I’d share with you one of the many stories I’ve been writing for this wonderful organisation. I encourage you to head over to the Emily’s Voice website too and check it out, see how you can be involved and make a big difference in little lives.   I NOTICED that glamorous mummy blogger Sophie Cachia announced her pregnancy early to friends, family and 121,000 Instagram followers recently. She penned some poignant thoughts in an article for popular media website Mamamia. “Societal norms prevent us from freely announcing pregnancy until after the 12-week mark,” she shared as she also revealed the fact she was 9 weeks pregnant. “I didn’t make the …

Two Victims or Two Gifts

My children have terribly picky eating habits. “Man cannot live on honey sandwiches alone!” I’ve often said to my five-year-old, who laughs and parrots back, “I can, mummy!” A rare breakthrough in the consumption of greens came when a friend bought said child a gardening kit complete with terra-cotta pot, paint and paintbrush for decorating, and a packet of watercress seeds. He painted a face on the pot, planted the seeds and in no time at all “Cresstopher” had grown a crop of lush green hair. The part for motherly rejoicing came when he gobbled down his cress and mayo sandwich – and asked for more. So, you will understand why there is a tray of cress perpetually on our kitchen windowsill and, though I’m no green thumb, it is diligently watered daily. These fine fronds of green line the innards of my son’s sandwiches (along with lashings of mayo), because spinach leaves, lettuce, cucumber or any other green filling is, “YUCK!” I quite enjoy the process. We lay out a bed of cotton wool before …

Thank You to the Abortionist Who Had a Plane to Catch

You walk into the clinic and take a seat beside your boyfriend.
Three other women are seated in the cramped waiting room, one with her mother.
A stack of magazines sits untouched.
There is no music.

The four women waiting for an abortion that day are deathly silent. They look at the floor, at their hands, at the walls. The hush amplifies the voice of the receptionist as she makes phone calls. When a doctor strides in and tells her that appointments must be cancelled that day, his voice is as clear as a heartbeat. Those waiting lean in.

I Never Thought Abortion Would Cross My Mind… But It Did

Leading up to Christmas, I want to share with you FIVE GIFTS of LIFE. These are five real stories of local women who fell pregnant young, outside of their plans, and made good anyway. Each Friday between now and Christmas, I’ll publish another. First was Rachel. Here’s the second, Stacey: In the space of a week, Launceston woman Stacey received a little feet pin in her letterbox and happened to be watching television when an Emily’s Voice ad aired – five times. It was the ad detailing Madeleine’s story of grief following her decision to abort her own baby at eight weeks. Stacey was 16 years old, eight weeks pregnant and not a believer in consequences. With Madeleine’s story on her mind, the pin in her hand – with feet the same size as a 10-week gestation baby – she knew that the wrestle in her head was over. “I never thought abortion would ever cross my mind – I always thought it was wrong, but when it came to me finding out I was …

She’s Pro-Life and Doesn’t Realise it

I met a woman who is pro-life and doesn’t realise it. She’s one of those people with grit and strength learnt through hardship yet without the hard shell of bitterness that many battlers wear. Let’s call her Rachel. Before the law called her an adult, she had done many adult things. Drugs. Alcohol. Sleeping rough. Sex in exchange for a place to lay her head. And at sweet 16 she was pregnant, a child about to bear her own child. Rachel smiles and laughs through the telling of her story, slowing to emphasise the gut-wrenching bits, but not lingering there long. It’s in the past now. The present is her focus – how could it not be when it involves a happy toddler and the rollercoaster of motherhood! Why did you keep your baby? I ask. She was the typical candidate: young, emotionally unstable, no money and in the vice of substance abuse. “It never crossed my mind to abort my baby,” she says. “I couldn’t tell you why.” She pauses, eyes travelling to an …

From Sleeping Rough to Cradling a Newborn

The night of Rachel’s 16th birthday was the first she slept rough on a park bench in Launceston.
It was winter. None of her family called. Her boyfriend said she was a “Slut!” and pushed her out the door.
Sweet 16, it was not.
Rachel slept rough for a week before she started exchanging sex for a place to sleep.
How did it get this bad?

Lambs Cut Down in Spring

There are four prerequisites for Spring. Four things that I must witness before Spring can truly be declared as here and happening: Daffodils in bloom. Sunshine without sunburn. Washing on the line (rather than strung throughout the house). And lambs frolicking in paddocks. It’s a season of unfurling, of pink vulnerability and joyful abandon. Gah! Those sweet little lambs. White and carefree, romping in the green, performing those delightful leaps that linger at mid-point. That’s before some crazy jumps the fence with a hammer and bludgeons one to death. One, then another, and another, until the poor Beulah farmer has a pile of 56 lamb carcasses, mindlessly killed, tortured. One had the wool ripped off its shins and its ears burned, the farmer told reporters. Gives you chills. What prompts such brutality? Please, can someone identify the gene, the experience, the upbringing, the education that generates such behaviour so we can purge society of it? Alas, you know as well as I do, that’s not going to happen. Let me be honest. When I saw photos of …

Life: A Dangerous Topic

Forty-three years ago, photographer Robert Wolfe snapped a photo of a living, two-month-gestation baby. A golden droplet the size of a mandarin segment encases the undeniably human embryo. Head, eyes, arms and fingers are evident in exquisite detail. The fingers of the doctor or nurse hover below, giving scale to the dot of life they are about to grasp. The photo was taken during surgery for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy at the University of Minnesota in 1972. The doctor who administered the anaesthetic beheld, “what I believe was the smallest living human ever seen.” This is what he described: “The embryo sac was intact and transparent. Within the sac was a tiny human male swimming extremely vigorously in the amniotic fluid, while attached to the wall by the umbilical cord. The tiny human was perfectly developed, with long, tapering fingers, feet and toes. It was transparent, as regards the skin, and the delicate arteries and veins were prominent to the ends of the fingers. The baby was extremely alive and did not look at all like …

Baby, the World’s a Crazy Place

Surely this is the most luminous point of life. Right here where I hold the gaze of two sets of blue-spangled eyes, their innocence and adoration as naked as their bums at bath time. The daily heart-swells of gratitude for my children are a serendipitous part of my day. I hope they never stop. What a charmed space to occupy; wiping their tears, singing them to sleep, making them giggle, helping them learn, watching their firsts. This little window of blissful simplicity is where we place the greatest value on life. Infancy is the peak of human worth. When life at this point is marred, the injustice leaves our faith in humanity black and blue. I stroke the downy back of my baby girl’s neck and her whole face flushes with glee. Her legs kick and her arms shiver with excitement. “You have a world of contradictions to contend with, my sweet,” I whisper into her hair. I wonder if she will grasp the truth amongst the mixed messages. The contradiction of Valentines Day, to begin. This …

Twelve Weeks

This is a work of fiction that I wrote a while back. I feel rather vulnerable sharing it with you – for many reasons. Firstly, I don’t write a lot of fiction! And while I call it ‘fiction’ there are elements of truth embedded. You might be able to pick them. It’s also based on the topic closest to my heart: how immensely precious life is. I would be so grateful for any constructive feedback xxx TWELVE WEEKS Blood runs black beneath the nib hovering at Allira’s wrist. Jim smoothes the design on its scrap of paper before pressing back into flesh. He’s a redhead with blue-green eyes, freckled skin and a half-hearted goatee. The acrid whiff of cigarette smoke loiters at his teeth – he was drawing on a rolly at the shop’s steps when Allira arrived. He took his time to finish before walking in to set up. Allira sat on the couch to wait, gaping at the framed sketches of skulls, bare-breasted women and taloned creatures. The music was angry. Finally, Jim …