Have You Got the Balls to Talk About Abortion?
<p>I was wheeled on a rickety gurney through a dark corridor in an ancient building in Wurzburg, Germany; the blinding lights and oddly shaped bricks seemed to stretch for miles in every direction, engulfing me in a surreal and mysterious atmosphere.</p>
<p>Outside the OR, a tall, dark orderly in scrubs patted my band-aid-covered hand, “You’re next. Don’t worry. <strong><em>You won’t remember any of this</em></strong>.” His voice was kind and reassuring, but <em>I knew he was wrong</em>.</p>
<p><em>In my hand, I held a brown paper bag containing my dead baby.</em></p>
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