I came of age in Alabama in a small window of time in which women had control over their own bodies.
I am knocking over the first domino in a chain that ends with me on my bedroom floor with blood on my pillow and no idea how I got there.
Every time he walked into a room I thought he’d brought the light along with him.
We have long enjoyed toothpaste freedom in this country, but most choices, including that one, are limited by other factors: economic situation, regional toothpaste availability.
Numerous women have told the protesters and me that they are fighting cancer and must terminate their pregnancy to begin chemo. This confession seems to make the protesters even nastier.
The noise and the gruesome signs seem to become a blur and my focus centers on one thing: get the patient in the door.
We wore fake gold wedding bands because some congressmen wouldn’t meet with us unless we appeared to be married.