It was about 1972 and I was at a party and drinking gin and seven up.

In 1961 at the age of 19 and still living at home with my parents, I had an illegal back alley abortion and began to slowly bleed almost to death. At that time in my life, I would rather be dead than pregnant.

I started seeing a therapist again after my abortion. She tells me it’s OK to talk about this, but I know I’m not supposed to.

The first 16 years of my life were something out of a Lifetime Channel movie; alcoholic, misogynist, abusive stepfather; enabling and psychologically damaged mother; and a spoiled, bratty, but obedient younger sister.

In 1974 I found my twenty year old self alone and pregnant. I was in my senior year of college in Chicago and applying to graduate school.

I found out I was pregnant again when my son was 7 months old. I was heartbroken.