Caitlin Flanagan just wrote at truly excellent piece on abortion for the Atlantic, sensitively looking at the different sides of the argument for women’s access to abortion. Her opening examination of Lysol-induced abortions chilled me to the bone. Infuriating, truly, that women would both feel such dire responsibility for the child that their husband’s sexual needs brought into the world, could be preyed upon by a greedy consumer industry and doctors, and could pay for it with their lives. When Flanagan describes dying women denying to reveal the names of their abortionists, I felt the gall in my throats rise.
abortion: or the poem of force
abortion: or the poem of force
abortion: or the poem of force
Caitlin Flanagan just wrote at truly excellent piece on abortion for the Atlantic, sensitively looking at the different sides of the argument for women’s access to abortion. Her opening examination of Lysol-induced abortions chilled me to the bone. Infuriating, truly, that women would both feel such dire responsibility for the child that their husband’s sexual needs brought into the world, could be preyed upon by a greedy consumer industry and doctors, and could pay for it with their lives. When Flanagan describes dying women denying to reveal the names of their abortionists, I felt the gall in my throats rise.