"Chuckie, I'm pregnant..."
It was the summer of '93, right before my senior year at Morehouse College, and I was back home in Tallahassee working as a runner for a large boutique law firm.
I was living alone at my mom's townhouse as she was teaching in Russia and touring the Baltic States of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania from June until August. For those who know me well, being alone and enjoying my own company has always come naturally for me, despite having grown up the youngest (and only boy) in a house full of sisters; there came a time when the things that interested me as a little boy didn't necessarily interest them as teenage girls, thus, my conditioning to love solitude even within a family structure.
But on this particular evening, I got a phone call from one of my closest female friends from childhood and after the usual "hey" and "what's up" pleasantries, my friend, 19-years old and ALWAYS blunt, told me that she had taken several home early detection tests and they all came to the same conclusion—which is that she was pregnant!
Less than an hour later, my friend stopped by momma's house and I sat mostly silent as she talked her way through a series of negative self critiques which included a statement repeated like mantra: "how could I be so dumb?" I assured her time and again that she was anything but dumb, and between the alternating fits of her tears and frowns, and our occasional "oohs," "ahhs," and laughter as we watched the NBA Finals between the Chicago Bulls and Phoenix Suns, the inevitable question that I had...the one that comedian Chris Rock famously joked as the ONLY question that men should ever ask in these situations, was: "what are you gonna do?"
There was a second question, the elephant in the room if you will, that the then future litigator in me just HAD to pose, which was whether she had told her boyfriend—also one of my oldest friends from childhood—and ascertained his thoughts about their nascent pregnancy?
Well, they had discussed the matter and suffice it to say that her boyfriend was ALL for her terminating the pregnancy—post haste. I quickly surmised without saying a word that such was part of her melancholy in that on the one hand, she easily rationalized that it would be tough to navigate through Florida A&M's tough School of Business and Industry curriculum as a sophomore single mother. And yet, through tears, she wondered aloud whether her boyfriend's rejection of their pregnancy was, in a manner of speaking, a rejection of their relationship?
As a friend to both, I was uncomfortable with passing any judgment on his position, but I did listen attentively to hers and helped her to weigh the pros and cons that evening to the point that when she got into her car to go home, the decision had been made—she would have an abortion.
Several weeks later, the day of reckoning had arrived, so I took the day off from work, picked her up from her house and drove her to the clinic that she had set her appointment in downtown Tallahassee. As a local, I was shocked that I had driven by this non-descript building thousands of times and never realized precisely what transpired within its walls—but I learned, for sure, that day.
When we entered the building, I quickly noticed that I was the only male in the waiting area, and perhaps in the entire building; the receptionists and counselors were all women, nevertheless, I noticed that with each area that we were brought into, that there was an extremely high degree of care and concern displayed for my friend by the staff. Their professionalism towards her, however, did little to assuage the fear that I could clearly see in her eyes and feel in her hands, as she squeezed my own hands harder and harder as time passed by.
Soon enough, my friend was led into a room and after changing into what I could only describe as a surgical gown, she was instructed to lie down on the bed while the nurse placed her feet into two stirrups. At this point, I started to get a little nervous, which led me to ask whether I needed to head back into the waiting room? My friend shrieked through tears "Chuckie, please don't go," and once the nurse told me that as the father, it was ok for me to stay, I didn't even think to correct the staff with "I'm just the friend," as semantics weren't important—my friend's welfare was what was important.
So I stayed, and to this very day, I remain surprised with how quickly the abortion procedure began—with my friend squeezing my hand and arm the whole time—and then, in an instant, the machine stopped whizzing and the procedure was over.
Now, my friend was only about 10 weeks pregnant at the time, a factor that contributed to the procedure's brevity at the clinic. The nurses then allowed her to rest in a recovery room for about 45 minutes, after which I drove her to my momma's house, where I cooked her brunch and let her sleep in my room for the next several hours while I watched TV in the family room. Around 5 that evening, her boyfriend—again, one of my oldest friends—stopped by, thanked me for helping out as he was unable to get off from work that day—and the couple then took off, probably to his house.
Those events took place over 30 years ago, and I remember them just as vividly now as I did when they were happening at the time. Back then, I passed no judgment at all because I understood that but for God's grace, it wasn't my time to face such a crucial decision—at least not that time...
Today, May 1, 2024, the State of Florida has officially implemented a ban on abortions after six weeks. This ban was passed by a Republican dominated legislature and signed into law by Republican Gov. Ron Desantis as one of his signature "culture war" issues last year when he thought that the same would propel him past Donald Trump into the Republican nomination for president.
30 years ago, my friend, being 10 weeks pregnant, would NOT have been able to obtain an abortion under current Florida law as she was seven, maybe eight weeks pregnant when her tests proved conclusive. This same general time issue would have vexed me and many, many, MANY other women and their partners that I personally know who ultimately chose to terminate a pregnancy at some point of time or another.
Those decisions to abort were fraught with stress—some of which is STILL felt by some of us to this very day, which is why I continue to conclude that a woman's right to choose remains highly personal—if not sacrosanct—and one that she and she alone must decide—not the state or federal government or the judiciary.
Lest we forget what the Republican Party have wrought with regards to abortion rights across America come November...
Kudos my brother for your concern and care for your friend. You make a valid point that’s often ignored, the decision should be left to the individual and not the state, federal government or judiciary. Freedom for women’s health choices are being and have been eroded by people who espouse hypocrisy daily about supporting freedom of choice.
I won’t forget…. Our bodies, our choice! Great piece Chuck!💪🏽 You are definitely a great friend. We’ve had plenty of talks on the band field with no judgment.. Keep up the great work! I enjoy reading your informative articles because I value your opinion. 🙏🏽 ✌🏽