Friday, March 2, 2012
Even a Broken Clock . . .
Unlike many women, however, my terror of becoming pregnant wasn't just societal or situational, it was deeply personal, almost philosophical. I don't know if it's genetic (all the other women in my family have children) but I knew from a very early age, around 8 or 9, that I never wanted to be a mother. As I grew up and my feelings solidified and strengthened, I realized that I was the only person responsible for my decision. Did I—do I—have a right to make it? Yes. Did I—do I—have a right to make someone else pay for it? No. It was personal, not social, not cultural, and not, God forbid, political.
And you know what? Never once in all these years, have I ever felt that I was being denied access to birth control or that my doctors did not take my health care concerns seriously. Where is this white male religious establishment pointing a gun at my head, forcing me to either be abstinent or to breed like a bunny? I've never seen it. I still don't.
So tell me, why do I need to stick up for Sandra Fluke?