At 22, I was a college senior with an acceptance letter from the top graduate school in my discipline. I was also pregnant. I had been dating my 19-year-old boyfriend, Joe, for less than three months. We were careful but the pregnancy occurred anyway.
No longer hypothetical, my right to choose suddenly felt more complex.
I could move 3,000 miles after graduation and live with my parents and the baby, but not with my boyfriend. I could scrape by; working long hours at whatever job I could find and live near my boyfriend, with my child confined to daycare. Both these choices meant that I would also have to give up graduate school.
I also knew that even if I decided while pregnant to put the baby up for adoption, I would change my mind at birth.
I chose to have an abortion.