You schedule an appointment to have the pregnancy terminated the following weekend.  You are racked with guilt for the entire week. You know you are in no position to be raising a child on your own.  You keep yourself busy, trying desperately not to allow any sentiment to influence your predicament.  You are thankful that you have the choice and that your body is your own business.   You can't imagine being forced to bring a child into the world that you would not be capable of raising properly.  

 

    Finally the day arrives.  You drive yourself to the clinic,  conciously numbing your emotions to avoid the pain of the situation.  Outside there are droves of protesters lining the street.  You take a deep breath and make your way through the crowd, trying to ignore the angry slurs and cruel chides. 

 

"Baby killer!"  The words seem to penetrate your soul but you push onward towards the door, confident in your decision.  This certainly isn't something you want to do, or something you ever planned to do!   What right do these people have to make your decisions for the direction your life will take?  One of the physicians walks out the door waving his arms and trying to disperse the group, or atleast clear them away from the doors.  He waves several more patients through the door.   You pick up your pace, pushing through the throngs of angry people, keeping your head down to avoid confrontation.  

 

"This is God's work" cries someone in the crowd and you hear a gun shot and then another.  You spin around to see the doctor clutch his chest and crumple into a pile at your feet.  Blood immediately begins to pool around his lifeless body.  Screams erupt from the crowd. You rush towards the door, trying to find cover but find your legs fail you and you slump into a mound, inches from the curb.  You look down and see your shirt is drenched in blood.  You wonder for a moment if you've caught the backsplatter from the physician's demise until several nurses rush towards you and kneel next to you, putting pressure on the wound just above your heart.  You stare upward at the terrified nurses faces as the life drains from the gaping hole in your chest.  Your decision has been made for you.