I will start this by saying that nobody is pro-abortion. Abortion is a
hard, awful thing that can leave scars that I don't think anyone could
fully anticipate. But despite it's awful-ness, it's a necessary thing.
Because if it's not legal, women still have them in less-than-sanitary
places, performed by less-than-savory characters.

So on paper, I'm pro-choice. That won't change. I'll always live in a
world where I hope against hope that every child conceived is a wanted
child, is a child whose parent(s) have longed for, planned for and
dreamed about long before they were conceived.

I live in the real world, too. And I understand that abortion is a
necessary thing in our world.

Obviously, being a lesbian, I have little risk of an unplanned pregnancy
(in the last 20 or so years anyway) so I'm about as much of an authentic
voice on this issue these days as those old white guys who protest
outside Planned Parenthood every week. Assholes, the whole lot of
them.

Going through the IVF process showed me a whole new side of choice.
When those 18 eggs came out of me and headed down the hall to the petri
dish, I was full of hope for each and every one of them. When the
embryologist called me a day later and said that 12 fertilized, I wasn't
so much happy for the bumper crop of embyros (and yes, oh yes, I
understand how fucking lucky we were to get that many. I really do.) as
I was heartbroken for the 6 who didn't.

That call made me cry, weep for those 6 lost eggs. Aside from the fact
that I'd gone through a shitload of pain to get there, I mourned the
potential life that was lost.

2 days later, I got another call. 9 of the 12 were doing well. One was
the clear winner at that point. In fact, that little embryo that could
is now a fetus who, God willing, will be Val's little sibling this
winter. The other 8 were varying degrees of growing, some nicely, some
real stragglers.

Transfer day, we got the final report. For some reason, I don't feel
like sharing how many we ended up freezing. So I won't. But know that
yes, George was still the clear winner, starting to hatch and cluck and
all sorts of good things.

The doc said, after finally getting the transfer done, you've got a star
in your uterus. She was referring to the little diode thingie they put
in the catheter so they could make sure that the embryo wasn't stuck in
there instead of in me but I knew it meant a lot more.

When we left that day, I held the picture of George close and thought,
this is a whole world different than an IUI. This is a little tiny life
and if doesn't take hold, well that's a little death. Somehow it's a
world of difference between the 20+ eggs I threw during the months and
months of trying. Those guys may or may not have met sperm. Our
embryos? They met sperm. They conceived and could've become life.

For those embryos that didn't make it, I mourned. For the ones who are
currently frozen, awaiting our decision about their future, I mourn as
well.

And still, though I now have a clear picture of how fragile life's
beginnings are, I support choice. Because my story is my own, only that
and nothing more.