Decision (standard:drama, 1492 words)
Author: Maureen Stirsman	Added: Oct 10 2002	Views/Reads: 5113/2710	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Della sees the Western Union boy beyond the blue star in the window. This is the day her life will be changed forever, the day she will be forced to face the biggest decision she will ever make--between life and death.

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“It is awful—unbearable, and no one knows the worst of it.  That's why I
needed to see you, Marjorie.  I'm pregnant.” 

“Della, how wonderful!”  Marjorie smiled warmly.  “You will always have
a part of Martin with you in his little baby.” 

“No, Marj, you don't understand.  It's not wonderful.  I can't raise a
baby on my own.  I want an abortion.” 

Marjorie looked in both directions and leaned closer over the table.
“Hush, Della, don't say that word.  Abortions are illegal.  I could get 
into trouble just talking to you about it.” 

“Please help me.  You are the only one I know who might know someone who
would do it.” 

“No, I could get in so much trouble I would never get my RN and I need
it.” 

“Please, no one will know.” I pleaded trying to keep the desperation out
of my voice. 

Marjorie protested but finally agreed.  She had heard of a man who did
these things in the basement of his home.  He had been a medical 
student and for some reason or other he didn't stay in medicine.  His 
place was clean and his wife assisted him. 

I told Mother that Marjorie and I were going on an overnight shopping
trip.  Mother was encouraged.  Marjorie was going to do some shopping 
in order to have things to take back. 

She said, “He insists on being called Doctor Hope.”  I really didn't
care what he wanted to be called.  I just wanted this to be over. As we 
rode we talked. The conversation was as light as possible under the 
heavy circumstances. Then she told me; I was young.  I would marry 
again and I said I never would.  I knew it that day and I never have. 
Marjorie crunched one of the apples we had brought and we rode the next 
few miles in silence.  Then she looked at me.  She wore white side 
combs in her red hair, red beads and earrings and a red bracelet that 
she pushed up and down her arm when she was nervous.  She pushed it up 
and down now. “Della, is this really what you want to do?” she asked. 

“Yes, I have to.”  She bit her lip but said nothing more. 

When we saw the sign saying, 'Piano Lessons' Marjorie parked the coupe
in the driveway and I followed her to the side door with my bag in my 
hand.  A middle-aged, motherly looking woman greeted us and led the way 
down stairs. I glanced in the other direction into her kitchen and 
smelled coffee perking.  The smell nauseated me.  She opened the door 
to an office and smiling said, “This is Doctor Hope.”  His professional 
demeanor gave me some reassurance.  I was glad to sit down in the chair 
he provided.  The coffee smell was almost overwhelming. 

Marjorie asked, “Do you want me to stay?” 

Dr. Hope answered for me.  “No, you can leave, dear.  Come back in four
hours.” 

I heard the engine start and Dr. Hope began to talk.  “You know these
procedures are illegal and I could get into a lot of trouble if anyone 
talked about it.  Women should have the right to make decisions about 
their own bodies. Don't you think so?” 

I was beyond thinking.  Mrs. Hope took me to another room that appeared
to be a young boy's bedroom.  It had two beds.  One was covered with a 
bedspread decorated with cowboys and horses.  The other was raised 
about twelve inches and made up with a white bed linen under a rubber 
hospital sheet.  Mrs. Hope unlocked the dresser drawer and took out a 
tray.  I could see the outline of medical instruments under the cover 
of a tea towel.  Mrs. Hope smiled and said she would be back shortly. 
In a few minutes she returned and handed me a white hospital gown and 
said, “Are you ready, dear?” 

Now forty years later, I sit here in mother's rocking chair in this day
of modern progressive thinking and consider, “A woman's body is her 
own.”  Dr. Hope said so.  That was long ago.  Only Marjorie knows about 
that day, and only once did she say, “Are you sure you made the right 
decision?” 

I glance through a gardening magazine and the gentle buzz of my cordless
telephone brings me back.  “Hello?” 

“Hi, Gran, it's Marty, guess what?  I'm pregnant!” 

Did I make the right decision all those years ago?  YES! 

'Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down
from the Father of lights with whom is no variableness, neither shadow 
of turning.' Isn't God good? 


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