Sunday, July 28, 2002

 


One Saturday morning I was working what we call "police rounds".
The radio chatter mentioned a group of protestors up near town at a clinic; the clinic did abortions. Eventually I went up there with a photographer, and found a line of people with placards who'd come up from Geelong on the bus.
Margaret Tighe, the head of Australian Right to Life, was there. Can't stand the woman.
So I did my little article, including talking to the doctor in charge, who called and invited me to come and chat after I'd got back from the office. Wrote it, forgot it.
The next week, I got a call from a woman who'd been there too.
She and her husband and her little girl, aged four, had had to run the gauntlet of protestors, asking her to think about what she was doing.
Like she hadn't, as she said.
She invited me to her house to interview her and her husband for another article.
She asked me to call her "Meg", after Meg Ryan. Meg was nearly 40. It had taken her a year to get pregnant. The baby was a Down's baby.
They decided that they couldn't do it to their daughter; that she would be responsible for this child after they died.
But when they turned up at the clinic, these people blocked their way; told them they hadn't thought about it enough; accused them of not caring.
I remember her husband in tears as he said "we said goodbye to our little boy." It was one of the most harrowing interviews I've done, and although probably no one remembers the article now, one of the pieces of work I'm proudest of.
Meg mailed me a while later. She had another baby.
Life's so complicated.


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