Karen Bender

She carried out son, Atticus — conceived through in vitro fertilization at a clinic in our home state — to a healthy, full-term birth. She endured stinging criticism from friends and strangers, a cesarean birth, and a brutal legal judgment to proudly fulfill all her obligations to us — although fulfilling all her obligations to us cost her everything she thought was real and brought down criticism on all our heads.

"Baby needs at least two more weeks for viability. He's already too small, way too small. But you…" He looked at me sadly, shook his head. "You probably can't survive two weeks without having a stroke, seizures, worse." He meant I could die.

…

I signed the papers of consent, my hand moving numbly across the paper, my mind screaming, I do not consent. I do not, I do not.

In the evening, Weiss's associate entered with a tray, a syringe, and a nurse with mournful eyes.

"It's just going to be a be a sting," he said.

And it was: a small tingle, quick pricking bubbles under my navel and then a thing like a tiny drinking straw that went in and out with a barely audible pop. It was so fast. I thought, I love you, I love you, you must be hearing this, please hear me.

My body was not my own; perhaps it never had been. When it had escaped my parents control, Alec had immediately taken it up, and when he had abandoned it, a baby had claimed it. It may sound as if I am unwilling to take responsibility for my actions, but in fact, I did not completely understand that my body was my own dominion, that I could say what did and did not happen to it. In significant ways, women were not led to believe that they owned their bodies — the state, their husbands, or their fathers did. I willingly handed my body and my future back to my parents. Their money and authority took over, and I surrendered all bids at self-control I would not be allowed to make another decision for a long, long time.