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January 17, 2012

It had been a lovely wedding, and now the reception was packed. We sat down to dinner; at my table was my husband and three of our friends, along with three of the grooms friends from grad school. Introductions were made and small talk ensued, and as our salad courses were cleared away one of the men Id just met struck up a conversation about abortion with one of my friends.

My husband nudged me and one of my other friends grinned as I inclined myself towards the conversation, trying to discern the tone and content of the discussion or was it debate After a few minutes, the man noticed me listening and asked my opinion, and I offered it up, along with the caveat that I was writing a book about that very subject and had worked in the field for years.

He was less pro-choice than I was (admittedly, thats not difficult), but not exactly anti-choice; rather, he seemed neutral and curious about the subject, though very opinionated about Tony Kayes documentary Lake of Fire. But its funny I dont remember a lot of specifics about our discussion. Its as though a kind of mental tunnel vision took over, and I was so busy listening and responding that few other details even registered. It was kind of exhilarating, to be honest, being in a zone of such extreme focus and energy.

The word abortion has been invested with so much power, loaded with associations and assumptions and politics. The number of people that still say abortion in a hushed voice, the way that uttering the word can bring a conversation to a grinding halt, belies the fact that nearly one-third of all American women will have an abortion by age 45.

Perhaps thats why this conversation sticks out when I think about what actions Ive taken in the name of the pro-choice movement. This conversation, and the ones Ive had with other strangers on planes and subway platforms or with my own mother-in-law at my kitchen table. Conversations that I never initiated but that naturally followed the question, so, what do you do (or, in my mother-in-laws case, hows work going).

The discussion at the reception wrapped up by the end of the main course. As the band began playing and guests got up to dance, the man and I thanked each other for an interesting conversation. As we shook hands, I could feel my husband relax next to me. And then we all stood up, and joined the rest of the party.

Cross-posted from Feminists for Choice, this post is part of the Intimate Wars Blog Series appearing at Fem2.0 and The Cafe on January 17-18, 2012 in celebration of the anniversary of Roe v. Wade and the release of Merle Hoffman's memoir, Intimate Wars. You can purchase a copy of her book here. To submit a post for the blog series, please contact Fem2pt0, and don't forget to follow us on Twitter using #intimatewars.