At a signal from the control tower the behomoth 747 taxied to Runway 8. Slowly the rhythmic throb of the engines changed to a thunderous roar. Then takeoff. Dotti, slim-sylph-like Dotti with her flamboyant red hair was nearly lost in a sea of faces. She had tried for a seat in the middle of three, hut ended by a side window just back of the giant wing that thrust out into the billowing clouds.

Dotti’s otherwise cherubic face was lined with worry. Her blue diamond-sharp eyes were dulled and misty. The plane was climbing at a steep thirty degree angle forcing its passengers to snug against the back of their seats. Dotti’s brain seemed to be whirring like the mighty engines, with one thought repeating itself in a persistent pulsation: “The baby what shall I do? To permit it to live? Or must I condemn it to die?”

Looking back Dotti saw the fading away of the landing lights of Chicago’s O’Hare airport as the ship gained altitude. She only half–heard Stewardess Yvonne announce: “On behalf of Captain Dolphin and your crew, our most sincere wish that your £light will be pleasant and relaxing—shortly we shall have the pleasure of serving. If there is anything we can do to make your flight more enjoyable . . .” And though Yvonne the stewardess realized that most passengers found such announcements boring, the instruction about emergency exits, oxygen masks, etc., were essential, and with the help of another stewardess this was done in short order.

Climbing to twenty thousand feet the air cleared. Doth’s window showed salt and pepper clouds beneath—but above was the clear blue-black night sky punctuated by sharply delineated stars and a cheese-yellow crescent moon. This double picture confused Dotti. She suppressed a sigh. Her seat mate, a matronly woman of forty odd with auburn hair and a ruddy good-natured face, looked at her oddly. Dotti, noticing this, apologized, “Oh, it’s just, just that I’m up tight.”

“Now, now child,” comforted the cuddly creature beside her. “That‘ll never do. Young as you are, and pretty as a princess—pshaw, you shouldn‘t have a care in the world.”

“Wish it were tale,” smirked Dotti, her face in taut lines. But like a mother-confessor the chubby creature at her side both pleased and irked Dotti. Why, she thought should a complete stranger pry into my private affairs?

“My name‘s Goldie Devon,” announced the chub· by one. “And what’s yours, if I may ask?”

“Dotti.”

“Dotti who, or what?” persisted Goldie.

“Oh, its a long story,” complained Dotti. “It was Dotti Quakkel—but—but,” her voice trailed off in despair.

“Come now,” persisted Goldie, “fess up.”

The warm brown eyes of Goldie, together with her substantial form gave substance to the thought that she was motherly, stable and dependable—and above all, loving. Also she reminded her of a loving mother and a devoted father she was fleeing from to California—to get away from—from conscience, and the thought of an avenging God who knows all, and sees all, even about her baby.

“I’m, I’m married,” stammered Dotti “but—”

“But what?” insisted Goldie.

Fear colored Dotti’s otherwise tranquil face. Finally she brushed back her fire-red shoulder–length hair and continued, “My married name is Fineberg, Dotti Fineberg.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” coaxed Goldie. “But what happened? Why are you so unhappy?”

Dotti finally responded, “He—Jon disappeared on his last trip to San Francisco. He was a salesman. I’m worried. My baby is due in several months and before it‘s too late I’m thinking about having an abortion.”

Goldie’s warm brown eyes burned like cinnamon-balls in their sockets. A look of motherly concern crossed her face. “But surely you don‘t want to add ‘murder’ to the tragedy of a lost husband. A child could be a real comfort.”

   

‘“I’m confused,” admitted Dotti. “How would I support a child? What must I do? It‘s common to have abortions. Even the Supreme Court supported our right to have them.”

Goldie’s face clouded “Tell you what,” she retorted. “I know a real good doctor in San Francisco. He‘s staff surgeon at the same hospital where I serve as an LPN. He’s Doctor Goodman at University Hospital in San Francisco.”

The next instant while the stewardesses were busy serving dinner the intercom crackled and reported, “FASTEN SEAT BELTS, THUNDERSTORM APPROACHING—CAN’T EVADE IT!” Then the plane suddenly plunged—it seemed a couple hundred feet in an air pocket—plates with dinners were airborne—everything was in a turmoil. But it lasted only a few minutes.

Dotti’s face was blanched. Goldie only smiled despite the fact that most passengers were upset at so close a scrape with death. “Went through this before,” confided Goldie. “Denver mountains make a terrific down draft.”

A few more hours and the San Francisco airport lights loomed through the bOiling clouds and shortly they were exited from the plane. Goldie said simply. “Come with me. I have a room for you. I’ll take you to Dr. Goodman first thing in the morning.”

Dotti didn‘t sleep well. The dreadful dilemma about her unborn child haunted her wherever she went. Though Goldie‘s apartment was luxuriously furnished and arranged in the best of decor, she could care less. So when Goldie woke her and announced that she was ready to introduce her to Dr. Goodman, she was in some measure relieved.

“Dr. Paul Goodman, meet Dotti Fineberg,” introduced Goldie, then was off to her duty as an LPN in University Hospital.

“Good morning Miss or is it Mrs. Fineberg?”

“Mrs. Fineberg, but—but . . .”

“I know,” said Dr. Goodman with a broad smile on his kindly face. “Your husband is missing. You are to have a baby—and—”

“Did-did Goldie tell you?” she asked relieved.

“Y-e-e-s. A nurse always gives me the preface to the book and then I try to rend what’s inside.”

“Tell me. Do you really want an abortion, Mrs. Fineberg?”

“l’m mixed up. I’m don‘t know. It’s legal. It‘s being done. The Supreme Court allows it. H‘s only twelve weeks, and Jon has been gone ten of those weeks—ten long weeks—I–I.”

“It may be legal Dotti—don‘t mind if I call you by your first name?”

“It‘s OK.”

“You say the Supreme Court allows it within limits, but even Justice Blackman who helped make this decision has come to lament that. We are in the midst of a wave of moral and ethical confusion!”

“But, how safe is abortion. First, the effect of even one induced abortion is serious. Second, women who have had an abortion are at special risk during sub. sequent pregnancies. Third, aborted women can expect undesirable effects in Future offspring. Fourth, abortion may cause severe stresses in ensuing marriage. Fifth, a man is more likely to have a sterile wife or a stillborn, premature. or defective child if he marries such a woman. What a price to pay!”

“What a price to pay,” echoed Dotti, her face lined with pain. “But what arc the procedures?” she insisted, as if driven by a mad desire to escape her dilemma.

“Simple,” smiled Dr. Goodman, with a slight smirk on his otherwise benign face. “It’s as simple as drowning kittens in a burlap bag by throwing them in the river. It’s as simple as . . . .”

But Dotti winced. She remembered too well how back on the farm she had cried real tears when this was done when the cat population was too many fourteen cats licking milk in the barn during milking time.

“Well it’s as simple as that,” continued Dr. Goodman, “only a lot more dangerous. With your ‘informed consent’ and with a willing Doctor you may select four common methods. 1. Curettage (scraping); 2. Aspiration (sucking); 3. Hysterotomy (similar to Caesarean section) or 4. Saline abortion (salt poisoning). But even some psychiatrists finally lament that what is so easily removed from a woman‘s body may never be erased from her mind, leaving instead a sense of bitter loss and permanent remorse.”

“You trying to scare me?” asked Dotti, her pale face looking like an ivory facade framed by her flame-red hair.

“Just trying to inform you,” said Dr. Goodman gently.

“Let’s hear the worst—what happens if . . .”

The phone rang. Dr. Goodman picked it lip and cradled his shoulder listening intently. Dotti could hear the voice on the other end. It sounded like Goldie‘s. She strained her ears in an effort to hear every word. She heard snatches of the conversation like—he’s coming out of the coma—he may he then it almost sounded like Fineberg—but the Doctor‘s face was expressionless.

“Who was that? What did Goldie say?” she asked anxiously.

But Dr. Goodman put on his professional look, his grey eyes penetrating. “Now, about that abortion, when do you want it?” he evaded.

“I’m—I’m not sure,” she stammered.

“You don‘t seem to like the idea of drowning kittens,” he challenged. “Would you feel better about drowning babies? Would you go against the commandment that says, ‘THOU SHALT NOT KILL’?”

“But is a fetus a person?” she chided, having been saturated with the permissive philosophy of the day.

“Well, let us see” said Dr. Goodman, picking up a little gold covered Bible from his desk. “Here we have Ecclesiastes 11:5, ‘As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the hones do grow in the womb of her that is with child; even so thou knowest not the works of God, who maketh all.’”

“Again in Psalm 139:14, 15, 16 we read, ‘I will praise thee for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.’” “Again in Judges 13:2, 3, 4, 5 – ‘And there was a certain man of Zorah, of the family of the Danites, whose name was Manoah, and his wife was barren, and bare not. And the angel of the Lord appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, than art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son. Now therefore beware, I pray thee, and drink not wine nor strong drink, and eat not any unclean thing: for 10, thou shalt conceive, and bear a son, and no razor shall come on his head: for the child shall be a Nazirite unto God from the womb: and he shall begin to deliver Israel out of the hand of the Philistines.’”

“Now that was Samson‘s origin—before he was a fetus God was in his plan, and when he was a fetus he was still in God’s plan. Indeed it’s like the bud of a rose, destroy the bud and there will be no full blown rose, but still there was a rose in embryo. God knows the end from the beginning and the beginning from the end.”

Dotti was speechless.

Dr. Goodman continued, “You are a Bible-reading Christian, I presume.”

“Yes, I confess to be.”

“Then remember Jacob and Esau’s story. Before they were born, see Genesis 25:23. Also Isaiah 49:1, where the prophet said he was called from the womb.”

“Enough, enough!” exclaimed Dotti. “I’m a sinner, even to think about having an abortion. I pray that God may forgive me . . . .”

“But listen to what even the heathen nations say about abortion,” insisted Dr. Goodman. “Dr. Uene concluded, ‘Easy abortion has been a bad experience for Japan. Just as we need guardrails, signal lights, and speed limits, so we need precise laws governing abortion.’ And, please Dotti, would you ask me to deny my Hippocratic oath which states explicity, ‘I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor suggest any such counsel, furthermore I will not give to a woman an instrument to produce abortion.’ Then bear in mind that already more than a million fetuses have been aborted in the United States alone in the past year. May God have mercy on our nation!”

Dotti‘s blue diamond sharp eyes were misty with tears. She cried as if her heart were torn to shreds. Remorse shook her sylph-like frame. “To think Doctor that I was on the verge of doing—doing just that, to kill, to murder innocent, unborn life. May God have mercy on me.”

“God forgives if we repent,” encouraged Dr. Goodman, compassion coloring the lone of his voice. “You, poor child, are an example of what the permissive philosophy of today does to people. If we aren’t well-grounded in the truth of the Bible we all lose our moorings.”

“Thank you so very, very much Doctor,” sobbed Dotti. “I’ll never forget your kindness and patience and your telling the truth about this terrible thing called abortion.”

Dr. Goodman’s door opened slightly, then more and more, revealing the face of Goldie, a look of mystery in her eyes.

“Dotti,” she exclaimed, “we may have the answer.”

“To what?” questioned Dotti.

“A stranger,” she explained, “came in emergency about ten weeks ago. No name. No address. No identification. The jigsaw puzzle may be coming together. Perhaps you can help us put some of the pieces in place.”

Dotti’s face lifted to a jaunty angle, a sparkle of hope in her eyes. “But—but where do I come in?” she asked confused.

“Maybe–just maybe—why not come along,” hinted Goldie, leading the why to the hospital ward, with Dr. Goodman following.

They stopped at a bed where a grey, gaunt figure lay with a befuddled look in his eyes.

“Why, it’s Jon, my husband,” shrieked Dotti.

“Relax,” warned Doctor Goodman. “It appears that your husband was mugged and all identification removed. He is just coming out of a coma—but x-rays show he is on the mend.”

“Thank God,” exclaimed Dotti, as she caressed the lone figure.

Out of the misty haze Jon‘s eyes focused on Dotti. “Dotti, honey,” he mumbled weakly—“at last, at last, now we can hope again. Just us two, and-and-”

“And our hope of a little one—from the hand of God,” added Dotti happily.

NOTE: The excellent technical data in this article were made possible by the kind of cooperation of Melvin J. Mulder, M.D. of Walnut Creek, California.