“…I found out I was pregnant at six weeks. The clinic required the procedure to happen between six and twelve. That gave me six weeks to make the appointment, get the referrals, navigate the system, and complete everything before time ran out. Every second felt like sand slipping through an hourglass I couldn’t turn over. I woke up each morning hoping I would miscarry. In Alberta, in 2003, to get an abortion, you needed bloodwork and an ultrasound requisitioned by a doctor—and you had to tell them why, so the results could be sent to the clinic. The first doctor said no. So did the second. And the third. All three cited their religious beliefs. One looked at me like I’d asked her to commit a crime. …When the clinic finally called with a confirmed appointment, I was exhausted, worn down by waiting, by gatekeepers, by secrecy—and by the miscarriage that never came. The staff were kind. Professional. Non-judgmental. They made it feel… normal. Like I was just another person making an ord...