Brodie Kane’s book, Woman Uninterrupted, hits bookshelves this week and is a truly wonderful, frank, hilarious and inspiring read. The broadcaster – and Capsule columnist – has written one hell of a book, sharing some of her most personal stories, from what she’s learned over her 38 years of being single, to her experiences with burnout, and everything from the time she slept on the floor of a 60-year-old Greek man’s bedroom and once shat herself in a Brunei jungle in between.
There’s high highs, and low lows, and we’re so proud and grateful to Brodie for opening up about so many experiences that so many women have gone through – but often do so in silence. Here, we’ve been lucky enough to grab an extract from the book from the chapter titled: How to Protest a Protest, in which Brodie quite bravely talks about having an abortion nearly 15 years ago:
I had my abortion in 2010, a full decade before the practice would be decriminalised. The pregnancy resulted from the night of the Radio Awards, which is always, every single year, a huge and debaucherous evening. I was at RadioLIVE and was awarded Journalist of the Year. I was ecstatic: I had been working hard and it had clearly paid off. So I decided to celebrate. I had a really fun time and I ended the night at a hotel with an Australian tourist I’d met at an Irish pub.
I don’t know what his name was and we didn’t use a condom. But I did everything right the day after. I went to the pharmacy and got myself the emergency contraceptive pill. That’s never a fun thing to do. In case you’re not already feeling slutty enough, you have to walk up to the pharmacy counter and ask for the morning-after pill. It doesn’t matter how quietly you ask, there’s always someone else who magically appears right next to you at the counter to hear you in your moment of need.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d taken the ECP, and it wasn’t the last. It’s an effective way to take the necessary precautions so you don’t get pregnant.
This was during a very small window of my twenties when I wasn’t on the Depo injection. At the time I was living with two other women – Shellee and Lauren – and, as happens when women hang out a lot, we were all completely in sync. One of us would always know exactly where we all were in our cycle. I realised I hadn’t had a period in a while. And then my boobs started to get really sore and hard and big. I don’t have big boobs, but they were doing something, that’s for sure. I asked my flatties.
‘Hey, when are our periods due?’
‘We’ve had ours.’
‘Okay cool. Interesting. Fine. I am sure that’s fine.’
After a few more days of boob pain and no period, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. To clear things up I just thought I’d go get a pregnancy test. I went to the chemist, bought some tests and went home. I was on a day off that day; I remember it like it was yesterday. I took the test into the bathroom, peed on that stick and the lines appeared immediately.
Oh. My god. I’m pregnant.
I remember I burst into tears as soon as I saw it. I was on the bathroom floor sobbing. I didn’t understand how it had happened and I immediately felt a very strong sense of self-loathing.
What’s fascinating in this space is the deep and intense feeling of shame that immediately hit me about myself and my actions. It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe but also hard to shake. I knew that there was no way I would be having a baby, and there was never a doubt in my mind that I’d be having an abortion. I was not remotely in a stage of my life where I was ready to have a baby. But as we know, the deep-rooted societal shame that comes from a particular part of society hangs low over women and this choice. I realise now that the shame wasn’t mine, but the shame that’s been forced upon women for too long.
After I was able to contain my sobs enough to make a phone call, I rang my flatmate Shellee. She left work and dropped everything to come to my side right away. She took me to my doctor, who referred me for an ultrasound that confirmed I was definitely pregnant. Shellee took me home and I just felt surrounded by dark clouds of negative emotions.
Even though I knew 110 per cent that I wanted to go through with an abortion, there was a bit of rigmarole to get there. At this point abortion was still a criminal act. At that time, a pregnant person could only receive an abortion if they were referred to a service provider. To get a referral, two doctors needed to declare that the pregnancy would harm the person’s mental or physical health. Otherwise it was still considered a crime under the Crimes Act 1961.
I had to convince two doctors. It was an invasive and confronting process that no woman should have to go through, definitely not twice. This is a service that should be available to people with no questions asked.
It took me a few days to build up the courage to tell Mum what was happening. Even though I know she loves me unconditionally, and I trust her more than anyone else, I still was so overwhelmed by shame and fear. I just didn’t want her to think that I had fucked up. Of course, she didn’t. She was incredibly supportive and flew up to Auckland on the first flight she could. As it turned out, she had been through this herself.
A few years after she had AJ, she got pregnant again, and because her conservative doctor wouldn’t refer her, she had to catch the bus all the way across Christchurch and then fly to Auckland to get the permission she needed from two doctors. A solo mum with no money. The Ranfurly clinic in Auckland was the only place in the country that performed abortions back then. Mum had to borrow money from a friend as there was no way she could afford to pay for it. Even though her mother, Colleen, was a nurse who may have been able to help her, she was too scared to tell her what she was going through.
Mum knew how hard it had been for her and she didn’t want the same for me. She took care of me and never showed even a small amount of judgement. I’m so lucky to have Jo Kane as my mum.
Mum came up to support me through the process and the abortion was carried out at Greenlane. Because I was just over two months I had to have the surgical procedure. The staff there were amazing, everyone was so kind throughout, but it still felt shit to be there. I looked around at all the other people waiting for their procedures and thought about how we all should feel completely within our rights to be there, doing what we were doing. It doesn’t matter what circumstances lead a woman into that situation, she deserves to be able to terminate a pregnancy.
I went home shattered. I felt like a broken person for weeks. Despite those feelings, I have never even once regretted my decision. I didn’t grapple with whether I was going to go through with it or not, and yet it still felt completely awful. Let’s not forget that it was part of the Crimes Act, and no one talked about abortions or their experiences because for decades and decades the rhetoric that abortion was tantamount to murder was strong, led heavily through religion and, ironically, men.
I didn’t tell many people at the time. The tourist that I slept with will never know. Even if I had wanted to tell him, I would not have been able to. I didn’t know where he was to contact him. I didn’t know where he was the day after we did the deed. And it would be almost ten years before I really started talking about it openly.
It would also be ten more years before abortion was decriminalised in Aotearoa. It’s staggering to think about how long that took. Being legal has not removed the shame around it, and I think we have years and years of work to do to undo the shame we have put on women’s bodies.
I still get scared for the future. Around the world, people – especially women, people of colour and LGBTQIA+ individuals – are losing rights as much as they are gaining them. I know I am going to be ready to fight for those rights any time that I can. I know sharing my story can play one small part in normalising abortions, but I also don’t think every person who has one should have to share that. For years I thought I might never tell anyone beyond Mum and the few friends who knew at the time. I marched on with life, got back on my Depo, went overseas and tried not to think too much about it. But then, one sunny day in Christchurch, a group of problematic people with horrible signs made me speak out like I never realised I would.
Like what you’re reading? Grab a copy of Brodie’s new book, Woman Uninterrupted now, from wherever you buy good books!
Extracted with permission from Woman Uninterrupted, Harper & Collins RRP$39.99
