TW: Abortion“If your period is late, here’s what you do: Boil up half a bottle of red wine and drink it while it’s hot. Then stand on a chair and jump off several times. That should take care of it.”It was March 1957, and I’d just finished packing my trunk. I would be leaving the next day to sail from England to the United States, where I would marry Ezra, my soldier-fiancé. Those were my mother’s final words of advice. Not “never go to bed angry,” or “pick your battles,” but how to abort a foetus. Her recommendation was unusual. Knitting needles were the instrument of choice for many British women trying to abort. Fewer Americans are knitters, so before Roe v. Wade made abortion legal in 1973, many women in the United States – or individuals from whom they sought assistance to end their pregnancies – used wire coat hangers. My mother believed her alternative method was a safe one. If you believe in deeply human journalism — the kind that connects us in our hardest, most honest moments — please consider becoming a HuffPost member today.I smiled to myself, for I was pretty sure her instructions were useless. Only married women had access to contraception in the United Kingdom, so I planned to be fitted with a diaphragm as soon as I arrived in America. I was confident I would be able to avoid any unplanned pregnancies. The day after I landed, I looked up “obstetricians and gynaecologists” in the yellow pages