Gloria Steinem, 81, has a new book out called My Life on the Road. Here is what it says on the dedication page:

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO:

Dr. John Sharpe of London, who in 1957, a decade before physicians in England could legally perform an abortion for any reason other than the health of the woman, took the considerable risk of referring for an abortion a twenty-two-year-old American on her way to India.

Knowing only that she had broken an engagement at home to seek an unknown fate, he said, “You must promise me two things. First, you will not tell anyone my name. Second, you will do what you want to do with your life.”

Dear Dr. Sharpe, I believe you, who knew the law was unjust, would not mind if I say this so long after your death:

I’ve done the best I could with my life.

This book is for you.

That son or daughter would be 58 years old now, and may have produced grandchildren to comfort Steinem in her old age. To bring her joy. She made her choice, and it wasn’t for life, but for self. To be 81 years old, to publish a memoir, and to dedicate it to the doctor who killed your unborn child in your womb — what a sad waste of life. Two lives. That dedication is an epitaph and an indictment.

UPDATE: Would you people stop saying that I’m claiming that women who don’t have children have wasted their lives? I’m not. I don’t believe that. This is about a particular woman who killed her unborn child in her womb, and gets to the end of her long life and dedicates a book to the doctor who destroyed the baby for her. That’s sick. This is what she stands for? A waste of the life she was given, and a waste of the life she was given to care for.