So when I went into the abortion clinic, every image of a foetus at 12 weeks’ gestation brandished by those pro-life campaigners felt like a fail on my brain’s part. I was going against my body’s instinct and relying on a tiny voice in my head that was working out my salary for the next tax year if I had to give up work and look after a baby. Even as my body protested, that voice walked me into the clinic. It is still the most out-of-body feeling I’ve ever had. And as I was being administered the anaesthetic, legs spread, with a doctor making awkward jokes, I couldn’t have hated myself and my body any more. Then as my consciousness left me, so did the idea of sex. My partner and I left the clinic and walked home. We didn’t hold hands, or each other, for a long time after.