Weekly Review — October 3, 2000, 12:00 am

Weekly Review

A Dutch archaeologist claimed to have identified a papyrus containing the signature of Cleopatra; the document, which dates from 33 B.C., was written by a secretary, except for one word, “genestho,” Greek for “make it so.”Saddam Hussein sent senior spies to Serbia to help Slobodan Milosevic, who lost last week’s presidential election and was facing daily protests demanding that he leave office; Milosevic’s wife, Mira, was said to favor fleeing the country.A New York jury ordered Radovan Karadzic, the Bosnian Serb war criminal, to pay $4.5 million in damages for presiding over a policy of rape, torture, and genocide in Bosnia.Quebecois terrorists known as the French Language Self-Defense Brigade claimed responsibility for bombing a church in Montreal.British prime minister Tony Blair attended a Labor party conference; “Let’s Work Together,” by Canned Heat, was the theme song.Hippies threw cobble stones and Molotov cocktails at police in Prague.Political violence continued in Africa, Latin America, Central Asia, South Asia, the Middle East, Europe, Indonesia, and elsewhere.The defense ministers of North and South Korea met and decided to fix a railroad.The Los Angeles transit strike continued; some 500,000 mostly poor commuters were still stranded.A Greek ferryboat crew was arrested and charged with manslaughter after the boat hit a marked and illuminated reef off Paros and sank, killing at least 90; the crew had put the boat on autopilot so they could watch a soccer match.The U.S. Census Bureau announced that Americans were wealthier than they used to be, though only about as wealthy as they were ten years ago.President Bill Clinton attended his 140th fundraiser of the year; he told the crowd: “I believe in raising money.”

Members of a Coney Island gang called the Cream Team (which stands for Cash Rules Everything Around Me) were arrested on charges of kidnapping, assault, robbery, drugs, and attempted murder.The driver who ran over horror writer Stephen King was found dead in his mobile home.Scientists at Monsanto were working on genetically modified lawn grasses that will come in bright new colors, require less water, and glow in the dark.The world’s oldest mummy, who was found in the Alps nine years ago, was thawed out for scientific tests.The U.S. Office of Human Research Protections said that scientists who experiment on humans should be given instruction in ethics.Paul Miller, the U.S. equal opportunities commissioner, wrote an article calling for legal protection for the genetically challenged; civil rights activists have documented over 200 cases of genetic discrimination by employers.A law that would ban the practice has been blocked by the insurance lobby.Canadianpolice discovered organs in a warehouse that were taken from two dead children by Dick van Velzen, a pathologist who previously removed and kept the organs of 850 children without permission in Britain; last year authorities discovered that Dr. van Velzen’s previous employer in Liverpool had a huge stockpile of children’s organs, including a collection of 2,080 hearts.

RU-486, the abortion pill, was approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration; Governor George W. Bush said it was the wrong decision.The Supreme Court refused to hear the Microsoft antitrust appeal and sent the case back to a lower court.An Italiantelevision station broadcast selections from childpornography videos after investigators, in an Internet sting operation, arrested eight Italian perverts.Scientists claimed to have found a gene (called V1RL1) that might have something or other to do with pheromones, molecules secreted by humans and rodents, among other mammals, to stimulate sex and violence.A man named Ronald Edward Gay shot up a gay bar, killing one man and injuring six others, because he was tired of being teased for having the name “Gay,” which two of his three sons had renounced.A crazed Roman Catholic priest drove a car into an abortion clinic and proceeded to hack at the walls with an ax; he stopped after the owner of the building twice fired warning shots with his 12-gauge shotgun.Senator Joseph Lieberman’s mom was reportedly sending journalists care packages that included Tylenol, lip balm, tissues, apples, Manishewitz bagel chips, and a note asking them to be nice to her boy.The Virgin Mary appeared in a dirty window in Perth Amboy, New Jersey; people came from miles around to pray.Jess Gutirrez Rebollo, the former head of Mexico’s National Institute to Combat Drugs, was sentenced to 71 years in prison on drug and weapons charges.Rain fell in north Texas.Floods in Calcutta left hundreds dead and 55,000 homeless; a woman died after a bag of rice dropped from a passing helicopter landed on her head.

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

In the exam room, she perched on the table with her feet crossed at the ankles, her blond hair brushing the back of her pink hospital gown. “I don’t know what’s available for me here,” she told her doctor, Katherine Degen, who sat facing her on a stool. “I figured nothing.”

 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

It would be too difficult to attend school as a single mother of two, Ashley knew. She had made an appointment for three weeks from now at the nearest abortion clinic, in Billings, Montana, 318 miles away. But just a week and a half ago, her husband had said he wanted to get back together and offered to raise the child as his own. Was it a sign that she was meant to continue the pregnancy? As a rule, Ashley approached her problems with resolve. She was capable and tough; she liked shooting guns and lifting weights. She kept track of her stats and checked off her goals as she achieved them one by one. Yet the dilemma before her had shaken her confidence. She leaned back and turned to watch the ultrasound screen. The black-and-white image danced. A sharp, fast thumping emerged from the machine. As Degen removed the wand, Ashley wiped the corner of her eye.

Photograph (detail) by Brian Frank
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A Window To The World·

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

In the exam room, she perched on the table with her feet crossed at the ankles, her blond hair brushing the back of her pink hospital gown. “I don’t know what’s available for me here,” she told her doctor, Katherine Degen, who sat facing her on a stool. “I figured nothing.”

 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

It would be too difficult to attend school as a single mother of two, Ashley knew. She had made an appointment for three weeks from now at the nearest abortion clinic, in Billings, Montana, 318 miles away. But just a week and a half ago, her husband had said he wanted to get back together and offered to raise the child as his own. Was it a sign that she was meant to continue the pregnancy? As a rule, Ashley approached her problems with resolve. She was capable and tough; she liked shooting guns and lifting weights. She kept track of her stats and checked off her goals as she achieved them one by one. Yet the dilemma before her had shaken her confidence. She leaned back and turned to watch the ultrasound screen. The black-and-white image danced. A sharp, fast thumping emerged from the machine. As Degen removed the wand, Ashley wiped the corner of her eye.

Artwork by Imre Kinszki © Imre Kinszki Estate
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The Lords of Lambeau·

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Ashley arrived for her prenatal appointment at Black Hills Obstetrics and Gynecology, in Rapid City, South Dakota, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and Converse sneakers.1 To explain her absence from work that morning — a Tuesday in April 2015 — she had told a co-worker that she was having “female issues.” She was twenty-five years old and eight weeks pregnant. She had been separated from her husband, with whom she had a five-year-old son, for the better part of a year. The guy who’d gotten her pregnant was someone she’d met at the gym, and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. Ashley found herself hoping that the doctor would discover some kind of fetal defect, so that her decision would be easier. She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. “Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

In the exam room, she perched on the table with her feet crossed at the ankles, her blond hair brushing the back of her pink hospital gown. “I don’t know what’s available for me here,” she told her doctor, Katherine Degen, who sat facing her on a stool. “I figured nothing.”

 Some names and identifying details have been changed. 

“Big, fat zero, unfortunately,” Degen said, making a 0 with her fingers. The last doctor who provided abortions in Rapid City retired in 1986, three years before Ashley was born.

The baby was due in November, when Ashley, who was a nurse, hoped to be enrolled in a graduate program to become a nurse practitioner. Getting pregnant as a teenager had forced her to put that dream on hold, but she had thought that she was finally ready; she had even submitted her application shortly before the March 15 deadline. For the first time in her adult life, Ashley felt as if her plans were coming together. Then she missed her period.

It would be too difficult to attend school as a single mother of two, Ashley knew. She had made an appointment for three weeks from now at the nearest abortion clinic, in Billings, Montana, 318 miles away. But just a week and a half ago, her husband had said he wanted to get back together and offered to raise the child as his own. Was it a sign that she was meant to continue the pregnancy? As a rule, Ashley approached her problems with resolve. She was capable and tough; she liked shooting guns and lifting weights. She kept track of her stats and checked off her goals as she achieved them one by one. Yet the dilemma before her had shaken her confidence. She leaned back and turned to watch the ultrasound screen. The black-and-white image danced. A sharp, fast thumping emerged from the machine. As Degen removed the wand, Ashley wiped the corner of her eye.

Photograph (detail) by Balazs Gardi
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With Child·

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"She glanced across the waiting room at a television playing a birth-control ad and laughed darkly. 'Jesus, Lord, it would be so nice if someone just pushed me down a flight of stairs.'"
Photograph (detail) by Lara Shipley

Price of ten pencils made from “recycled twigs,” from the Nature Company:

$39.50

A loggerhead turtle in a Kobe aquarium at last achieved swimming success with her twenty-seventh set of prosthetic fins. “When her children hatch,” said the aquarium’s director, “well, I just feel that would make all the trauma in her life worthwhile.”

In Colombia, U.N. delegates sent to serve as impartial observers of the peace process aimed at ending the half-century-long war between the FARC and the Colombian government were chastised after they were filmed dancing and getting drunk with FARC fighters at a New Year’s Eve party.

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