My appointment at the Aadam's Women's Centre in Dublin was easily made. Calling them in May 1998 with a story that I thought I was pregnant, I was invited to an apartment block in North Great George's Street any day that suited me.

The woman on the phone gave me a number to key into the intercom board at the front door.

When I arrived a middle-aged woman ushered me upstairs to the apartment where a younger woman sat behind a desk in a small room.

Having taken the usual medical details, the younger woman went on to ask me how I felt about the "pregnancy".

"Well," I replied, "it's a disaster really. I just can't have a baby at this point. I want to terminate the pregnancy. That's what I want to discuss with you."

At this point I was invited to watch a video on the "medical facts about abortion". I was left alone.

The film opened with a young American woman standing behind a table of various steel instruments.

She said first there would be "no political lecturing in this educational presentation on the truth about abortion."

A low-key description of the suction method of termination progressed to a graphic outline, with descriptive use of the instruments by the doctor, of the action of cuterage (scraping the foetus from the womb).

This was followed by cartoon-like images of a hysterectomy and finally imagery of a foetus being dismembered for tissue research.

The middle aged woman then returned, with the question: "Well, what did you think of that?"

I told her I hoped I would not have to have an abortion so late in a pregnancy. She asked what being pregnant meant to me.

"Expecting a baby," I said.

"Exactly," she nodded before asking why I felt I could not have one.

When I said I felt I couldn't cope, she pressed "play" on the video again.

Several American women, in silhouette, spoke about having an abortion. One said she felt she had "murdered" her baby. Another said: "It's five years now and I still live with the remorse every day."

Then there was an ultra-sound image of an eight-week foetus in the womb.

"That's your baby. That's the stage your baby is at now," commented the middle-aged woman.

Taken aback I commented that I was carrying a six-week foetus - not a baby. I was then handed a two-inch plastic model of a baby.

"That's the size of your baby now. Go on, hold it there."

The younger woman had rejoined us by this stage. She said they wanted only what was best for me. I agreed that I too wanted what was best for me.

She moved on to the "terrible risks involved in an abortion" saying I could develop breast cancer, bowel problems, infertility and psychological problems.

They asked whether I thought abortion was "morally right". I asked whether they could give me numbers in Britain to make an appointment for an abortion myself.

They said I should think about it and read some information first.

I was given a bag of photocopied letters from mothers of "saved babies", an article headed "Victim Of An Abortion Profiteer", and a leaflet with pictures of live and aborted foetuses.

They wanted me do the right thing, they said, and asked me to return the following week.