Shitty Jobs: They Exist Here, Too

Abortioneers can have shitty jobs. Most of us do the work because we care. We look to the greater good. We are motivated by helping others (and if you’re not, you won’t last long as an Abortioneer). Most of us are grossly underpaid and grossly overworked. Most of us have co-workers who are incredible and inspiring. Hopefully, we have bosses and doctors who give a shit and don’t take the crazy stress out on their employees.

Those of you who work in clinics are pretty amazing, really. You get up every day and go to work in the face of protesters that scream at them. You hold onto complete strangers' secrets and carry them as your own. You put up with threats. You get isolated socially because it's hard to talk about your job. You hold hands. You wipe tears. You smile. You're brave. Sometimes you get into the safety of the clinic to face unhappy, burnt-out, unkind co-workers or, worse, bosses. Yes, they exist. They exist everywhere, don’t they? Why should abortioneering be any different?

We’re all so scared to talk about the shit that exists within our work because we want to portray an image of the altruistic feminists who fight hard for the cause, never give up on women needing abortions, and never give up on their employees. That doesn’t always exist. The reality is, just like in any other job, there can be fucking shitty managers. Fucking shitty co-workers. Fucking shitty work environments. And guess what? We hatehatehatehate talking about it because we:
1) Don’t want to get outted to our employers (and possibly face getting fired)
2) Don’t want to fuel the antis who read our blog and will say, “See! You guys are suffering because of the evil work you do!”

I’m sick of both of those things. My dear, dear co-blogger, Sparky, just wrote about how she’s having a hard time at work in this post. She’s brave. I admire her. She spoke out. Our work is hard. It’s easy to get burned out. We givegivegive of our hearts and sometimes our employers don’t really give much back to us in terms of support. Sometimes our employers tend so much to the “business” part of our business, that they forget the heart of it. They forget that without passion, without advocacy, without caring for more than the bottom line (and without having employees who do, to their core, have these qualities), they will have a very cold business. They will lose those who care the most: who are motivated by making a difference in women’s lives. Some of my friends are getting lied to by their bosses: being promised that they would always have a job/not get a paycut/not get laid-off/that they’re too valuable to ever lose; then all of the above happens. And employees who are rude to patients, rude to other employees, who suck the heart out of a clinic stay behind.

I understand Sparky. I’m burned out, too. I’ve been burned out. And I realize that sadly, where I work, there are lots of unhappy people who probably are just waiting to get out. Maybe they want to find a replacement before they quit. I’m looking for a new gig. I’m loyal to abortion work, but I’m no longer loyal to my clinic. Hard to be loyal around those who aren’t loyal to you or who you can’t really respect.

So, we’re sorry to those of you who are struggling at work. It totally sucks. If employers dump so much stress on their staff on top of the inherent stress that already exists doing this work, they’ll lose all their best people (they’ll either quit or they’ll get so disenchanted and angry that you won’t want them anymore). What a terrible thing to squash the passion and the love of the work out of your employees or co-workers.

In my opinion, abortion clinics should be a place of love. When they aren’t anymore and there’s nothing you can do about it, it’s time to get out.

Remember Roe v Wade

Sunday is Roe v Wade. For abortioneers, it is a holiday sort-of. The big celebration of gaining our federal right to decide when - or if - we want to become mothers. Doing direct service work, we see women on a daily basis benefitting this historic decision; yet it feels like many of our patients are unaware of the political climate we find ourselves in currently, always fighting just to keep clinic doors open.

Sometimes, I want to tell patients (especially on Roe v Wade day) that without that decision, they wouldn't be in our clinic. They may be trying to obtain an unsafe, illegal abortion. Or maybe the 15 year old girl who was raped, would be forced to carry an unwanted pregnancy to term.

Sometimes I think there is more we could do to raise awareness of the importance of Roe v Wade to our patients on this day. I mean, I know a lot of clinics won't be working on Sunday, but maybe there is something we could do on Monday. Or Saturday. Maybe your clinic can make Roe v Wade ribbons that all the staff wear and give out to patients. Maybe you can leave colorful flyers in the waiting room for support people to read about how their loved one wouldn't be having an abortion without Roe v Wade and how this very sacred right is currently threatened.

I think this starts with staff, though, too. Employers need to really recognize Roe v Wade as a special day so that the staff can be educated, too...and then, hopefully, pass that onto the patients they see or speak with.

In the very least....without Roe v Wade, none of us would even be working as abortioneers. At least not legally.

We have a lot to be thankful for...

Working 9-5: How We Talk (Or Don't) About Abortion

We frequently discuss how to talk to friends/acquaintances/family who are not abortioneers about being an abortioneer. Or even, simply, about abortion. Though I’ve been doing this work a long time, I find I go through stages. Sometimes it’s easier to discuss abortion and other times, it just isn’t easy at all. Probably some of it depends on how much is going on at work (if it’s stressful or we’re having a lot of protesters, I tend not to want to discuss work outside work as much. Especially with people who just won’t get it anyway).

It can feel isolating to have the people who are closest to you not understand your work, your commitment to it, and your passion for it. Only recently have I been able to have conversations with my dad about abortion after years of bitter silence. Sometimes, it’s still frustrating to even talk to my husband; for example, if I have a shit day, he is quick to tell me I should just leave the clinic. He reminds me that I already have to put up with protesters and the stigma that comes along with being an abortioneer. He asks why I should stick around if my boss is being…err…unappreciative. It’s hard for me to explain to him that I’m committed to something larger (the “work”) and can put up with a bunch of bullshit in order to feel like I’m making a difference in someone’s life…and I’m motivated by that…not quite as much by recognition from my employer.

It’s stigma that really makes it so difficult to talk about our work. I haven’t even discussed it with my son’s best friend’s mom (who I have become very good friends with). We do mommy things together all the time; we take our sons to soccer practice, to basketball practice. Over the summer, our kids did gymnastics and baseball. We see each other almost every day. Still, I am vague about my work and have never used the word “abortion.” She probably knows. I’ve mentioned asshole protesters before so hopefully she’s put it all together, but we’ve never talked about it: abortion. Not once. I have no idea how she feels about it, but obviously, I’m worried or else I’d speak more freely. The reality is, though I know she’s fairly liberal, I also know she’s a small town girl, a cowgirl at heart, who likes to ride horses and is from a conservative area. (Which does not mean she would be anti-abortion!)

...So I get nervous. And I feel like I need to grow the fuck up! LOL

Telling Dad About My Abortion...Almost!

Sometimes it’s hard to come out as an abortioneer. We know that. And sometimes it can even be hard coming out to family. I never kept my abortioneering work a secret from my immediate family, but I still haven’t told my dad about my abortion. Okay, you’re probably wondering why I am worried about it or care about telling my parent. I mean, I don’t owe it to him or anything. I was in my 20’s when it happened. It’s not part of my job description as his daughter to let him know many years later, “Hey, dad, remember the time I dated that total asshole? You know, the one you hated? Yeah. Yeah. THAT one. Oh, no! Not THAT one, the OTHER one you hated. Well, errr, - uh – yeah, I had an abortion.” Shock and awe!

The thing is: I keep few secrets from my dad. We’re close. Despite this, he hasn’t ever been super supportive of my work or of abortion. He even calls the clinic “the gut and suck.” I’ve heard equally snide comments over of the years about women who have them, the procedure, you get the point; so, when we went to a poetry slam a couple weeks ago where Lauren Zuniga performed “To the Oklahoma Lawmakers,” I was nervous. (Seriously everyone, if you don’t know who she is, you need to.) I’ve mentioned her before to you all, but if you love her like I do, you can never tire of watching her. So, for some ear, eye, and heart candy, here you go.

Though I believe art can be a platform to share ideas and even transform beliefs – if not just challenge them – I was scared about my dad hearing this poem. I shifted in my seat, scratched my neck, and worried he would make another dismissive remark about abortion (which, of course, I take a little personally). Instead, during our drive home, he told me that “To the Oklahoma Lawmakers” was his favorite poem and performance; when pressed, he said it was because “everything she said was true.” I really couldn’t believe it. In fact, I said: “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?!” For the first time in over ten years of my work as an abortioneer, my dad and I spoke honestly and openly about abortion. For the first time in over ten years, I felt he finally got it. Finally understood the humanity behind abortion. Finally got ME. And for the first time in many years, I felt like I might actually be able to share with him that I had an abortion (without being judged) – not for me, really (not in the sense that I need to share my experience) – but so that he can further understand, put a face to, abortion and let loose of stereotypes. Judgment.

All I know is I am grateful for art. For poetry. For spoken word. I will never be able to stop being grateful to Lauren Zuniga. I feel I owe her. And I hope she reads this. Art can transform you. It can transform relationships. Miraculous? Yes. Proof? Dad doesn’t call the clinic “the gut and suck” anymore. And I think sometime soon, we’ll talk abortion again.

P.S. If you want to watch more of Lauren Zuniga, check her out here on YouTube.

Guest post: Telling my patients "No"

Happy Friday! Please warmly welcome Candid Cannula, a fellow abortioneer who's graciously joined us for a guest post this morning. I loved reading about her counseling dilemma -- one that we all grapple with, I think -- and hope you will too.

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“I hope this is the right thing to do,” my patient – let’s call her Nicole – said right off the bat, instantly setting off warning bells. I asked her to elaborate, and her next sentence did nothing to alleviate my concerns: “Well, I’m basically being forced to do this.”

Those two sentences told me all I thought I needed to know, and I was sure that Nicole was not going to be seen today. But I pressed further, asking her all the standard questions to get a better picture of her situation. How had she felt when she first found out she was pregnant? Who had she told? Who was forcing her to be there, and in what way? Had she talked to anyone who was supportive? Had she considered continuing the pregnancy? How did she think she would feel after an abortion?

My role as an abortion counselor has two distinct parts: providing informed consent for abortion procedures, risks, aftercare instructions and contraceptive options; and discussing patients’ decisions to terminate their pregnancies, ensuring that they are confident it is the right choice for them and that they are not being coerced. I have the awe-inspiring right to turn patients away if I feel the latter criteria are unfulfilled, and it is that right that I struggle with when faced with patients like Nicole.

Her story came out in bits and pieces as we continued to talk: like so many of my patients, she had always considered herself to be against abortion and never imagined that she would wind up across from me in this counseling room. She did not think she would cope well after the procedure and she was struggling with whether it was the “right” thing for her to do. At twenty-one, she was a few years removed from legal childhood yet still dependent on her parents, and she said that they were the ones making her terminate the pregnancy. “My parents will kick me out if I have a baby,” she told me. “I’ll be homeless. I won’t have anywhere to go.”

What would you do if your parents were supportive of you either way?

“Honestly,” she said wearily, “I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Nicole was not going to have a procedure that day. I was sure of it. But when I brought up the idea of her leaving, her tune changed.

“No,” she said urgently. “I have to do this.”

You told me you’re being forced. You told me you don’t want to have an abortion. We can’t see you when you’ve told me those things.

“I’m being forced, but I have to do this. I don’t WANT to do this, but I HAVE to. You don’t understand! It’s my decision too. I came here for an abortion, and I have to have an abortion.”

Nicole, what you’ve told me worries me. We find that women cope best after an abortion when they’ve been able to come to terms with it as their decision. Take some more time. The procedure, the cost won’t change between now and next week. Come back next week if you decide this is the right thing for you. We’ll still be here.

“NO!” she exclaimed. “I planned for this today. I can’t come back next week. Nothing’s going to change! You don’t understand, I don’t HAVE a choice. Yeah, I’m going to feel awful afterwards, and yeah, I’ll probably regret it in a way, but it’ll be worse otherwise – I have to have an abortion today!”

I spent a very long time with Nicole gathering the pieces of her story, asking the same questions, asking different questions, offering her resources to be able to continue the pregnancy, alternately trying to convince her to reschedule her appointment and feeling terribly conflicted about whether that was the right thing to do. I had little doubt that she would end up having an abortion, but maybe she could be in a better place with more time to own the decision. Or maybe another week would only create additional obstacles and difficulty, needlessly complicating her life further.

Where does the patient’s constitutional right to choose an abortion intersect with the counselor’s responsibility to screen and refuse service due to perceived ambivalence or coercion? What do ambivalence and coercion mean for women who lack the emotional or financial support to continue a pregnancy they may otherwise have welcomed? I came to feel that Nicole’s claim of being forced to be there was her way of coping with needing an abortion so that she didn’t lose her family and her home. She may have made a different decision if her family supported her either way, but the reality was that they didn’t, and she wanted to keep them in her life more than she wanted to continue the pregnancy. Many women are “forced” to have an abortion by various life circumstances; does it matter whether those circumstances are other people or faceless considerations like financial constraints, age, or health problems?

I’ve turned abortion patients away who have returned a week or two later, grateful for the extra time to think about the decision and better equipped to cope afterwards. I know that sometimes, it truly is better to wait when ambivalence is detected; patients can’t change their mind after the procedure. But I struggle with exercising my right to turn patients away when they protest. How do I know which patients will truly benefit from it? Doesn’t the patient ultimately know what’s best for her? Why should it be my right to deny a patient the service she insists on accessing?

Nicole had her procedure that day. Like many of my patients, I imagine no pregnancy outcome would have been positive for her. Many patients will never feel 100% confident or at peace with the decision to have an abortion. But no one would have subjected her to an assessment of ambivalence or coercion in order to continue the pregnancy, and that’s one thing that makes abortioneering such a uniquely challenging kind of work. In the counseling room, it’s often a delicate balancing act: trusting the patient to know what’s best for her, and stepping in when I judge that she is simply not ready to take the step that day.

Tell it slant

Emily Dickinson advised, "Tell all the truth, but tell it slant." Tim O'Brien wrote an entire book that might be part fact, part fiction, part ambiguity, but none of it a lie. In my recent quest to speak my truth and speak it from my heart, I realized I was speaking my truth with hyperbole, sarcasm, and humor, but not with my heart.

When I write here, I employ humor to make things easier to me to say and for you to read. I meld my real life with a fake life so that you will know what I am without knowing who I am. I am unequivocally a pro-choice crusader, but my favorite color may or may not be purple.

When I tell client stories, I am well aware that they are not my stories to tell. HIPAA binds me to change details and nuances, and my own ethos binds me to relay the gist without relaying the experience that I may or may not interpret properly anyway.

The stories that clients tell us, anyway, are half truths. I may find out about the abusive boyfriend, and my co-worker may find out about the childhood molestation, and neither of us find out about the past abortion. "I'm fine" can mean both yes and no and maybe. "I'm killing my baby" can be internalized rhetoric or personal conviction or uncertainty about both or neither.

And when I tell clients that they will be OK, I can't guarantee that; I can only hope. When I call them from the waiting room Price is Right-style ("Jane McAbortionpants, come on doooown!"), the silliness covers my annoyance with a long day and my discomfort with clients' discomfort. And then I go home and say that my day was "good" because sometimes that's easier than reliving heartache and frustrations.

Thank you, readers, for hearing our abortion reality, however embellished, or minimized or raw. This is my heart.

Don't Sweat It: Abortion and the Gym

Today, while in my gym's locker room, I saw the same group of women I always do. You know the type: working moms who are trying to get fit again after having babies and eager to have coveted "me time." We usually make small talk about such and such trainer, the workout, how we're losing/not losing weight, the weather, etc. A couple of them exchanged business cards. Then I got asked the question, "where do you work?" I'm ashamed to admit that I felt nervous. I wished I had Harry Potter's magic cape that makes him invisible. I didn't want to answer and I really had no idea what they'd think about it. (I de-stress at the gym. I don't want to talk about work!) I gave my standard,"Oh, a health clinic" answer. My elusiveness was not appreciated or respected. They waited for more. (Harry Potter, take me away!) After shifting, I added (a little too quietly), "like Planned Parenthood." Enter: uncomfortable silence. I was hoping they would just move the conversation onto other topics. No such luck. "Oh, no wonder you were vague. That could upset some people," was the response. Quickly, I was excluded from the continued chat...

...about how so and so is pregnant, when they're due, how far along they are, and so on. Sadly, one of these pregnant women had been trying in vitro with no success for years. Happy news: she's pregnant! The other had just graduated from dental school and didn't have plans to have a baby, but "you know, that's just life. And sometimes you just have to take what's given to you." (Sideways glance to me.)

Okay, so I'm on my period and a little emotional, but still: I don't know what happened to me! I got this terrible urge to make it very clear I'm not a baby hater, that I lurrrrrvvvv (not in a creepy way!) kids. I piped in. Loudly. I
acted SUPER (!) excited for these two pregnant women I don't even know. (I don't get excited for pregnant women I don't know.) "Oh, how EXCITING! That's GREAT!" I exclaimed. Silence. So I upped the ante. I asked about the one who "just managed" to graduate from dental school, "Has she been sick?" Quickly, I got a scowled face stating firmly, "She's happy. It wasn't in their plans, but they're VERY happy."

WTF?? Did she think I was soliciting abortion and about to offer a discount? Now hyper worried, I said, "You mentioned she 'just managed to graduate.' I wondered if she was really sick during her graduation." Scowl face said again, "No. She's NEVER been sick. They're VERY happy." Did I shut up? No. So eager to prove to them I'm a nice girl (even though I work at an abortion clinic - gasp!), and needing to prove to them I won't try to make every girl have an abortion, I got grossly gushy about how AMAZING motherhood is, how exciting it was these women were pregnant, and how my kids are the best thing that has everevereverever happened to me (True. But it doesn't mean it's always a walk in the park!).

What did I get for this? Silence. And scowls. It was one of the weirdest experiences of my life. Mostly, because I have no clue what came over me, making me feel like I had to validate myself in some way. I had this rushing feeling that they had liked me before, but now I was going to become the unlikable abortion girl who kills AND hates babies and is a fake mommy. I just fed into the whole stupid stigma thing about abortion and I know better. I felt like I was a teenager instead of a grown up.

I'm embarrassed to even write about it because now there may be the stigma that I'm not a good enough Abortioneer. Well, I am. And not all Abortioneers have to shout from the roof tops that they are Abortioneers. I'm not a shout-from-the-rooftops kinda girl. That, I'm not ashamed of. (And none of us need to judge others as being less down with the cause for not making public announcements about our Abortionhood.) Still, I was totally "out there" and weird about the whole situation. And do I want to see those scowl faced women tomorrow? No. (Gulp.)

I know what I need to do though: stand up tall and just be myself. They don't have to like the abortion girl...

Bomb Threat: Do You Tell Your Kids?

Dear Parents/Parents-to-Be/People Involved in Little People’s Lives, etc:

Remember when you could go wherever you wanted on a whim? Go out with whoever you wanted, whenever you wanted? Remember when you got a bomb threat at work and felt the only person you had to protect was yourself? Yeah…me, too!

Bomb threats and other security issues make things a little more complicated at work when you’re a sassy daddy or yummy mummy. It used to be that you just had to consider whether to tell your BFF, your partner, or your family. Now you have to wonder if you should tell your kids or not. Or maybe the neighbors or your kids’ teachers. Yeah, it’s complicated. And I often think about Dr. Tiller and others and wonder how they talked about it as a family (or did) and if they had to make contingency plans and how they handled it and how their kids felt.

Our doctor is pregnant. It’s her first child and we recently had a series of bomb threats at work. Fun, I know. So, obviously, a lot of us have been on edge. Our doctor has definitely kept her cool, but since I’m a parent too, I just couldn’t help but be curious about what’s been going on in her head. We had a nice chat during lunch yesterday and she admitted that it’s been sobering to put her now ill-fitting bullet proof jacket on while looking at her growing tummy. We’re not best friends, so I was expecting her to tell me her deepest thoughts or anything, but I was grateful for her frankness and though regular staff don’t have to wear bullet proof jackets, some of us have been more reluctant to drop off our kids at school in the morning…

I haven’t told my kids anything and I haven’t figured out yet when or if I will. I don’t know what the line is for me (but I know I need to figure it out). Some of my co-workers have told their children and most of those kids seem concerned. Some are begging their parents not to go to work. Though I think it’s a very personal decision when and who to tell, I think the severity of the threat might help warrant when to tell your kids. If it’s on the news or you’ve got police/Federal Marshal protection going on, then it’s probably smart to tell your family. At the same time, hopefully parents have devised a plan on how to support their kids, answer their questions, and allow some kind of outlet for them to talk (maybe agree on your kid being able to talk to at least one other person outside the family). It’s already stressful for us abortioneers and knowing others’ feelings about it – though important – can make it more stressful. Especially if there is pressure to quit. One of my co-workers did just do that. She’s a new mom and just was simply not willing to risk her safety or that of her family. I’d be lying if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, either.

All I know is that we need to be better at supporting abortioneers duing security threats. They’re fucking scary and they can scare the shit out of families. I feel like I have to be strong and not act scared or worried (at work AND at home) and that’s not easy. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like I can’t show any vulnerability or else it will look like I’m not a big enough abortioneer…that I’m not ‘down with the cause’ enough …and that if I voiced my worries, I’d look like a traitor. Or, I’d look like someone who is “just a worried mom” and “overreacting.” Maybe if we parents could talk more freely about how it is scary to get bomb threats, we’d help break some kind of stigma about what it takes to be a “good” abortioneer. Or maybe I’m just being a sensitive mom….

...What do you think?

Herstory, circa 1730: She was probably pregnant

Placenta Sandwich is such a smartypants. She shared this: Poor Jane's Almanac

PS. Thanks for rising from the dead with sheer beauty, humor, and grace. I love the heart of every single Abortioneer. Here's an Easter video about resurrection:

"Man in the clinic!"

Abortioneering is a fairly female-dominated field, and when I hear the classic "But what about the menz?!" whining about consent from the "father" or when I see a male partner trying to force a woman into or out of an abortion, I'm completely OK with not involving that sex in the Abortioneering process. But in the real world, I do work with a couple of men who are 100% feminists, champions of women, in favor of abortion access on demand, and who give no credence to the idea that men should have any say in what a woman does with her own body. It seems to come naturally to them and I've never heard any complaints from them, but I have to wonder about what elements of the job get to them because they aren't immune. And they're still a part of the world where patriarchy rules and men don't talk about feelings, especially about feelings of working in an abortion clinic where there are vaginas. And that's got to be difficult. I love my Abortioneer brethren like I do my sistren, and I want them to feel supported and appreciated.

So, I'm curious, Abortioneers: Are any of you of the male persuasion? Do you work with a token male or two? What have your experiences been?

Guest Blog: When the Movement Disappoints

A warm welcome to Steph, a fellow blogger at Abortion Gang and the founder of I Am Dr. Tiller, a site for abortioneers to make their voice heard. Steph is guest blogging at Feministe this week and has graciously agreed to cross-post here because the topic is so important to me, and one we've discussed privately many times. Expect to see more on this in the near future. Steph can be reached at twitter.com/iamdrtiller

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When the Movement Disappoints

I moved to Brooklyn from Philadelphia almost a year ago. My partner got his dream job here, so I left my decent reproductive health gig to live in the feminist mecca. I had high hopes – almost every major feminist and/or reproductive health organization has a presence in NYC. Surely, I thought, it will take me no more than a few weeks to find a job that I love.

You can imagine my excitement when over the course of a few months, I landed interviews at many of the big pro-choice organizations here. I don’t have to name them. You know who they are. I interviewed for jobs at these places that fit my experience, jobs at which I could’ve kicked ass. But each interview ended with some version of this: “I’m sorry, but you are too radical/too much of an activist to work for us.”

At one particular organization, a senior executive looked me in the eye and said, “If you work here, you have no voice on reproductive rights.”

Another organization wanted me to delete my twitter account. Some wanted me to stop blogging. Others said that because I have a published opinion on later abortion, I would be a liability. One wanted me to resign from all my volunteer pro-choice activism, namely being on the board of the New York Abortion Access Fund.

These requests were not implied. They were said to me in no uncertain terms.

I have a few theories about why this happened. Each theory deserves its own blog post, but I’ll summarize them in three bullet points.

1. New media is still, somehow, an intimidating enigma to these organizations, and they have no clue how to deal with it and with people who know how to use it well.
2. The thought of new leadership coming in means the old leadership has to go somewhere, and, well, where would they go?
3. Fear of the anti-establishment approach and of hiring someone who could potentially offend your board/donors.

Or I just could’ve been wearing the wrong outfit.

Don’t get me wrong, there are many reasons I could’ve been rejected from these positions. I’m not on some kind of vengeful rampage against these organizations. What I AM on a rampage about is this: how can a pro-choice organization tell a job candidate that her dedication to pro-choice activism disqualifies her from a job? How can you STILL, in 2011, not understand the activist potential of new media? The necessity of using anti-establishment approaches every now and then?

I can’t tell you how profoundly disappointed I was in the movement-at-large every single time this happened. Not because I’m special and deserve to be hired, but because I can’t be the only one having this experience. There is something perverse about not wanting to hire people who are so committed to the movement that they work in it in their spare time.

How many other young activists are being cast aside because we are “too radical”? How many people who do great work on their own are disqualified for being “too established?” How is a young, fired up activist supposed to pay her rent in this town without selling out?

It breaks my heart that so many of the organizations I admire mirror the corporate world: they are just as hierarchical and scared of the power of young people. We should not have to apologize for our experience or our passions. I ultimately got lucky and found a job at a place that does great work AND doesn’t force me to compromise my extracurricular activism. I remain furious that young people are treated this way, this profoundly un-feminist way, in our own movement. If your organization isn’t going to treat young, committed activists with respect and dignity, it has no future in the feminist movement.

Blinded with science

When I was very little, I decided I would never be a doctor because kids disliked doctors, and I didn't want to be disliked. In middle school, I eschewed the sciences because they gave me anxiety attacks. As a high schooler, I declared that I would never work any place that had stirrups (I disliked both horses and what little I knew of gynecology, so it worked out). And in college, I avoided the math and science buildings like an anti-choicer avoids logic and reason. When I started working at the clinic, it was because of the opportunity to advocate for women and reproductive justice, and for those causes, I could overlook the stirrups.

I was never the number one candidate for the really clinic-y part of clinic work. For a while, I focused on counseling, administrative work, advocacy, and interpreting, and I left the medical side to the professionals. But the more time I spent at the clinic, the more I found myself jumping at the chance to observe procedures and asking clinicians about the hows and whys. For fun, I learned how to prick my own finger and test my own hematocrit. I taught myself medical abbreviations and Googled hypothetical drug interactions in my free time. I became fascinated by the way a chromosomal shift can wreak havoc and also, how a body knows how to restore itself.

I also became the amateur gynecological resource for friends, and I offered my party trick of suggesting the best contraceptive for your life in under five minutes. And I never felt like more of a true science nerd than when I saw Iron and Wine in concert and kept seeing "Fe and Wine" in my head. Except maybe for when my brain automatically transliterated "salt" to "NaCl." Formerly an avowed humanities major, I'm now a walking periodic table.

So thanks, pro-choice movement, for having the unexpected side effect (ha--see what I did there?) of turning me on to science and medicine. Maybe if my high school chemistry teacher had explained molecular structures in terms of pharmacology instead of hexagons on a paper, I would be holding a B.S. degree right now. (If not an M.D.)

Walking Contradiction: Confessions of an Abortioneer

Recently, I've caught myself looking at my pro-choice friends (which should be ALL of my friends because I aim to have no anti-choicers in my life) and thinking, "Sure, she SAYS she's pro-choice, but when is she gonna put her money where her mouth is?!" (Or put her pen and paper where her mouth is, or put her mouth where her private views are, or put her volunteer hours where her mouth is or whatever convoluted metaphor describes it best.) Never mind the fact that just last week, I was saying, "I don't care how you do or don't show your views; just support choice!"

And even worse, I've caught myself looking at some of my other pro-choice friends and thinking, "Sure, she volunteered as an escort once, but that doesn't mean she can run her mouth all the time about what it's like to fight to abortion access on a daily basis! I'm the only one who knows that!" And then, read the above paragraph, rinse, repeat, and shake your head at me.

I didn't even realize that I was doing this until recently. I shake my head at me. And friends and family who read this, no, I'm not talking about you. And the thing is that even if I were, the point of this post is my unique experience as an abortioneer and my strange, strange biases. I don't have answers and I'm not proud of this confession, but when I put it out there, it loses some of its power over me. And sometimes, I need to show my unpretty side of abortioneering.

Phone Etiquette

Lately, I've been thinking about how people who call doctors' offices can act strange on the phone. I've had/or my friends have had any of the following situations occur before:

1) Patient who wants an abortion ordering McDonalds while trying to schedule an appointment.
2) Patient screaming at her kid while trying to schedule an abortion (I always cringe whenever this happens).
3) Client's mother screaming at daughter (who needs/wants an abortion) because the daughter was so "stupid to get knocked up!" (Ugh. Also cringe-worthy.)
4) Patient's boyfriend who calls to "make sure she really had her abortion."
5) Patient's driver calling to pick up the patient after her abortion, but refusing to walk inside the clinic to get her.

If I could make a request of people: please don't call us and scream. Please don't scream at us, in our ear, at your child, at your mother, or at your partner when talking to us on the phone. Thanks!

I'm sure you've had crazy phone situations, too. Though sometimes I want to hang up - especially when yelling ensues - I am grateful that people are so different that they keep us on our toes.

Say It Loud and Proud!

Recently I told someone very awesome the name of this blog and they proclaimed "eek!" It was a joke implying the name is not socially acceptable. The joke didn't bother me one bit. However, it made me think about the social stigma involved in my work and the name of this blog. I personally did not name the blog, but I was supportive in its origin. I think we named it "The Abortioneers" because there is no shame in who we are. There is no shame in abortion. Sometimes it happens, and it may or may not be ideal, but abortion just is. I have been in the habit of telling people exactly where I work these days. It's always a bit of a conversation-maker, ya know. Most recently I've gotten responses like...

"Oh my, I should have covered his (my child's) ears."

"Oh, what a shame."

"Awesome!"

"What do you do there?"

"So what do you think about health care reform?"

"You really aren't doing anything with your degree, are you?"

I have met a few people with varying levels of comfort with abortion, and this isn't everyone, only the ones that stuck out to me. One response includes a long explanation of why the person's mother, an OB/GYN, does not provide abortions. As the Xmas season comes around, I have to consider: will I continue to be myself? Will I tell people exactly where I work?

Each day I feel surer about my line of work. I recently went through a procedure from start to finish as a patient advocate. I am considering getting more involved in clinical aspects and enrolling in a pre-med or nursing program. However, I still feel apprehensive about telling people where I work. When I saw that anti-abortion "WANTED" posters were popping up again it only made me more apprehensive. I'm not ashamed, but I do fear other people's radicalism. It gets pretty serious for some folks.

I love the name of this blog and I intend to keep finding a balance when it comes to "outing" myself as an abortioneer. I wish we lived in a world that understood abortion is a simple medical procedure.

Thanksgetting

I don't do it for the thanks. If I did, there are plenty of days that I might have quit! I've had women shout at me, swear at me, tell me I wasn't a good feminist, I hadn't secured enough financial assistance for them, I didn't answer my phone often enough, I wasn't checking them in fast enough, doing enough, caring enough. When in fact I care really hard and I try really hard. Sometimes I'd hear a coworker have a similar interaction -- maybe just an abrupt goodbye after she phoned to delivered news of a donation toward a patient's abortion costs -- and hang up and mutter, "A little gratitude would be nice." Idunno, I say screw that. Women have a right to choose abortion; I don't have a right to clients' gratitude just for providing their care. It's a matter of social justice that women have access to abortion, and they don't owe me thanks for their rights. They weren't mine to give anyway.

Don't I appreciate a word of thanks from a patient who, by all rights, ought to have her mind on anything but my feelings? Of course--quite a bit. It's wonderful to hear, "You all have been so kind and so professional; thank you for making this so much less stressful and scary than I expected." It's wonderful to get letters that read "This means the world to me. God Bless and may heaven smile upon you guys. Thank you."

But it's the part that comes before it that keeps me doing this work: "Due to my pregnancy I was discriminated against at work, they cut my weekly hours from 40 to 15 and I could barely afford rent, let alone paying for an abortion or even having a baby."
"I'm involved in domestic violence and have had no one to turn to. You have saved my life from eternal abuse and my child from growing up with violent torture."
"This year I earned a sports scholarship to go to college, but when I found out I was pregnant I was afraid I wouldn't even get to graduate high school."
[Excerpted to protect privacy, but these are women's own words.]

Those women don't owe me thanks! We, as a society, owe them all that we can do to reverse workplace injustice, end domestic violence, increase educational opportunities, AND make reproductive freedom a reality. And I thank them: for not giving up, for seeking to make their own life, for being patient with the unfairly long process of seeking a provider, an appointment, the money, the ride, the babysitter, the day off to recuperate.

Thank you, so much, for the compassion and companionship that I hear you offer each other in the waiting rooms and the recovery room.

Thank you for the times I was training and you consented to have me in the room, even though my presence was of no particular use to you that day. Thanks for everything you continue to teach me and my coworkers as we strive to support you and connect you with what you need. In short, thank you for the privilege of being involved in your care -- I will try to earn it.

Friends Of The Abortioneers: a gripe

Not long ago, my BFF told me that "on second thought, [I] probably shouldn't meet" one of his new friends because she had briefly expressed anti-abortion sentiments (something like "Well not that I support abortion") the last time they hung out. I asked my friend if he had said anything to respond to her...like, oh, say, "Well, I do support abortion rights, so you don't have to make any disclaimers around me." Or that his best friend provides abortion care and is a perfectly okay person. I don't know.

He said no, he hadn't said anything, and I realized I was hurt. He's known me for years, knows how important abortion is; why isn't that worth rocking the boat with someone he's just met? And why wouldn't you want to state your position early on -- what if this new friend simply assumes that's an OK thing to say to him, or to say in general? I even wondered if she's said it in front of women who, unbeknownst to her, have had abortions and now might never feel comfortable mentioning it.

I felt hurt even though I don't know this woman and don't particularly need to. I feel hurt when my mom lets her psycho friend be vocally anti-abortion in her presence, or when my dad seemed visibly relieved that I was going back to school and he could tell the relatives we were visiting that his daughter "works in public health." It's not outright rejection, but their silence isn't just about abortion as an abstract concept; it's like they're avoiding sticking up for me. And it bothers me even though I don't always stick up for myself.

Am I ashamed? Don't I want to educate people? Why wouldn't I always stick up for myself?

No; No; and, Because. No, I'm not ashamed. Okay, Yes I do want people to "be educated" about abortion, but No I don't want to do it in my local pharmacy or the video store I rent from every weekend. And maybe -- sometimes -- I don't want to be the one to do it. Maybe it would be nice if other people did some educating. People who could say "Someone I'm close to works in an abortion clinic, and from what I can tell it's an important part of healthcare that we shouldn't stigmatize or demonize." People who are far enough away from actually doing the work that, if they said this, it might make someone uncomfortable, but not make someone violent. People who are far enough away from the work that a bad reaction might make them disappointed, but not break their soul yet again.

~

If I were someone else, I might have been offended that my BFF thought I was too narrow-minded to hang out with someone who opposes abortion -- and I recognize that some people reading this might feel that way too. But I know that he was looking out for me, because I am that narrow-minded; or, less facetiously, because over the years I've decided that my time is better spent with people who can get their head around the fact that I find my work meaningful and valuable, and not wasted on those who need to be gently led back to Square One at potentially great personal risk.

I make exceptions for my grandparents, my middle-school teachers, my parents' close friends; I'll be social with them and skirt the subject. (Although I sense that if I have to see my mom's psycho friend again I'm going to snap.) I also make exceptions by not bringing it up with people I meet at parties, bars, or other noisy places where I am trying to have fun, not an upsetting high-decibel "debate," and don't plan to know you in the long-term. Or if a stranger on the bus wants to chat -- do you know that someone I know was followed on her commute home by an anti? After some instructive mishaps, I now make exceptions when meeting friends of friends, too. I don't like making a friend's evening awkward just because I responded to "So what do you do?" and their other friend couldn't pass up the chance to be rude.

On the face of it, maybe it doesn't sound fair for me to give myself all these passes but hold my family and friends accountable for their silences. But I don't care, actually. They could be my allies: their expenditure and risk in speaking up would be so low compared to mine. They ought to.

Burn-out

Thank you to deliverance for joining us again as guest blogger today!

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I was talking with a co-worker yesterday about our work in abortion care. "We should all work part-time here, and then part-time somewhere else, like…an ice cream shop!"

What a great idea, I thought.

Burnout has gotten me down and it is harder than ever to self-motivate. A sanctuary-type environment where I used to continually stumble upon joyful moments, has become a normal office building with boring tasks.

It's not the absence of all joy or gratification, but those moments have become few *and* far between.

Part of it is repetition--the same stories ("I feel like I am killing."), the same obstacles (poverty), and less patient interaction in my current position.

It's also about money. Recently I called a few clinics to get an idea of how much others charge for abortions. There was a clinic a few states away charging over $600.00 for first trimester abortions. Considering how challenging it is for patients at our clinic to pay for procedures, I can't imagine how difficult it is to come up with twice as much money. Then again, women in that state probably don't have any other option.

According to the National Abortion Federation, women cannot access abortion in 88% of counties in the U.S., and that percentage rises to 97% for women in rural areas (http://www.prochoice.org/about_abortion/facts/access_abortion.html). It doesn't take a genius to figure out why we need people who have a ton of passion and motivation to work in abortion care--this right is, and has been, on the brink of extinction.

I have met and waved goodbye to numerous abortioneers who have flung their entire selves into abortion care, but when it comes down to it (and I really do hate to say it), what we make isn't sustainable. If you want to have a family, go back to school, travel to get away from such stressful work, while also meeting rent, buying groceries, and paying off student loans (a Bachelor's degree is required for many positions at clinics)--good luck.

There is an effort on many of our parts to not only be happy, but to thrive with less--we don't need most of the shit we buy anyway--but fair pay is surely a feminist issue, one which many clinics want to avoid discussing. "Everyone needs a raise," is a reply I've gotten quite often, but I don't think that's so true when looking at wages for administrators and doctors.

Despite all of this, there are still some abortioneers who stick around. They have worked at clinics in the same position for 7 or 8 years, and although many clinics don't have much room for advancement, they hang on because our work can be that important and fulfilling. Some go to medical school to become providers. Others study midwifery, so they can deliver babies as well as provide abortions, in the few states where midwives are able to do such comprehensive care. A few play the game of working their way up to an administrative position.

When I realized I wouldn't be one of those people, I started to make plans to "move on," as people call it (even though I will take this work everywhere with me). I feel guilty for knowing I will one day leave, and resentful for what could've been.

For those of you who stay for the duration of your working life, thank you for being the backbones of our movement. Your amount of commitment and dedication is astounding to me.

Keeping my feet on the ground

("...and I don't go to sleep to dream")

Thinking about money again.

In my non-abortioneer job, we've been working hard to finish a proposal for a bunch of money that would enable organizations in low-resource settings to prevent death and disabilities due to unsafe abortion. (If you're curious about this, the immediate strategies are [a] averting unwanted pregnancies, [b] improving the quality of abortion care, and [c] training health providers in how to treat women presenting with complications from unsafe abortions.)

So yeah, big grant proposal means late hours in the office trying to figure out what the donors want to hear and how we can use their money for the things we specialize in, writing the perfect proposal that will win their hearts, and trying to negotiate the budget section and which partner organizations will get what-size chunk for how much work. Sometimes in the midst of all the math, I wonder how all that hypothetical money went so fast.

I also marvel at the higher rungs of the wider not-for-profit world -- from CARE to the American Cancer Society -- where salaries seem comparatively luxurious and the projects move comparatively slowly and the schedules seem like they're mostly meetings and luncheons or something. Sometimes it seems like the institutions all around me are wordlessly shuttling me in that direction, too.

It's what I was afraid of the first time I left my job in a clinic and thought I might try policy or advocacy -- that there'd be less interacting with the people I'm trying to be there for, more isolation at a desk hoping that my abstractions might do something useful like increase contraceptive access a little or reduce wait times for post-abortion care a little.

At the same time as your goals are getting more abstracted, you're also trying to "advance your career" so you can have more responsibility, help formulate goals, or make a unique contribution... And to be very honest, sometimes it's too easy to think of earning power as shorthand for getting somewhere, and that can make you accept others' values as your own, forget what you came here to accomplish, or in some other way lose perspective.

I'm not saying I'm sure my own perspective is perfect, only that on the other hand it's quite simple to keep on track when I am working with clients directly. It reminds me what matters right now, keeps me humble about all that I still need to learn, and gives me a healthy outsider's view of the weird process of trying to find a place for myself in the inevitable hierarchy.


In my imagination the thing I really fear looks like me sitting at a desk pushing paper -- stressing about donor-pleasing language, navigating five different colors of "track changes" in a document, going to an endless string of meetings to plan work that will always be postponed for more meetings -- not seeing any concrete results that make people's lives easier, and managing to make money off it. And that's another reason I love being an abortioneer and don't want to trade for an "easier," "better," or "more important" job: to me those other jobs seem like none of the above.

Now...how will I pay off my grad school loans? (The question that makes the world go round, right?)

Service

Thank you to deliverance, who joins us for another guest-blogging stint this Thursday morning!
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"Serving, like healing, is mutual. There is no debt. I am as served as the person I am serving. When I help I have a feeling of satisfaction. When I serve I have a feeling of gratitude."
-Dr. Rachel Remen


Abortion work is draining.

Most service professions are, but the stubbornly looming abortion debate is inescapable.

Every once in awhile, unknowingly, my patients provide some much needed fresh air.

Last week I was assigned the role of Patient Support. This job includes assisting doctors in procedure rooms, ensuring equipment is clean, but most importantly, making sure patients have someone to help them through an abortion procedure.

Unlike many outpatient surgeries, abortion comes with a myriad of emotions. It is different than a typical surgery, because there are intangible parts of a person which need attention and care.

Many women walk in the door having absorbed persistent rhetoric meant to make a common medical procedure much harder than it should be—"Abortion is murder," "'Mommy,' I love you," "You are heartless."

Having the opportunity to make an abortion experience comfortable and safe for a woman reminds me of why I am in abortion care.

A patient affected me last week by gushing, "Thank you, you are so kind. Thank you for being there for me." Another held my hand until her procedure was finished. Another told me that our clinic was lucky to have me, and offered a complimentary pass to her yoga studio.

Abortion work may be draining, but patients are endlessly gracious.

They serve me just as much as I serve them.