Lean on Me

I was fortunate enough to have several friends come to me recently to tell me their abortion stories. I had only mentioned my work in passing and they approached me separately to confide in me. Their abortions weren't particularly recent, but they were still hurting. Some women hurt, some don't, and neither response is wrong. (And for the love of Mike, some fillings hurt, but that's no reason to outlaw them, so can it, antis.) My friends were and are glad they had a choice, they don't regret their decisions, but they were living quietly with their grief. I jumped into counselor mode in the middle of the coffee shop and I listened, offered resources, and suggested healing and coping techniques. And we hugged and I gave them instructions to call or email me whenever they needed an ear.

After I counsel women at work, I give hugs or a pat on the back or a few pamphlets or a souvenir flowchart we developed together that details a plan for healing. And I write my phone number at the clinic on the handouts with my name next to it, and I give the clients the same instructions to call me whenever they need to. Only a handful of women have taken me up on it, and I love hearing from them because even if they're sad, they usually are calling to also say thank you or tell me about the good things going on in their lives, or because they're open to talking. The rest, I think about and send a wish into the universe for their well-being. I don't forget them. And the thing that struck me the most when my friends came to me was the hope that they had a counselor who listened to them and walked with them through their abortion experiences. And I worried that they didn't.

A couple of weeks ago on PostSecret there was a postcard that said something to to the effect of, "To the nurse who held my hand last year as I lost my baby and told me eventually I would be OK: I am. Thank you." I wish I had saved the image, but it came and went like the postcards do every week. I loved that card, though. (And maybe it was about a sick infant or a miscarriage, but the beauty of the site is that it's open to interpretation.) It was like getting to hear the happy ending of every client I've ever wondered about. And I like being a part of the beginning, middle, and end for my friends.


Update - Thanks to a couple of lovely readers who let us know where to find that PostSecret submission! Here it is:

Close your eyes and imagine something for me

welcome to your new home

What if you moved to another country and had no family there, and your first language was one that very few people in your new home had even heard of, and you spoke very little of theirs? You might be relieved and happy to find someone who shared your mother tongue and your host country's language, someone who could help you navigate this new place as well as be a friend who understood where you came from.

You might start dating this person, move in with him, end up relying on him in most aspects of your life. He might be a lot older than you, take advantage of your dependence, control your access to food or transportation or a phone, and refuse to use birth control. 

What if you got pregnant? What if you got pregnant and had always looked forward to having children and this person who had final say in your life was not a fan of the idea? And what if you couldn't get your own job or lease or even typical social services -- shelter, healthcare, food for an infant -- because your immigration status wasn't clear? What would you do? 

You might decide that, as much as you'd rather have a child, the only feasible course of action is to seek an abortion, just like he is telling you. You might have to rely on him to translate during the counseling session, and there's really no point trying to say how you really feel, because he already knows it, and he won't translate it to the counselor, and anyway what you'd rather do doesn't change what you must do. 

After the abortion you might try to spill your guts, in spurts, and using a combination of elementary vocabulary and charades, to the various staff in the recovery room. Unfortunately, if you talked to me, I might have a really hard time understanding the full extent of your situation, and try to comfort you with tissues and talk about the hope of having a child when you're in better circumstances -- not realizing that the road to better circumstances isn't visible from here. (It's a lot harder for me to write about this failure to listen well than to read J's story of a failure in his early days as an aid worker: why?) But I'd notice that you kept saying you didn't feel strong enough to get dressed and be discharged yet, even though your vital signs were normal three times in a row. 

If you talked to my more perceptive colleague, she might try to ask you if you had "somewhere else to go" -- but you don't know anyone or anyplace other than this man. She might call in a counselor and make a bunch of phone calls to informal assistance resources, trying in vain to find someone who spoke the right language. The three of you might make a plan to have you come back in a few days for "a check-up" and hope that this guy at least respects medical orders and will give you another ride to the clinic. 

All of this, to our regret, would happen after the abortion that you wished you didn't have to have, because while antis are lately fixated on stopping "coerced" abortions, they are apparently completely clueless about the forces and circumstances that actually make women have abortions they wish they didn't have to have. When language barriers don't prevent women and girls from telling us what's in their heart, when immigration laws don't leave the most vulnerable with nowhere to turn, when men don't take the opportunity to take advantage, when families don't make their daughters believe that can't possibly come home pregnant, (you fill in the blank): that's when women will only have the abortions they want. 

All I Need to Know About Life I Learned from Working at an Abortion Clinic

Item #9:
1. It pays to be nice
When I'm taking payments, some clients are a few dollars short. If they've been a pleasure to work with at every step of the process, I comp the difference and send them on their way. But if they've been a pill, a pain, and a pest (as my grandma used to say) to everyone they encountered, I'm going to insist that they go borrow some cash from their driver or else reschedule. You better believe I'm nice to cashiers and sales associates, and I tip super-well.

2. Sometimes, the most important person to forgive and the most difficult person to forgive is yourself
Clients can forgive their ex-boyfriends for poking holes in the condom, they can forgive their sisters for not replacing their last pack of Plan B that was on reserve, and they can be at peace that God will forgive them. But when it comes to forgiving themselves, all bets are off. And when they can finally do it, good things happen.

3. Plato was right: We must "[b]e kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."
Even the obnoxious clients mentioned above in item #1 have their stories to tell. And I don't relish the thought of counseling the woman who declares, "I don't believe in abortion, but I have to do this," but when she tells me why she "has to," it's difficult for my heart not to melt a little bit. And it makes me appreciate all the compassion I've been shown in my life.

4. Listening is a valuable skill to have
Oh, so when you made your appointment, no one told you that you couldn't drive after anesthesia, that you couldn't eat or drink anything the day of your appointment, and that we don't take payment in the form of IOUs? My co-workers and I could give those instructions in our sleep. Just admit you weren't listening. That's why I always carry around a notebook and pen.

5. Maybe we don't know what we REALLY want until we've wanted both things
A friend of mine once told me about her unplanned pregnancy. She knew right off the bat that she was going to have an abortion. Until she saw a glowing pregnant woman. It was only when she really considered both realities, she said, that she could make the most informed and honest decision. She had the abortion.

6. When you miss a period, take a pregnancy test immediately
Don't assume it's a fluke, don't assume your body's being wonky. Especially, don't take a test, see a positive result, and then believe that if you ignore it, it'll go away. That's how you end up to be 25 weeks pregnant. And that's fine, but the procedure could have been quicker and cheaper if you had just taken that first test all those months ago. My co-workers and I sure make use of the free tests at the clinic.

7. You will make a decision when you are meant to make a decision
I learned from a wise, veteran counselor that some women know what their ultimate decision will be, but they don't know how they will arrive at that decision. It can be a long process, and a painful process, but it's a process that needs to happen. I've never had to deal with an unintended pregnancy, but I sure have dealt with tough decisions, and I took my sweet time.

8. A medical history is no place for forgetfulness
nor creative writing
Oops! When you wrote, "No known allergies, no history of major health problems," it turns out that you really meant, "Allergic to every item you will use at this clinic and a history of weekly seizures since birth." Details, details! And my friends, those details are what cause those major complications. I could say, "I'm 5'9" and I've never had any mental health issues," and it sure would be fun to say those things for a change. But that doesn't make them true.

9. Wear what you love
When we schedule your appointment, we suggest wearing comfy clothing since you'll be groggy and crampy. The first time I saw a client step out of the recovery room in 4" platform heels and a mini dress, I doubted the comfort level and practicality, but she rocked it and she was proud of it, and groggy, crampiness be damned. I, on the other hand, will wear hoodies and sweatpants whenever possible, but it's just my personal jam, and no one else's.

10. Some of the best people work in abortion clinics
When clients express nervousness or when they ask if the next person they see will be nice, I sometimes tell them that I honestly work with some of my best friends. And every person in the field that I've met has been amazingly compassionate, passionate, kind, giving, determined, and an absolute champion of women.

Secret Keepers

We don't strap women to tables and violate them. We walk them through a medical process. When I speak to a woman and reassure her that if she wants to keep her pregnancy, then she should, I feel most effective. I know that I can walk women through safe medical procedures. I know that I can answer questions and offer a compassionate ear. When I help a women think and decide to wait a week until her abortion or not to have one I know I do my job well. My job is to help that woman reflect on her own thoughts and life. I do not make any decisions for her, I answer medical and logisitical questions and then I help each woman reflect on what she needs not what I think she needs.

I often feel like my job is to be people's secret keepers. I don't believe you can put a face on who gets abortions. All different kinds of women from all walks of life grace the doors of clinics across the country. As an abortioneer, friends and family members seek information from me consistently.

As an abortioneer I am a secret keeper who helps women reflect on their own lives and needs. People who claim to be radically against abortion might assume or pretend we are evil people who enjoy human suffering. But, really abortioneers every where are the best kind of people. We are people who know how to listen rather than just hear. We are the kind of people who know how to set aside our own judgments and opinions so that someone else can make a decision about their own life.

Sisterhood of the traveling mesh underpants*

"Tell your abortion story!" we implore you. "Erase the stigma!" "I'm here to listen." In nearly every counseling session with a client, I slip in the statistic that one in three American women will have a least one abortion in her lifetime. I sometimes add that it's a huge sisterhood, but one that no one talks about.

Most women don't end up walking around proudly with an I had an abortion T-shirt, but as clinic staff, I have been fortunate enough to encounter more than a couple of women who are OK with telling their truths.

I've seen clients months post-abortion at pro-choice activist events. I don't say anything to them other than "Hi" if they catch my eye, because anything more would be a HIPAA violation. But later on, I send them a psychic thank you. While working in the recovery room at the clinic, I've witnessed patients exchanging phone numbers and making plans to get together. I've watched plenty of acquaintances spy each other in the waiting room and then hide behind magazines in a panic, but I've also seen acquaintances connect and old friends reconnect after seeing a familiar face in a frightening place. After learning where I work, people in my life confide about their abortion experiences or their friends' tales, maybe intuiting that I'm a walking safe space, maybe desperate to share something that shouldn't be a secret. You, readers, have trusted us and mentioned your own abortions in our comments section.

Women talk, and women have rich stories to tell. Our job, as pro-choice warriors, is to listen, listen, listen, and believe me, we are all ears. I have seen it.

*At my clinic, we give out little disposable mesh underpants to clients to use if there's a bleeding on the underwear situation.