The Great Macy's Fourth of July Abortion Sale: Get 'em while you can! (offer valid only in Mississippi until 7/11/2012)

This is actually a breadline, not a bank run or a premodern Black Friday. But when I thought about it, the breadline matched the vibe of the clinic waiting room better than those. People are there -- with their spouse, mom, kid, infant -- because they really need to be. 

So...

Remember my last post, where I was kinda sick and tired of legislators playing doctor (and not in the sexy way) (but also, is playing doctor actually sexy to anyone?), and I was writing about the last abortion clinic in Mississippi being legislated out of existence, and about Rep. Bubba Carpenter, and how he was talking in what I imagine is a too-bad-so-sad wah-wah voice about how the other side talks way too much about "some poor pitiful women" who might risk their health and lives trying to end their pregnancies by any means available, and I think I might have blacked out shortly after that as an internal defense mechanism?

Yeah, I know: oof. But let's talk about Mississippi some more!

So the bill passed and was signed by the governor and its stipulations include that abortion providers must have hospital admitting privileges -- something Bubba Carpenter noted was notoriously difficult for anyone to obtain, not just abortion providers -- and that means that this last clinic in Mississippi, which has not been able to secure admitting privileges, will have to close. But then, since as Bubba Carpenter noted this law is not trying that hard to be constitutional, a judge stayed the new law until a court hearing planned for July 11 -- giving the clinic a reprieve of, uh, about a week.

And here's something that interests me as an abortioneer.

But it has also created a rush of women from across Mississippi wanting to have abortions. The clinic's three doctors normally perform about 40 abortions a week, but received more than 100 calls in one day last week from women trying to schedule appointments. Two of the doctors live out of state and will fly in to perform abortions this week, said Diane Derzis, the clinic owner.

"What women are hearing is, You may not be able to have an abortion soon," she said. "If you're pregnant and you don’t want to be, you’re thinking, 'By God, I've got to get in there fast.'"

Seems kind of weird, doesn't it? Like a run on the banks, as my arm candy quipped. You'd think that the need for abortion care is pretty much static over the course of a year, since pregnancy can occur in any season and any abortion clinic is the potential provider for at least several million people of reproductive capacity. But demand for services really does seem to have a certain flux to it. While I can't remember hearing of a run on the clinics (though I guess it's not hard to understand), I have noticed other ups and downs and maybe patterns.

I've mentioned before that I had many clients who were able to finally secure their abortion care when their tax refund came back -- and even some who specifically filed early in order to make sure they raised enough money before they reached 12 weeks when the fee would start progressively increasing. Those patients were very resourceful and very on top of it. And I sympathized with their certainty that they made little enough to be owed a refund -- my full-time job qualified me for both a tax refund and assistance from an emergency abortion fund should I ever need it.

But demand also seems to drop on holidays, especially big ones. It's hard to seek an appointment while hosting extended family, driving to grandma's, juggling your parents' or grown children's multiple Thanksgivings after a divorce, entertaining your school-aged kids at home, or arguing with your teenager about sharing the family car over winter break. You don't have as much privacy, time, or energy for taking care of yourself. Shit's hectic.

Then, weeks after a holiday, demand bounces back to levels even higher than before. Phones ring off the hook at the emergency abortion fund, they ring all day although you have multiple phone lines and someone answering every line. Same thing happening at the clinic, which is also jam-packed with people -- you have to bring more chairs into the waiting room -- and clients want to know what is the point of making an appointment if you still have to wait all damn day. (The answer is you struggle with turning people away from care, and wish there was such a thing as walk-in care, but in your state there's a law requiring advance appointments so pregnant people can take time to "cool off" and think hard about their impulsive and flighty decisions. As Sarah Silverman says, maybe they're not as hungry as they think they are.)

I say "weeks" after a holiday but we'd often remark that it seemed to be about four to six weeks after a holiday. Kind of joking, because that's how long it takes from fertilization (four) or last normal menstrual period (six) to the earliest point in pregnancy that most clinics are able to offer abortion care. Kind of not joking, because it really happened. At least three years I noticed that after a December-January lull, we'd have the most insane February and March. That's the time of year that I first became an abortioneer, actually. At first I thought that was just how it was -- that we'd have 100 appointments per day forever. (On the plus side, a lot of those were double-bookings or ambivalent patients who ended up going to another clinic for prenatal or abortion care. We didn't actually check that many patients in per day.)

I could surmise that stereotypically hectic and overburdened times (Thanksgiving/Christmas) or stereotypically romantic times (New Year's/Valentine's) or stereotypically hedonistic times (spring break, New Year's again) lead to unintended pregnancy. And surely the delaying of one's own needs during family-heavy holidays would explain part of the resurgence of appointment requests afterward. But I don't really know and I don't think there's any way to find out on a large scale. It'd be interesting, though, to ask individual women to recount the story of what prompted them to seek abortion care when they did, and why. If only such questions weren't so politically loaded, so likely to suggest there's a right and a wrong answer, maybe we'd hear a lot of honest and interesting stories.

What I hear you saying is...

Part of the pre-abortion process at my clinic is counseling. Clients talk with a counselor one-on-one to review their medical histories, discuss the details of the procedure, ask questions about the aftercare instructions, and work thorough any lingering doubts or concerns they have. Some clients latch onto this idea and want to use it as an in-depth therapy session for things that really should be handled by a professional, while other clients roll their eyes at the idea and assume that counseling is yet another law with which the clinic must comply, a law created with the assumption that women don’t understand what an abortion is or that every human was once a fetus.

But the majority of the clients welcome the opportunity to talk with someone whose job it is to listen and to be pro-choice. I value it because it gives clinic staff a chance to develop a rapport with a client. (Not to mention the chance to debunk myths about having to slice someone stem to stern to perform an abortion.)

I actually took the counseling portion of the program for granted until I learned that some very compassionate, professional clinics don’t offer counseling to their clients. It could be a trick to save time (clients always complain about how long the process takes) or minimize cost (we ARE in a recession), and it could simply be what has worked and continues to work for individual clinics.

So, readers, I’m curious: If you’re an Abortioneer, does your clinic offer counseling? If you’re a friend of the Abortioneers, would you opt for counseling, given the choice? And if you’ve been a patient, did you have a counseling session? What have your experiences been?

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.

It's an Abortioneer's World...Kinda

I work at an abortion clinic and I have a pregnant friend and a pregnant acquaintance. For what it's worth, one pregnancy was planned, one wasn't, and both are welcome. I can't wait to meet their babies, and I tell them that. I even call a 9-week fetus a baby in the case of the shopkeeper I chat with. It's all about the intention, and even though I can completely visualize what her 9-weeker looks like thanks to my pathology experience, and it sure doesn't look like a baby, I respect that her outcome will be, barring any complications (knock on wood), a full-term baby.

See how I knocked on wood there? After clinic work, which includes D&Cs for miscarriage management and terminations due to fetal anomalies, I can't think of a pregnancy without thinking of what could go wrong. I also can't ask about the gestational age (I do ask the pregnant ladies in my life, "How far along are you? because I know it would be odd to inquire about gestation like I do at the clinic. We try to avoid "How far along are you?" because it implies that a pregnancy will be carried to term.) without envisioning the development I've seen in pathology. I can't visualize the third trimester development because I've never seen that, but I really do feel so fortunate to have gotten such an intimate glimpse of human biology and development. (And no, I don't say to my friend, "Oh! Your baby is about the size of a mango! Have you had an anmiocentesis? Because now is when something might go wrong.")

Working at the clinic isn't just about abortions. I've met the babies of clients who have decided not to terminate and who brought the baby to see us. We also provide care for infertility and we cheer when someone gets pregnant. Several co-workers of mine have been pregnant and bring their kids to work to see all of their aunties. I once told a toddler, "I remember seeing you on your mama's ultrasound around 19 weeks!" Remember the Jennifer Baumgardner book, Abortion and Life? That's my life. Abortion and pregnancy and life and me, and they're all beautiful.

Stock photo because that's just all-round safer.

A surprisingly delicate subject*

Lately I've been spending more shifts in the surgical suite, where I check on patients' wellbeing after their abortions, sterilize instruments, or play some role in the procedure itself. Often that means serving as a "patient advocate" (attending to a woman's emotional and physical experience of the procedure, similar to the role of abortion doulas) or as an interpreter. But I'm also spending more shifts assisting the doctor providing the abortion, and that means seeing lots of vaginas.

Vulvas, to be more exact, of which the vagina is really only a small part. And here's one thing I keep incidentally noticing when I'm on this side of the sheet and stirrups: many women's vulvas are shaved! Not merely trimmed, but all the way de-pubed (whether bald or stubbly).

I don't want to be overly crass. And I'm certainly not judging -- over the years I've gone through many "hairstyles" myself. It's just that I started wondering why it's so common. I came up with a couple of possibilities:

1) That's just a lot of people's preferred habit, and the appointment day is just a day like any other.

2) You've heard that before a surgery, you're supposed to shave the area to be operated on. You figure that might be true of a "surgical" abortion even though you've been told there's no cutting involved. (You can't automatically know that a sterile speculum will be used to hold your vagina open, so that the sterile dilators and cannula don't touch your vulva on their way to your uterus, which is much more sensitive to germs than your vagina or vulva.)

3) A stranger is going to see your vulva, and that makes you anxious about being hairy. So you shave before going for pap smears, and this gyno visit is no different in that respect. You've seen "Knocked Up," and that woman's vulva -- in the middle of giving birth -- was, well, strikingly bald. Actually, how did she pull that off with her theatrically giant belly in the way? If Katherine Heigl's body double (vagina double?) had to be shaved for a delivery scene, it must mean real-life women ought to be trimmed to that aesthetic at a moment's notice, because what if you have to go to the doctor? A shaved vulva is basically the new clean-pair-of-underpants, amirite?


In contemplating these, I found myself really hoping that #3 is not at play, because I'd hate for an appointment that's likely staffed with strangers and already stressful to generate that unnecessary layer of extra anxiety. Note to potential patients: Don't worry! No one here will have a problem with your hair. At least at your abortion, of all places, of all times, I hope you can rest easy with your vulva the way it is.

Unfortunately, I also found myself thinking that my least favorite hypothesis seems like the most plausible.

And with that, we conclude the shoddiest descriptive study ever.


*The hesitation I felt when writing this post did take me by surprise. I blog about abortion, for chrissake! What could be a more delicate subject than that? But take an important personal decision, mix in the "violation of privacy" feeling that many of us get from any brush with the old stirrups and duck-lips, and then bring up pubic hair, which at a minimum probably calls up most people's anxious memories of being twelve years old and wondering if you've got too much, too little, too bushy, too wiry, omfg...And suddenly adult-you can't figure out if this feels weird because you're violating HIPAA (you're not), because you're talking about something dirty (you're not), or because you're acknowledging you saw people's vulvas (well, duh). (Otherwise you'd be doing abortions blindfolded, right?) (PPS, a nurse friend recently told me that standard nursing textbooks instruct to "note hair distribution" during a vaginal exam!)

Anyway -- I promise I wasn't staring; I promise I didn't take mental note of how much you, as an individual patient, grow/trim; and I promise that whatever you personally do with your personal hair is no biggie to me. We'll offer you safe, friendly care no matter what's underneath the sheet. Even if for some reason you've got it painstakingly waxed into an Italian status symbol.

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.

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.

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.

Lessons on Assumptions, Altruism, and Abortion

Without violating HIPAA, let me just tell you that I've interacted with several clients who are a little bit unlike me. Let's say that maybe they're sorority girls or Baptist ministers or aspiring rappers or women very much hooked on drugs. And without violating BIPAA (Blog Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, coined by me and referring to my wish to remain an anonymous blogger), let's say that I'm a casual, quirky, non-religious loner. (Also, not on drugs, for the record.) And I've counseled a handful of women who I could probably hang out with, but honestly, I've counseled more women who fall on the other end of the spectrum. I don't judge them when I see their Louboutins (I was going to say "when I see Greek letters," but it just occurred to me that I've rarely, if ever seen letters come through the door. Is there a code in sorority bylaws that states no Phi, no Omicron may pass through the doors of an abortion clinic? Let's look into this.), but I do subconsciously think, "Well, she's different than I am."

A few years ago, before my era of abortion 24/7 began, I would definitely think, "Not my friend." I would still be nice, but I would probably dwell on how snotty that one Greek girl was in college, or I'd silently judge the druggie based on what I'd read allll about in the news. I was still a feminist then, but my feminism was a little bit more narrow, including the ideas that porn is always bad and a feminist should look like me, or at least similar. But then I got more involved in the feminist movement and I learned about why sex workers' rights are a feminist issue, that feminism is for anyone, and so are abortion rights. I learned a lot of this from local activist groups and friends, but I learned more of it first hand from our clients.

I've talked feminist philosophy with escorts, I've bonded with debutants, I've listened to the dreams of a woman who wasn't a "drug addict," but a "woman addicted to drugs," I've learned about Christ and abortion from a preacher, and I've discussed Lil Wayne with a rapper-to-be, possibly even betraying my own stereotype of a white girl in Chuck Taylors who's into My Bloody Valentine. (I contain multitudes.) And these clients are some of my favorites because of what they've shown me, and also simply because of who they are. This isn't just tokenism where I thank them for being soooo brave and for showing me what it's like outside of the suburbs, but it's me thanking them for being who they are and for abortion as the great equalizer and for trusting me. And now, we will all sing "Kumbaya," if I can find a Lil Wayne remix.

Richness

Sometimes, I think about other lines of work I could go into. I think about it not because I'm irreparably damaged by the alleged horrors of my work (sorry, anti-choicers, I'm not), but because of the meager income I make at the clinic--I hover just above the poverty line, as do most of my colleagues. (sorry again, anti-choicers who think we're in it for the money and it's all about the Benjamins).

And other lines of work appeal to me a little bit, but none as much as abortion does. Abortion is so much more than a surgical procedure, more than choice, and more than feminism. It's about domestic violence and helping women come up with plans to leave their abusers after they end their unwanted pregnancies. It's about building up a child again after incest brought her to the clinic before she even entered her teenage years. It's about collecting irrefutable DNA evidence after a rape that WILL be prosecuted.

We see classism in healthcare and try to even the playing field in our particular brand of healthcare. We know why it's called reproductive justice rather than pro-choice because we've seen the disparities and barriers women of color face. We find funding and build trust with homeless women and we work to connect with the privileged, upper-class white woman who flippantly says, "I can't believe all these women are having abortions! I wish they wouldn't use it for birth control. My situation is different."

We've seen demographic data--it's not just heterosexual women having abortions, but queer women who also need a choice or who got pregnant through donor insemination, then were faced with fetal anomalies. For every macho man who's bored with having to spend his day at a clinic, we've seen men cry and express fear.

We know women who drive H2s have abortions, but so do women who have been exposed to environmental toxins that affect a pregnancy in terrible ways. We meet women who need D&Cs because of demanding work environments that caused them to miscarry.

We know how mental illness works. We come up with plans of care for women who deal with depression and anxiety, we evaluate and alter treatment, language, and protocol for women who are developmentally disabled. When we talk about post-abortion coping, we also talk about emotional, binge eating or exercise and restricting food, as well as body image and body autonomy.

As I wrote in my last post, we see undocumented immigrants who can't believe abortion is legal in this country they've adopted that hasn't fully adopted them. We also see women in the military who forgo this pregnancy so they can serve their country, proudly or bitterly.

We've met women who are staunchly childfree and women who need to be able to care for their large families by not adding to them. We see tired women who thought they were safely and squarely in menopause as well as teenagers who thought they couldn't get pregnant the first time they had sex.

And all of these diverse women are the reasons I don't mind buying thrifted clothes, driving an aged car, and living simply. Their experiences and their willingness to share them with me make me better, and that sure isn't near-poverty to me.

Sometimes a little reminder

this is how I feel while counseling

For the last several years one of my guiding principles has been that you should do what you're willing to do that others are not. That's one reason I keep doing jobs that sometimes seem inconveniently "controversial", and tasks requiring talents that don't come naturally to me. For example, I'm good with policy and analysis and not as strong in what they call "interpersonal intelligence," so counseling strangers sort of drains me even though I really value it. Sometimes for motivation I have to remind myself that there aren't enough abortioneers in the world for me to slack off.


This weekend I was so tired and couldn't believe I'd signed up for another clinic shift. If only I could sleep in this time. But I went to work and ended up spending half the day with a woman who felt she would understand her counseling session better if she had an interpreter. Her English was not great but it was decent, and her other language was one that I speak but am very self-conscious about; I felt disappointed to have to interpret. But over the next hour she opened up to me about the things she hadn't been able or willing to tell her other counselor.

She and her three children joined her husband in the US less than a year ago. Before moving, she was a foreign-language teacher; now she has to pass an ESL class in order to get certified to teach here, which seems kind of silly. She wasn't happy about having an abortion, but said it was the right thing to do because she's barely able to keep her three kids safe and happy right now; they're pretty young, and she doesn't know anyone in her new town. Have you ever wanted to give a client your phone number and tell her to call you for anything? My husband brought me and the little one here today, we had to leave the two older ones at home alone, and I feel scared about it. A mother shouldn't have to do that, she said. Back home I would never do this abortion -- there's so much family there to help with kids and share hard times. She hopes to have more children when things become more stable, so she had a lot of questions about abortion's effect on her future fertility.

I was really anxious today, but now that I'm talking to you I feel really relieved. I'm so glad you could speak with me. At those words I realized I was going to stay at work until her procedure was finished and her husband was back to take her home. She was stoic during the long wait, the cold pre-op room, the procedure -- her lips pressed together, her fists tight near her chest until I offered my hand -- the final ultrasound check, the cramping recovery. In the recovery room she asked me about medical complications, asked me if abortion is legal here, and told me how her religion accepts abortion in the first 40 days of pregnancy -- Before that, it's not a person, it's only blood. We squeezed hands again before I left the room and she said God bless you, really, God bless you in two languages.


Some people aren't comfortable with what I do -- including my parents, who visited me this weekend and had asked me to get my shift covered so I could spend more time with them. My dad used to ask about twice a year whether I was planning to change fields. He would say, why don't I spend my energy working on contraceptive use instead? Well, having the power and tools to prevent unwanted pregnancy is fantastic, and my job does include contraception services. But I won't consider leaving Abortionland as long as abortion services are still needed and abortioneers remain too few. Being in the right place at the right time to make someone's clinic experience more emotionally bearable is worth the social inconvenience, the missed Saturday sleep, the questions from family. I can't really complain.

Patient "support persons," and a reader poll!

Allied blog plug: If you aren't reading Every Saturday Morning, you should be! Last month, this post brought me close to tears, tears of anger at the way patients and escorts were subjected to not only simmering tension, creepy or violent threats, and verbal aggression, but also stalking and actual physical violence. Really, I just sat there afterward and felt like my bones were shaking from indignation.

But today I read this post that brought me to tears of gratitude, about a moment when strangers came together to help a woman in need -- not just the band of escorts and certainly not the band of "sidewalk counselors" (anti-abortion protesters and harrassers), but people inside the clinic, friends and drivers of other patients.

Now, I'm not saying I cry at the drop of a hat or anything, but another thing that always does it to me is seeing two patients' respective support people bonding in the waiting room, during the several hours the patient may need to be in the clinic offices -- for example moms sharing the experience of being a parent to a patient, or one offering to run out for some food for both of them or helping to entertain the other's grandchild who had to come along to the clinic.

We hear a lot about the isolation of needing a stigmatized procedure, and I certainly do see lots of women who don't want anyone to know, don't want to sit with "the others," come without a support person even if that means no Vicodin and no sedation, or cross their arms and avoid any eye contact with other patients. But when patients can reach out to each other, and when they have warm and committed support people who reach out to one another or even to other patients -- well, it does happen, and I still get wet eyes every time.


Question for readers! How many of you have been a woman's support-person during her clinic visit? What was it like for you -- were you uncomfortable? Did you make friends? Was the wait really long? Was it easy or hard to be supportive that day?

Or, if you've had an abortion and are comfortable talking about it in comments, did you have a support person, and if so how were they?

I'll post a poll on the right of the home page, if you want to tell us more anonymously, but consider ALSO telling us in your own words, which is always so great to read!

One of Those Days

Sometimes you have those days at work where mostly good things happen. These days are rare. Especially in Abortionland. We often struggle and fight just to get women access to basic services. I often think to myself, “blood, sweat and tears – quite literally – and it’s only 11am.” Today wasn’t one of those days, though. Today was one of those gleaming good days.

The universe seemed to be aligned – or something – with our sunny little patch of Abortionland. The woman who drove six hours last week to the clinic (only to get turned away because she didn’t have enough money), managed to make it back for her abortion and get the funding she needed just an hour before her procedure today. The 19 year old single mom from out-of-state whose pregnancy was a result of rape, arrived on time, but with her two little toddlers (we don’t allow children in the clinic); yet, surprisingly, after we explained the situation to the hotel, they allowed the client’s driver to check-in with the children six hours early! (Bonus: I got to color with those two children for a while in the waiting room as we were trying to sort out the hotel issue. My stars were a big hit.) Today, our staff shined. Coffee - with real creamer! – was in abundant supply. Smiles abound.

Morning swiftly turned to afternoon and I had the rare occasion to speak with two abortioneers in different parts of the country. This lovely fall day didn’t seem like it could get much better until I got to actually talk with one of our rock stars. One of our celebrity doctors. Oh, how I swooned! Have you seen that commercial where they show the co-inventor of the flash drive walking down an office corridor, people in business attire are falling all over each other and wanting autographs, and they say something like “our rock stars aren’t like your rock stars?” Okay, seriously: it was like that. I felt privileged and honored (I am not someone who gets all worried about titles and stuff) to speak to one of our super heroes: Dr. Carhart. And yes: he’s super nice. Are you jealous?

Today was a good day.