"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?

Bringing abortion home

I spent two years as a paid employee at an abortion clinic. I regularly worked six days a week and often over 50 hours. There was a conscious awareness among my co-workers and I that our lives revolved around abortion even when we weren’t spending early mornings, long days, and late nights at the clinic. We constantly discussed that even when we were not at the clinic we chose to spend our time with co-workers. I’ve seen this trend among many abortioneers; we tend to flock together in our free time even after long work weeks. This is partly due to the fact that we all have a lot in common because we work in abortion (so we naturally click on things like feminism, social justice, politics, etc). I also think it is because we are like a group of soldiers serving in this war we wage (reproductive access for all!), and the best way to process our PTSD is together.

As we found ourselves spending all this extracurricular time together there was an acknowledgment that maybe it wasn’t the healthiest approach to our free time. Didn’t we need time “away” from abortion? Shouldn’t we separate our work and home life? Wasn’t it important to have other interests, hobbies, and passions besides abortion? Most importantly, didn’t we need actual time away from abortion so that we would be refreshed and renewed when we returned to our next work day?

I always tried to keep abortion at the clinic. It certainly wasn’t easy and I didn’t always succeed. I can remember countless nights out with coworkers where we always came back to a story from that week or something going on in the news about reproductive health. Ultimately my own apartment was the one refuge where I could exist without being around coworkers who would tempt me into discussing abortion.

Since starting graduate school, the only interaction I have with abortion (besides blogging, obvi) is in my home. Quite the 180! Just to refresh the readers: I volunteer for an organization that provides free housing for women who stay overnight in my city and cannot afford a hotel/motel/etc. Women most often stay overnight because they are having a multiple day abortion and have travelled from far distances. I have been hosting women (and sometimes their friends/families) for a year now and I absolutely cherish the chance to provide them with a safe and free place to spend the night when they need it most.

While I love the opportunity to host women, every time I host I am opening my home up to the unknown. I am directly confronted with abortion in my personal safe haven. I recognize how vulnerable I am by bringing women into my self-created refuge. Most women are scared and alone and vulnerable themselves and I risk my own emotional well-being every time I answer that call from our Phone Coordinator telling me that a woman needs a place to stay for a night or two.

I literally have brought abortion home. Into my serenity, my peace, my den of cleanliness and order. I have had sleepless nights--when a Haven guest snored so loud my dog kept checking on her to make sure she was ok, and when the support person of a guest spent the entire night on her cell phone trying to reach her son who had just been arrested. I spent hours helping a Canadian guest figure out how to get a hold of her boyfriend with international calling codes. I have had discussions with guests about abortion, birth control, heating pads, and post-abortion medications—mini counseling sessions taking place in my very own living room.

I think about how abortion is now a part of the most personal and private arena of my life. I can’t leave the clinic or say goodbye to coworkers at a happy hour and escape abortion by heading home. My home has welcomed abortion.

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.

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Is it just me, or do Abortioneers have a wickedly amazing sense of humor?

Humor as a coping mechanism cannot be underrated. Our work is incredibly stressful, let alone isolating. We spend time with women who can be in crisis mode, and we, by default, take the brunt of their stress. In the very least, we carry their stories in our hearts, taking on a bit of their lives with us (even if we try not to). Stories can weigh on our shoulders, but we can’t exactly go home and unload to the non-abortiony people in our lives. They wouldn’t get it anyway. And we can’t violate patients’ privacy. So, the people we really rely on our are truest allies: our co-workers.

Enter humor. My co-workers are hilarious and can make fun of the most “dark” of situations. Like protesters and violence that ensues: “Hey, Kara! If you don’t come back from escorting that client, can I have your penis pen? No?! Shit! What about your original Tiller Attitude is Everything button?” They make fun of each other with quick wit. There are things you’d only hear abortion workers wittingly joke about: aspirators; forceps; stuck condoms; flavored lubricant; sex; vaginas; cervixes and uteri. We laugh about tampons and periods. About blood. The humor lets us speak the unspeakable. Express fears of violence and discuss the visceral aspects of abortion (like the smell of blood + the autoclave = “clinic”).

So give us some humor love. What are some of the super funny things you’ve recently heard your co-workers talk about? Let it out. Have a good laugh.

What to/not to Say During Your Abortioneer's Security Threat

Dear Friend/Lover/Co-worker/Relative/Booty-Call/Partner/Spouse/Whatever of an Abortioneer:

In efforts to help you be better supportive of your Abortioneer when they’re undergoing security threats at work, here are the top 20 worst things to say:
1. Don’t freak out.
2. When are you going to get a new job?
3. Don’t worry about it. It will be fine.
4. There’s not really proof it’s as bad as you think it is, right?
5. Well, isn’t that to be expected?
6. Oh. (Then look away)
7. Don’t you have a security guard or something there?
8. They’re just trying to scare you.
9. They’re just trying to intimidate you.
10. Do you have a gun? No? Oh. You might want to get one.
11. Get a new job. It isn’t worth it.
12. Don’t you guys use the buddy system or something?
13. Why do you put yourself in that situation?
14. I guess you better get used to this. I mean. It’s part of the territory, right?
15. You need to think about your family. You’re putting everyone at risk.
16. Please look for a new job.
17. Are you sure that’s what you saw?
18. You better start changing all your routes and routines. What if someone’s following you?
19. Why do you work there?
20. Don’t freak out. Don’t worry about it. XYZ won’t happen. It’s not that big of a deal. But you should get a new job.
*Abortioneers: you may have more to add!



Are you confused? I’m sure you’ve said some of the above to us before. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re well-intentioned. You want us to be safe. It’s uncomfortable - maybe worrying - for you that we do this work. You probably have concerns for our safety. What you should probably know: we know you worry. We usually try not to talk to you about the protesters that bug us every clinic day. So as not to worry you more. You see, we want your support. And we worry that if you hear about the regular-everyday nuisances that occur to us - which are part and parcel of our work - you might not be quite as supportive.

A lot of us wait to tell you anything unless something big happens. Like if we get a bomb threats and have to evacuate, or big vandalism occurs, or we get stalked, or we get a very threatening letter in the mail. I may or may not tell my loved ones when law enforcement gets more involved. (Don’t assume we always tell you even when the big stuff happens.)

What’s the big deal about telling us any of the top 20 bad things? It makes us feel worse. It does not help to tell us to get a new job. We’re already scared. Trust me. And when you tell us to get a new job, you belittle our work (which isn’t just “work”) and at the same time, you show us you don’t really know us/who we are. You don’t respect our choices. I mean, most of the time, people don’t question (at least not tons) if someone feels the need to serve our country in some capacity (running for office, getting into law enforcement, joining the military). It might help you to view it that way. We’re not much different. We feel the call to serve our community, too. Our women. Just in a different way. Senators get threats. Police officers are in constant danger, as are our military. Do you tell them to quit their jobs?

Co-abortioneers aren’t always perfect, either. In attempts to make yourself feel less scared/less threatened, be mindful not to diminish the actual incident around co-workers. As Abortioneers, we have to be able to support each other. We’re the only ones that really can understand one another; so if you’re turning around and questioning how serious the security threat was or downplaying it in any way, you could actually cause more harm to your fellow abortioneers who just experienced the same thing. Let’s say you get repeated bomb threats and one of you at work, in efforts to not freak her own self out, acts like she’s brushing it off, like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Your other co-workers may begin to second-guess their own feelings and their own experience of the threat, which could lend itself to additional trauma and stress. I know of abortioneers who were, very sadly, tempted to quit their jobs after a security threat not because of the security threat itself, but because of how their clinic administration or co-workers responded to it.

We need to show our love to our Abortioneers. On to the next list.

Top 20 things TO say to your Abortioneer during security threats:
1. Are you okay?
2. Do what you need to do to stay safe.
3. I’m so sorry.
4. How are you feeling?
5. How can I help? Do you need anything?
6. I wish you didn’t have to go through this.
7. I wish those bastards would just let you do your job in peace. I’m sorry.
8. Are you getting rest? Sleeping?
9. If you need me - really - I mean it - call me.
10. I know you probably can’t talk too much about it, but I’m here for you.
11. I wish I could do more.
12. Thank you for doing the work you do.
13. I’m sorry you have to live in fear for doing a job no one should think twice about doing.
14. I feel for you. If you need a vacation and want to come stay with me, you’re welcome!
15. I’m so sorry this happened to you.
16. You’re safety is most important! Do what you have to do!
17. I’m thinking of you.
18. Is there something extra you can have at this time to give you more peace of mind?
19. Ugh. I’m so sorry.
20. I’m here for you. I’m sorry. Can I help? I’m here. Thank you for doing this important work. Take care of yourself.

I'm grateful to have co-bloggers who would know just exactly what to say.