What's your Story?

Please enjoy this one last wise blog by our guest guru, deliverance:

“How can you feel so much for another person, a complete stranger?”

Recently this question was posed in my Abnormal Psychology class. It resonated with me because it seems to articulate one of the most significant obstacles in the

complex world of abortion, which is that we see each other as separate.

"She is different," the woman says, who is 6 weeks and was in the waiting room with another woman who is "showing." "How can she do that to a baby?"

"They aren't like me. I am 40 and done having children. I've never planned on coming here," she explains, as if all other patients have visions of their reprodutive futures.

"I am different than them. I care," she tells me, angered by patients in the waiting room who have the nerve to laugh in an abortion clinic.

Nobody plans to have an abortion at 22 weeks, or at 40 years old. The way people deal with having to make tough decisions is not uniform; some laugh, others cry, and a few might not even acknowledge the difficulty of making such decisions until years later.

When I began training for my job, I also wondered what it would be like to talk about intimate details of a "stranger's" life. When I found myself invested in the most essential part of my job, though--making sure patients are listened and attended to--all such reservations disappeared.

I suppose what I'm saying can be put into two words: Trust women.

Sympathize, imagine, discuss, do what you have to do--but I am as you are.

There are differences among us, such as class, race, and most importantly in this case, gender, but we all want to feel like we are creating happy and fulfilling lives for ourselves and those we love.

If we are supplying someone else's ability to live, and decide we cannot continue to do such, know that it isn't easy--but it's also not your place to judge. At the risk of sounding preachy, let go of that which you cannot control (and how sad it is that control over women's bodies has become sanctioned by law).

If I had to identify the single most important thing abortion care has taught me in the precious 13 months I have been benfitting from it, it is that we should never judge others, for we never know another person's story, unless we ask.

Image: One Heart, One World

Plight of Feminist Abortion Providers

OK. I think I'm bracing myself to piss off a lot of people with this post. So here it goes...

Am I the only one out there that thinks some of our feminist clinics have changed? Maybe lost of some their feminist qualities? Lost some of those things that make them different from the regular, kinda corporate-like abortion clinics? Despite good intentions, I think they have. Sometimes I feel a bit angry about this, but then I knock myself upside the head and think, “Of course they have. Times have changed.”

Over the years, they’ve had to adapt. Clinics have had flex to external pressures of physicians, state and national law, and medical standards; not to mention meeting the ever-changing expectations of clients and the local community. As independent abortion clinics have adhered and adjusted to these changes, they've lost some of their roots: what makes them who they are. What makes them different.

Why are feminist-based abortion clinics special? They typically were established, owned, and operated by women whose ideals spat in the face of the status quo. They had dreams of women working passionately, cooperatively towards a common goal: demystifying abortion. Breaking the “standard expectations” of women to their very bones; allowing a space for women to feel free, to make their own choices, apart from judgment. A sacred place for women have a voice. A place to rediscover, remember who they are.

Why has this changed? Because administrators are so focused on administrative type things (budgets, appeasing all they need to appease, putting out fires, lobbying, etc.), it becomes difficult to focus on feminist things like: making sure staff earn a sustainable living (see Deliverance's post last week); ensuring that power of hierarchy doesn’t become a poison to morale; and remembering…instilling institutional (gasp!) memory and culture within staff and management, lest they (the organization) forgets who THEY are. Their roots.

There are other reasons they’ve changed, too. Let’s face it: there’s a decrease in abortion. Little clinics are struggling to stay open – just like Sparky touched on the other day. I mean, if not as many people need abortions, you’ve either got to diversify the services you offer (expand them?) or you’re going to simply struggle to provide abortions.

We talk a lot about stupid, restricting new laws that are being conceived and born every day. They’re annoying. So are restrictions by the department of health (like Sparky mentioned last week). But there’s another reason things have changed for feminist clinics. Another reason they’re busy and finding it hard to do feminist things: competition. Okay. Come on. Admit it. Clinics have competitors. Yes. Yes. I know. I spoke the unspoken. (Gasp!) I mean, HELLO. Running a business doesn’t make you less altruistic. And, honestly, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that small women-owned and operated, independent businesses, find it hard to stand tall against corporate-like competitors.

It’s super important that access to abortion is increased. We already know nearly all counties in the USA don’t have abortion providers. That is wrong and it sucks. But there’s another side to all of this. Clinics are closing down. Not because of obnoxious, annoying protesters and harassing laws. Not because the department of health is making things difficult (well, except in this instance!). You’re all clever. So I’ll just ask you this: were any of the clinics that closed down recently Planned Parenthoods? Not that I know of. (I could be wrong.) They were all little clinics. And I'm sorry to admit this, but even the pro-lifers wrote an article about this back in February. (And no, I'm not going to provide the link here, because I don't want to give traffic to their site. Yes. I'm being a bit totalitarian about it.)

Who is out there talking about this? Even the clinics shutting down and the feminists don't seem to be making enough noise. Some organizations are out there waving the flag that hospitals should provide more abortion services. Okay. Great. But again, the more hospitals are out there doing abortions, the more corporate institutions are out there expanding their abortion services, the fewer independent providers there will be. It’s just kind of a fact. The way I see it: too many big fish in a small bowl fighting for a service on the decline.

So. Things have changed. Feminist clinics are too busy fighting to keep their doors open because financially, in straight-up business terms, it’s tough. The tides are turning.

I ask this: what happens to the women?

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.

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.

Guest post: Sons

A warm welcome-back to deliverance, who joins us again with a new guest post :)

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“wishes for sons” by Lucille Clifton

“i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
i wish them no 7-11.

i wish them one week early
and wearing a white skirt.
i wish them one week late.

later I wish them hot flashes
and clots like you
wouldn’t believe. let the
flashes come when they
meet someone special.
let the clots come
when they want to.

let them think they have accepted
arrogance in the universe,
then bring them to gynecologists
not unlike themselves.”

Male privilege is something I encounter on a daily basis at my job. It often comes in the form of a phone call with a curious son on the other line—“If my girlfriend and I had sex on the 8th, but she also had sex with someone else on the 12th, how could it be *my* child?!” In this process of protecting himself, he is avoiding the responsibilities which come with being a sexually active adult.

Women don’t have the option of walking away. Our bodies are bound to such consequences.

In other instances, male privilege oozes from the walls of the waiting room. Impatient sons position themselves on our comfy couches in ways which look all too forced—they appear pouty, bothered, and cast rude stares. “What takes this long? I have things to do!” If only he could know how inconvenient it is to have something unwanted growing inside of you.

When I was in college, one of my Women’s Studies professors shared with me one of her hopes for third-wave feminists: “You need to involve boys and men. We need to make them aware of how gender roles influence their own lives, too.”

Lucille Clifton and my college professor both were communicating something similar: These are our sons. We need to be teaching them better.

Every once in awhile I am reminded. A son comes into a session, scoots his chair close to his partner’s, and listens intently. He does not interrupt her, talk over her, or insert his own opinion wherever he feels compelled to make his voice heard.

He does, however, sincerely ask—with open and interested eyes—“What can I do to take care of her?” This kind of son sometimes asks a myriad of medical questions, about the process her body has to go through. He holds her hand, the entire time.

There are sons who are concerned about the well-being of women. There are sons who honor women. I just wish there were more.

Guest post: My Truth with Abortion

Hi everyone. We'd like you to meet deliverance, who's graciously agreed to be our guest here for several upcoming Thursdays. As deliverance says, The name means relief from something, and sometimes liberation. Please extend your warmest welcome to our friend and colleague!

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potentially problematic

Hello, dear readers and writers. This is my first post in this special sliver of cyberspace, as I will be guest-blogging for the illuminating Daughter of Wands in August and September.

I started working in the honorable field of abortion care exactly one year and a day ago. Never had I expected to become so bonded with abortion. For quite a long time abortion was, for me, a distant political issue. I was committed as an activist to do my part in protecting abortion rights, but I never had any emotional investment.

When I reflect on how I thought about abortion before my days as an insider, I understand. Mainstream messages don't convey the heart that is in abortion care. That would be radical. Instead, we flaunt, we debate, we yell, and we condemn. There is no story-telling.

It is not new for women to have their stories and lives ignored. In my work, I have been able to honor the lives of many women. I have also come to this realization: Abortion care is soulful; it deepens the heart and opens the mind.

On a daily basis I get to discuss the "big questions" -- questions about life, death, rebirth, loss, and love. Recently, I have been thinking quite a bit about the topic of parenthood and how people make the decision to become parents.

I have been seeing advertisements by the Ad Council to encourage more foster parenting. Each commercial ends with the statement, "Kids in foster care don't need perfection, they need you." So basically, as long as your kid doesn't carry your genes, there's no need to do anything above mediocre. (You can find these ads on the right side of this webpage under "Campaign Materials"):

Choosing to raise a child is a huge responsibility, but these ads make parenting seem like it's something anyone can do, and it's not all that important to strive for anything above the ordinary. Perhaps we should consider the impact we have on our communities when we don't work to raise our children in the best way we can. Also, what kind of impact does it have on a child who hears, essentially, that they don't need anything special from a parent?

In my work at the clinic, I sometimes talk with women who feel obligated to carry out a pregnancy because they aren't in desperate situations. They often feel a bit ambivalent, and figure that if they try hard enough, they could accomplish being a parent.

Shouldn't parenthood be a conscious decision, one which involves a certain amount of desire and motivation? Parenting involves raising a person -- teaching someone about the world, helping them acquire life skills, and instilling values and morals. It shouldn't have the same weight as choosing which dinner entree you want from a menu.

I am not saying I support the ever-popular argument that "It is good to have abortion because there are certain people who just shouldn't have children." But I am noticing, partly through my work at the clinic, that sometimes parenting isn't seen as a profound act.

Recently I came across a poem which made me think of one way to look at parenting. It is from a book called Earth Prayers.

"I'm going to plant a heart in the earth
water it with love from a vein
I'm going to praise it with the push of muscle
and care for it in the sound of all dimensions.
I'm going to leave a heart in the earth
so it may grow and flower
a heart that throbs with longing
that adores everything green
that will be strength and nourishment for birds
that will be the sap of plants and mountains."
-Rosario Murillo

My work with abortion doesn't always have to do with the absence of children. It does, however, always have to do with love.