Guest Post: An Abortion Love Story, Chapter II

Welcome back to Rebecca, a fellow abortioneer who’s agreed to spin us a MOTA (mates of the abortioneers) romance for the ages. You can go back here to read about how they first had "the A-word talk." When you're done with that, read on below for Chapter II, which in my head I've unofficially but fondly titled "My Husband Sleeps With One Eye Open."
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At first, C didn't really "get" the security factor at work. You know: the protesters. He's European and from a secular country; and he'd lived overseas for years. He wasn't aware abortion was such a contentious issue in the USA because it wasn't in his country. (I also think that because he’s a guy, he probably didn’t pay much attention.)

He was surprised to see all the protesters we'd get sometimes and how they'd harass clients. We were lucky at our clinic -- we didn't have TONS of protesters like many others did -- but he was still shocked to see them.

When we had more than the usual number of crazies out, I didn't like leaving my car at work. The protesters were taking pictures of our license plates; my car was registered to my home address. (I know, I know. Not smart!) I didn’t exactly feel like getting followed. I lived alone in a smallish city and my car was fairly easy to identify.

Early on in our relationship, the clinic was experiencing one of those big protester days, so I asked C picked me up from work so my car wasn't left in our car park all day. As we approached my vehicle, he dropped the car keys. I noticed he took a fraction of a second longer picking up the keys than I thought he would, and that made me a little twitchy. I wasn't sure why.

Later, when I was ranting about protesters, C told me he was concerned about my safety. And then he admitted he had dropped the car keys purposefully .

Why? With his diverse background, including a military history and working in war-torn countries, he had learned certain skills.  It was a trick they used in some of the places he'd been: they'd drop the keys, bend down to get them, and steal a glance under the car to see if there was a bomb.

A car bomb? I was a bit shocked. My first thought was, "That’s not necessary! Nothing like that would happen here!" Yet it was instinctual for him to check.

He explained how surreal it was for him to be so immediately, intimately, acutely impacted by my work: all because of protesters. Part of me was like, "Yeah, well, welcome to our world."

His reaction had been jarring, though. I usually didn't tell family/friends about protester activity or security threats. I didn't want to worry them. Really, I didn't want to deal with their worries on top of mine. They would've told me to quit. This was the first time I saw how security issues at the clinic directly affected someone I cared for. I wonder whether all abortioneers experience that, and how.

Throughout the years, C was vocal about his security concerns. Because of his experience, he didn't think my clinic always took those risks seriously enough. He’d often say he'd do things differently, or thought things like a better alarm system would be a smart move.

He criticized the clinic when they stopped having guards on clinic days, especially when protester activity increased. We lived in the Pacific Northwest where it's pretty normal to carry handguns. The clinic guards regularly pulled guns and knives off guys.

It was hard for me to listen without feeling defensive and thinking he wasn't critical, really, underneath it all, about abortion, about my job, about work that I loved.

I now understand that wasn't the case: he was just genuinely worried sometimes. Which is a shame. It's a shame we have to work in conditions, in the United States, where our family worries about us because of some crazies. Have you had similar experiences?

Guest Post: An Abortion Love Story

Please give a warm bloggy welcome to Rebecca, a fellow abortioneer who’s agreed to spin us a MOTA (mates of the abortioneers) romance for the ages. Consider this Chapter I of the story of Rebecca and her husband C. I can't wait to read more. 
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I can’t remember how I first told him I worked at an abortion clinic. We met online, which was sort-of new territory 10 years ago. I had this rule that I wouldn’t meet anyone in person unless they were pro-choice. We’d talk online and on the phone, I’d gauge how liberal they were, ask lots of leading questions, then pop the big one: “are you pro-choice?”

Even if a guy told me he was pro-choice, I’d still wonder how pro-choice he was. Wonder if he was pro-choice enough to handle me working at a clinic. So I’m sure C and I had an initial discussion about abortion, but I doubt I immediately told him I worked at the clinic.

Isn't it strange that I don't remember the first time I mentioned my abortion work to my husband? I must've told him very soon after meeting him, though, because he came home with me the first day we met...and I had clinic the following day! Ha.

Here’s something interesting. I just asked C if he remembered when I “outed” myself to him about working in a clinic. He doesn’t. He thinks that tells a lot about his feelings/thoughts about abortion: it wasn’t a big deal to him, he just admired the work.

He also wants me to point out that he wasn’t exactly a typical guy (that’s for sure!). He’s not American, and he had been doing overseas development work in emergency situations. So he was aware of the consequences of unsafe abortion in developing countries. Providing safe abortion, from his perspective, was a no-brainer. He remembers we did discuss my interest in women’s global rights and health, so that all tied in to the big abortion reveal convo…Which wasn’t a big deal after all.

So, C was traveling around the USA when we met. He had been on the Afghan/Pakistan border during 9/11 and got a little burned out from doing aid work. He wanted to be in a country with smooth pavement, clean water, and good food. Within a week of arriving in the States, he was hanging out at my house.

One evening, I came home from a long day at clinic, feeling exhausted. It was one of those days where you felt emotionally drained afterwards. Well, more than usual. We were having protester issues, to complicate matters. I couldn’t wait to open my apartment door, get a huge mug of tea, and fill up the bathtub. This was my ritual: soak in the bath for ages, read a book, then make phone calls from the tub and talk. I lived alone and it's how I relaxed after work, decompressed from work. How I tried to leave work at work.

So that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t stop to hang out, say hello, or have a chat with C. Just went straight into the bathroom to run the bath. C didn’t know me well enough to realize this was my usual routine. And I didn’t realize it needed explaining!

You can see where this is going.

C was left wondering if he had upset me, had overstayed his welcome – if I was sick of him being around. It made him very uncomfortable and he asked if I wanted him to leave!

That wasn’t the case at all, of course. But I realized I had to communicate about my needs, about how I had to take care of myself, especially after a really stressful clinic day. Obviously this work can be very stressful at times. I had to learn to become aware of my ways of taking care of myself and how they might impact my partner. That was new for me, and a first step in the gradual intertwining of our lives.

My Abortion Commitment

This work has had a profound impact on me. Sometimes that impact has been like the sun stretching its rays into my heart; other times, it's been more like smashing head-on, full-force into a brick wall. I suppose, like love, or relationships in general, it takes work. You go through phases: the passionate awakening (I've found my calling!); the honeymoon (this is such a great organization!); the growing apart a bit...the stretching (well, there are some things that aren't perfect about my employer and sometimes I'm uncomfortable with xyz). Sometimes that stretching bends you, makes you flex between two worlds: abortioneering and "home." You may feel you can't keep stretching without something having to give. You may feel you don't belong fully in either world. You might leave said organization. Leave abortion work. Separate yourself more from "home"/non-AB work. If you can find a balance - one foot in each world - it's cool. Feels good. Real nice.

This work has stretched me. I'm more compassionate. Less judgmental. More open to life's experiences in general. I have a core belief that as women, we know what's best for ourselves. We could do with a bit of self-gentleness: we don't have to be perfect. And through this realization, I've learned the virtue of being kind to strangers. The power of just listening. Of just being present. And simply: kind. I learn from our women. I've watched many of them find their own Spring through abortion: they are reminded of who they are. What they want out of life. What they want from themselves. And from others. My own abortion was a lot like a wake-up call ("this man in my life is not someone I should be a parent with. Maybe he isn't someone I should be a partner with, either").

These lessons and values helped me decide what kind of people I want in - or out - of my life. I try to parent this way, too. I want my child to be compassionate, kind, and to care. I hope my child will respect women and not be super judgmental. If I manage to bring these concepts into parenting, I will forever thank my abortion relationship. My beautiful, romantic, warm-fuzzy abortion story. The one with the sun inside me.

Moving onto "I'm in it for the long-haul/totally committed to you, dear abortion," has long-term impacts that aren't always positive. I try not to stress too much, because I don't want the tender balance between abortion and my personal world to snap. I don't want to bring my work fears home. I don't want them literally on my doorstep with my child fearful of personal safety. I want to feel confident in developing relationships within my community without being the abortiongirl. I don't want to get outted to my neighbors or my child's teachers. I fear kids at school/teachers/parents will say mean things about abortion, about my work, about me as a parent, inevitably hurting my child. This balance between abortion and home becomes more tenuous.

Nothing's perfect. More compassionate, yes; but I'm more anxious, too. Granted, I can calmly handle an emergency. I know what to do if there's a bomb threat; but I'm the type that gets silently worried, waiting for the "next bad thing" to happen. Basically, I'm the victim of the type of relationship where abortion threatens to leave me. Shakes me up so I don't get comfortable in my job for too long. Insecurities abound: will abortion stay legal? can we keep doing abortions in the second trimester? oh, shit! parental consent! oh, shit! mandatory waiting period! oh, god, insurance might not cover anymore. am i going to lose my job? will those fucking protesters just stop their stupid 40daysoflife? will our business be the next to go under in this bad economy? It's like whiplash: Stop.Go.Stop.Go. Now: FIGHT!FIGHT!FIGHT! Stop.Breathe.ItWillBeOK. FIGHT!FIGHT!GO!GO! Exhausting.

When you're tired, you make compromises. Something has to give. How to give all the light I've learned from this work, while protecting those I love from the dark parts? I struggle. And I don't know what this phase in my relationship with abortion is called. We're not as close as we used to be. For better or for worse.

Thinkin' bout love

Valentine's Day has got me thinking about love. I once read an essay about "love" by bell hooks. As a writer bell hooks has explored the complexities of love in ways I have never even considered. In a women's studies class at the age of 19 years old bell hook's analysis of love changed my outlook on dating, love, and partnership. bell hooks made the point that love is a choice, when people look at love as though it happens to them it can be destructive. Its important to stand in love rather than "fall" in love and be victimized by "love". hooks has written a book called All About Love, in this book she looks at people's desire for love and difficulty communicating about the subject. As a black feminist writer she has covered topics that are far beyond relationships and love but this is writer has touched my heart and made me think about what it means to love someone and to be in relationships with other people.

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.

Love and Rage

I often transport patients after their abortion. After the doctor has completed the abortion, I help the woman off the procedure table and into recovery while a medical assistant disinfects the procedure room. The clinic I work in does not offer general anesthesia and we sedate very few patients. So typically I am transporting patients who were fully conscious  during their abortion.

Some patients get up and want to walk out of the room with little help from me, others grab my hand like they have known me forever, some women cry, others grimace in pain, and some chit chat with me. I always tell them whatever pain they are feeling will decrease dramatically during recovery and afterwards. I walk them into recovery and help them get situated while the nurse begins to take their post-operative vital signs.

I often tell women the best way to tell how you will feel after your abortion is how you feel going into the procedure. When women cry buckets of tears in recovery I feel sad for them. I feel sad they are in whatever predictament life has wedged them into. Some women are silent, they stare at the floor or close their eyes. I want to tell women: Don't feel shame, don't feel sad, it's OK! So often, I believe that sadness is about the larger circumstances of their life that may have caused them to choose abortion. Whenever I see a woman go through these kind of emotions I try to ensure she gets information for post-abortion counseling.

When a woman goes through with the procedure because she feels like she has no other option, I'm saddened because I want women to have the ability and resources to make their own choice. I don't want women to have abortions because they feel like there is no other choice that could work. I see patients who are sad after their abortion just as often as I see patients who are elated they aren't pregnant anymore.

When a patient thanks me and tells me how comfortable she felt in the clinic I'm overjoyed, I know we are offering quality care. When a woman returns for her follow-up and looks like a new person, or like the weight of the world has been taken off her shoulders, I'm overjoyed. When a woman walks to recovery with relief written across her face I feel fulfilled and I know that we have provided her with a needed service.

Recently, I heard a male partner in the waiting room say, "No one who is here, wants to be here." And it's true, no one want to face an unintended pregnancy. The nature of the work I do fills me with love and rage. I'm enraged when people protest the clinic and when the state passes laws that make my job harder. I'm enraged when partners, parents, and friends are not emotionally supportive of the women they escort into the clinic, I'm enraged when a woman tells me she doesn't believe in abortion but her circumstance is different.

I am filled with love for each woman who walks through the clinic no matter what choice she makes. I hope for every woman she has someone in her life who can treat her with love and compassion after her abortion. The fact is a lot of women are alone, and a lot are accompanied by a minimally-supportive partner or friend. I wish I could make a pamphlet for support people who bring women to the clinic. I think it would go something like this...

Post-Abortion Support:

  1) Rub her feet, her back, anywhere she wants massaged

  2) Buy her favorite food

  3) Rent her favorite movie

  4) Clean up the house for her

  5) Cook her dinner, and breakfast the next day

  6) Listen

  7) Leave her alone if that's what she wants
  8) Pick up her prescription

  9) Take care of the kids or the dog or whatever else might need taking care of

10) Most importantly, trust her and listen when she tells you what she needs

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.