Tuesday night homework: please help Georgia!

Can't you see my crazy eyes? Don't make me a law! 

Friends, readers, countrypersons: lend me your eyeballs! I have an important piece of evening reading for you, followed by a super-quick writing assignment. Scroll down if you want to skip my navel-gazing and discover your mission.

[COMMENCE NAVEL-GAZING]

Lately I've been feeling like I can't even keep up with the onslaught of legislation designed to prevent would-be abortion patients from getting the care they need and to make their providers give up, board up the clinic and retire or something.

Not tryna brag, but in previous years I was pretty damn knowledgeable about the status of abortion legislation, regulation and jurisprudence at the federal level and in most states. If you asked me about a state-level bill I could usually tell you what its language really meant or what stage in the legislative process it had reached so far or what its practical implications might be.

This year, though? This year, if you told me "I saw on facebook that Hawaii is going to require married women to get a permission slip signed by their mother and their boss and then wait 7 to 10 business days before having an abortion," well idunno, maybe they are! Who am I to say, "No way, no way would lawmakers ever try to do something so awful and insane"? Recent evidence points to the contrary!

Honestly, it was difficult just now to dream up an example that's plainly absurd, because real-life happenings have been so goddamn absurd. But when a bill becomes law, whether or not it is too crazy to exist doesn't matter -- because suddenly it does exist, period. Suddenly you can't get the care you need. Suddenly your doctor has to decide between following her duty to care for her patients' needs, or obeying a law she knows is unjust.

That moment when the laughably absurd bill becomes the terrifyingly absurd reality has happened to me before, most starkly in 2006 when the Supreme Court decided Gonzales v. Carhart. The ruling allowed Congress's so-called Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act to take effect, via an unprecedentedly patronizing position on the part of Justice Kennedy that the government has an interest in protecting "mothers" (any pregnant person) from making decisions they might "come to regret." On the day of that ruling, I was at work, speaking with a woman whose baby was dying in utero; she asked if it was possible to remove the fetus relatively intact so she and her husband could hold it and "say goodbye." I found myself telling that woman, and others like her later, that we could not attempt to honor her request because Congress had just outlawed it. Your representative called; he says to tell you tough titties, crybaby.

[END NAVEL-GAZING]

Those terrible moments will happen again and again unless we refuse to feel helpless and instead move to take action. Your assignment is to foment urgent last-minute opposition to Georgia HB 954, yet another insane proposal to outlaw certain abortions. Georgia has seen and defeated similar bills in past years; but this one has gotten quite far in the legislative process -- meaning it's in grave danger of passing.

I once lived in Georgia. I still feel a strong connection to it, and I really hate that it feels like the rest of the country considers Georgia a lost cause when it comes to rights and liberties, or thinks such legislation won't make that much of a difference for that many women. They're wrong. Many people don't know this, but Georgia has several providers who currently care for patients with later pregnancies and patients with severe or complicated health conditions. Without appropriate providers in Georgia, these patients would have to travel clear across the country or receive care in less well-equipped facilities.

There are three days left to the legislative session, and that's when the crazy backdoor shit goes down. If you have any connection to Georgia, please contact the state representative in your area and ask them to OPPOSE HB 954; if you have no connection to Georgia, please spread the word to others ASAP.

Here's the update (and news item clarification) that I received today from the organizers on the ground with Planned Parenthood Southeast:

Today, the Atlanta Journal Constitution covered the bill in an irresponsible piece of reporting and on the front page no less. Contrary to the story, last night the bill was not stripped and was not killed for the session. The bill is not based on sound science and seeks to intrude on the doctor-patient relationship of women facing some of the most difficult medical circumstances. 

Among other things, here's what's still wrong with HB 954:

• The bill is still unconstitutional. It still has only a narrow health exception and includes no exception for the mental health of the mother.
• The bill still requires the physician to use the method most likely to save the life of the unborn child even if that method causes health risks to the mother.
• The bill still includes no exception for rape or incest.

We know all too well that it isn't over until it's over when it comes to the General Assembly. Session ends on March 29, and we need to keep up the pressure to ensure that private medical decisions are left to a woman and her doctor.


Lawmakers need to look at how similar bills have impacted women in other state and understand that Georgia women deserve better. This bill is an example of the level of government intrusion that takes place in women's health care and we need to let our legislators know that we've had enough. Contact your senator now. Tell them you've had enough of their lack of concern for victims of rape or incest, their intrusion into how doctors practice medicine and their intrusion into women's lives.

UPDATE: Good news, but don't exhale yet! The bill appears to have died after revision by the Senate...because Republican House members refused to accept the addition of an exception for women with "medically futile" pregnancies (i.e. dead or dying fetuses). In other words, House members remain committed to a no-exceptions ban -- and there are 48 hours left in the session for them to try to revive one. A few years ago, this was more than enough time for them to pass a last-minute mandatory-ultrasound law right under everyone's noses. PLEASE stay on top of this until the session is officially over.

Guest post: Caring for the Ones Who Never Call

I'm incredibly pleased to introduce a guest writer today. Amy Littlefield is a former abortion counselor and founder of The Provider Project: Stories From the Abortion-Providing Community, an excellent and groundbreaking endeavor that really strikes a chord with our own blog's founding mission.

Stay tuned to the Provider Project, where Amy's piece is cross-posted, and you might see an Abortioneers post there soon!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amy Littlefield

Caring for the Ones Who Never Call

It can be a scary prospect to call up an abortion clinic and make an appointment for what has become one of our society's most stigmatized -- and yet one of its most common -- medical procedures.

Which is probably why some patients don't immediately admit that's why they're calling.

As a former phone counselor at a clinic, I used to hear a lot of: "Um...I wanted to know how much it costs?" and "Hi...I'm looking for some information about...abortion?"

(This last one was spoken as a question, with the word "abortion" issued in a whisper, like a big, bad, ugly secret.)

I sometimes tried to use the word as much as possible when I answered those tentative calls.

"I would be happy to answer any questions you have about ABORTION! What type of ABORTION do you think you might be interested in having?"

Often, these patients weren’t simply calling for information; they knew they wanted an abortion, but they were scared and confused about what the process might entail.

I sometimes felt like women called just to test us out. Maybe they had always believed abortion was murder and they wanted to know whether we would tell them what they were doing was wrong or try to make them feel guilty. Maybe they were wondering whether the women who worked in the Big, Bad Baby-Killing Center were human beings like them. Many were scared they wouldn't be able to have children in the future, or that we would do something violent and terrible to remove their unwanted pregnancies.

They were certain we would judge them, just as others in their life had judged them. They were wondering whether they could trust us with their stories.

They ached to justify themselves.

"Look, I have to do this, I have a nine-month-old at home."

"I'm homeless and I already have two kids."

"I've never believed in abortion, but I just can't have a baby right now."

I was sometimes amazed at how relieved women were to tell their stories. To a stranger. Over the phone. And to have that stranger accept their stories Without judgment. Without telling them what was right and what was wrong. So listening became part of the process of making an appointment. When I finished booking the appointment and asked if they had any other questions, I could sometimes hear the relief in their voices.

Given how terrifying that first step can be for many patients, I often wondered how many women wanted to call, but never did.

The abortion rate has been declining among almost all groups of women across the country (although a recent study [pdf] showed that the global abortion rate has stalled after a period of decline). Many in the abortion-providing community believe this decline is a result of rising stigma, not of improved access to birth control or sex education (since, by and large, those things are not improving). Nor is it happening because women's economic situations have magically improved, since the abortion rate is still rising among poor women (which proves, by the way, that you can't advocate for reproductive justice without combating capitalist exploitation of the poor).

Brigit Ordway, a veteran counselor whom I interviewed as part of an audio project compiling voices from the abortion-providing community told me she thinks women face more stigma now than they did back in the decade or so after it was legalized.

She said:

"That's the biggest difference now -- women aren't telling each other about this. We all did and we got support, for the most part. Now, probably most women would get support from their friends and family, but they’re assuming that they won't. They're assuming that everybody is not pro-choice and that they're going to be judged and maybe even worse, you know, maybe somebody's going to come throw something at them. So women are silent about it now. They don't get the support of each other or society, because they don't talk about it, I think. It's a huge difference. It's all now secret and shameful for people."

So abortion counseling, for me, whether it was done on the phone or in person, became largely about trying to lift the burden of guilt that women thought they were obligated to feel for having an abortion. It was about helping them realize that they were still good, still loving, still worthy of respect. They drove past protesters and graphic posters of chopped-up babies to get into the clinic, but once they were inside, they were treated with respect.

Every so often we would get a call from a woman who wanted to come to the clinic, but couldn't bring herself to enter the doors after she saw the protesters' signs. Those women reminded me how limited my understanding of abortion is. I saw women who were beating themselves up emotionally for having an abortion they felt was necessary. But I never saw the women who were too scared to come in, too scared to even call.

One abortion provider whom I interviewed has found a way to help those women.

Dr. Deborah Oyer, who owns a clinic in Seattle, Washington, created a series of videos describing the process of an abortion at her clinic. In a soothing and straightforward voice, she describes the steps a patient goes through, from the moment she enters the door until she leaves. This is the kind of education I tried to do with patients over the phone -- but she has found a way to do it without requiring women to take that scary first step. Instead, wrapped in the Internet's comfy blanket of anonymity, they can learn that abortion is not as scary as they might have imagined.

The videos provide basic education about abortion and birth control that counteract common and harmful myths. They also show women that -- contrary to popular mythology -- the doctor who will be performing their abortion is a friendly and approachable woman, not a crazy, rabid devil-monster with horns (Oyer told me she often sees women relax visibly after she enters the room, since she is so un-monsterlike). She has one video that consists entirely of her introducing herself. That video, uploaded two years ago, has 550 views on YouTube.

The video about surgical abortion has 58,816.

The one on medication abortion has 27,668.

Clearly, people need this information.

I'm grateful to Deborah Oyer for putting her voice and face out there, despite the risks that it could mean for her in a world where abortion providers are targeted with hate speech and harassment, and even sometimes with bullets. I'm grateful that there is accurate information out there about abortion for everyone -- of every gender -- who wonders how it is done. But I’m especially grateful that there is education for the patients whom I never got to talk to -- for the ones who never call.

Listen to Deborah Oyer discussing the videos at The Provider Project, www.theproviderproject.org.

Protecting Secrets

I was going to write about something totally different this morning, but Daughter of Wands and Vegan Vagina have me thinking about secrets with the posts they've written this week. We live somewhat double-lives, as DoW mentioned: we give direct service to women seeking abortions, but we all have interests and lives outside abortion work. And like Vegan Vagina shared, we then write for this blog, which means we’re extra secretive because we have to protect our own anonymity from our employer (and co-workers) as well as our co-bloggers’ anonymity.

This blog began so we could discuss how amazing and challenging doing direct service abortion work is. We needed a safe outlet: a place where we could really vent and celebrate. Work isn’t always a safe place to do this, especially if we think improvements could be made in certain areas. There have been times I’ve definitely been nervous at work listening to people talk about our blog. I often worry about getting outted. Even last week, a co-worker talked about one of my own blog entries. I was incredibly scared that I may have blushed and made it obvious it was me who wrote what she was talking about. Why would we care? Because we don’t represent our employer when we write here, and we may not always agree with our employer and we may want to talk about it; some employers would not be happy with this at all. Mine is one of them. And to be totally honest, there are things I still haven’t written about because I’m so scared of being outted! (And this totally pisses me off.)

Being the keeper of secrets for clients, carrying them on our shoulders, in our hearts, will be a job that lasts a lifetime. Even beyond our work with abortion. We know things about some women that perhaps they’ve never told anyone else. We become woven into their stories: their abortion story. And we have a responsibility in that. It’s our responsibility to be kind and to make their stories – their experiences – just a little better. So we are present. We focus on the women. We care for them. We listen, and - hopefully - trust them. And yet, we must be separate and tip toe on this very fine balance…of being a protector: of patients and of self...without becoming cynical and burned-out. It's not always easy.

I try to keep my life outside abortion quiet and peaceful and not filled with abortion stuff…which, let’s face it: is usually not quiet or peaceful. I try to protect my family from my work and clients from the protesters and myself from my employers and you just end up with this spiral of protectiveness and secrecy which can be difficult to unravel.

So, to those who do know our secrets (our dearest of family and dearest of friends who know we write on this blog), we’ve entrusted you with our utmost confidence that you, too, will protect us. And…we thank you for that!

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.

My Dream Clinic

I don’t usually dream about my job, but I did the other night. It was kind of a weird dream…I actually owned and operated a clinic. It was a beautiful building with lots of light streaming in. There must not have been security risks, or surely I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to buy a building that had sky lights and floor-to-ceiling windows. The building looked a little like this, but only terms of light and windows:

I'm not into ultra-modern architecture, so in my dream, my clinic wasn't mod like that, but we were safe. We could have loads of windows. When you walked in, there was a large lounge with a fireplace, leather sofas, and comfy club chairs. Such as:

There were board games and playing cards mixed with a variety of books and magazines on the bookshelf. The receptionist wasn’t behind bullet-proof glass. Large, green plants were inside with ecru carpeting. Beautiful, original art splashed vibrant color on pale walls. It felt cozy and comforting. Women were given wristbands and their friends/partners/relatives were given buzzers that would vibrate when the client was ready to see them or they were needed for some reason. It was quiet in this room; however, there was a distinct smell of coffee...

All you had to do was follow your nose and to the right of the receptionist, there was a small café selling lattes and small pastries. All proceeds went to an abortion fund. We were proud of this fund. Another stone fireplace was in this café with small bistro tables. Several flat screen monitors were against one wall where you could sit down, enjoy your coffee, listen to some music and access the internet. The whole building had wireless.

The café overlooked a mature garden with more tables, chairs, wooden benches, and beautiful pathways curving against the flora.

A glass door led you outside where cherry trees and spring flowers kissed you on the cheek. Green, pink, purple, yellow abound. Women, men, and children sat quietly in the garden, whispering, so not to bother the hummingbirds flittering about.

A doorway from the café led to another room: a family room. Large flat screen TVs were in various places. Some had Wii attached, some had regular television. The room was large enough to have these areas without the noise being too overbearing. Children had art tables, games, toys, books. I felt proud that children could have a beautiful place to be, create, and stay active while they waited for their mother. We didn’t tell women they couldn’t bring their children. We knew how hard it was for them to find childcare. They felt less stress knowing their children were nearby and in beautiful, safe surroundings.

Women had private waiting areas within their exam rooms. Fresh flowers were in each exam room. Lush recliners that both vibrated and heated brought comfort to achiness. Aromatherapy, massage was on offer – for a slightly higher fee – for those who wanted it. Proceeds again supported our abortion fund. Exam rooms were spacious, with beautiful lighting and comfy, large tables. The rooms were not too cold or too hot, but just the right temperature, all with sky lights. Their support person could be with them during the abortion and just afterwards. They had their own private restroom. The abortion and the counseling would all be done in a room (not JUST like this) private, such as this - only more feminine and happy:

Abortions at my clinic were affordable. They didn't cost anymore than any other clinic. The staff felt peaceful in their work and the surroundings helped. It was accepted. No one picketed us. Our doctors didn't need bullet-proof vests. It was beautiful.

...if only….

Thanks, Rachel Maddow

you are the shit

If you haven't already heard of or watched it, last night Rachel Maddow's show did a special episode on Dr. Tiller's murder. I was unable to watch it because of my lack of cable, but I definitely plan to locate it on the wonderful interwebs.

Here is a brief clip of Maddow interviewing Dr. Elizabeth Newhall. Maddow and Newhall discuss the "WANTED" ads created by anti-choice radicals that target abortion doctors and threaten their lives. I would like to thank Rachel Maddow for broaching a subject that most mainstream media just won't. Abortion providers are endangered. When I am in the clinic, particuarly if I'm alone, I am always very vigilant about making sure doors are locked and I check security cameras countless times a day. It's mad what we, abortion providers, have to do just to do our jobs and help others carry out their choices as they see fit.

Please share if you were able to watch Rachel Maddow's show last night -- what did you think of it? -- or if you know a good way to watch the whole thing online...

Thanks to our com mentors the link above will bring you to the whole episode or you can read commentary for multiple ways of viewing the episode!

May you relish your free time at your retirement home in heaven

Today The Abortioneers would like to dedicate your attention to Dr. William Harrison--a deeply passionate and exceptionally skilled obstetrician who dedicated his life to serving women and families of the Midwest. It is with heavy hearts and tinging uteri that we contemplate the passing of Dr. Harrison and the closing of an Arkansas clinic where patients received the full spectrum of reproductive care.

As an active member of the ever-small (and decidedly dwindling?) abortion-care community, Dr. Harrison was never short on powerful and compassionate insight. You can read about his experiences as an abortion warrior at Fayetteville Women's Clinic website. Notably, in Why I Provide Abortions, Dr. Harrison describes an encounter as a third-year medical student with a 40-plus-year-old woman, a poverty-stricken mother of several children, in 1967, who upon discovering another pregnancy, poignantly lamented: "Oh God, doctor, I was hoping it was cancer."

Beyond our loss of one of our fiercest and most vocal first-generation-post-Roe doctors and the CLOSING OF ONE OF FRIGHTENINGLY-FEW COMPREHENSIVE CARE CENTERS IN THE US, The Abortioneers can't help but to re-recite this ever-impending statistic: The United States and Canada face a dangerous shortage of trained abortion providers. In 2000, 87% of the counties in the United States had no provider. The “graying” of current providers (57% of whom are over the age of 50), violence that targets physicians, and restrictive legislation threaten to drive these numbers even lower. In addition, medical schools are simply not addressing the topic; most physicians are graduating with little more than circumstantial knowledge of abortion.

We are comforted by Dr. Harrison's prevailing faith and inspired by a legacy he conscientiously ensured almost to the very day that he died.

some abortion clinic

I recently saw a quote from a president of a I hate women and their reproductive freedom organization. The quote goes as follows: “No one goes to medical school with the intent of working in a Planned Parenthood or some other abortion clinic.”

I love (actually hate) when anti-choicers make such blatantly false blanket statements as if they have any knowledge of this particular topic.

The truth is, many people go to medical school for the purpose of becoming abortion providers, as well as all-encompassing women’s health care providers. I am one of those people. I knew before medical school that I wanted to offer abortion services in my practice, and I was determined to get trained during medical school and pursue a residency that would train me to be a competent women’s health care provider.

I’m sure Mr. Wrong would like to believe that we reluctantly step into the abortion provider role because no one else will, or because we are after the money (which isn’t there) or because we like being harassed by psychos. The truth is, we believe abortion is a right and each woman should have the chance to make an informed decision among all her options. I believe that I can only be a good physician to my patients if I offer them all services surrounding their reproductive freedom, not just some.

Unfortunately for Mr. Wrong, there are more and more of us each year. Not all of us enter medical school with the hopes of having the honor to serve women in this way, but many more of us are leaving medical school with that very ambition. This is especially thanks to organizations like Medical Students for Choice and certain residency programs that support medical students throughout their years in medical school and beyond.

Sorry, Mr. Wrong. We are here to stay, and I would be honored to work in a “Planned Parenthood or some other abortion clinic” one day.

"With all that you have to deal with..."

"Can I ask you a question? With all that you have to deal with, why do you still do this?"

"Because I remember when it was illegal for women to make this decision. I don't want to see those days come again. And also when a woman comes to me and says that she doesn't know what she would've done without my help...I know I'm doing the right job."

Sounds totally cheesy, right? Like, 100% fresh-squeezed saintly shit, not from concentrate.  (Ack, I'm already mixing my metaphors.) No one ever says stuff like that outside of movies. Probably anyone watching "If These Walls Could Talk" at this point rolled their eyes at the pro-abortioneer bias of the movie, because doctors don't talk like that.

And the part right before that, where Dr. Cher finally gets through the crowd of protesters and into her office, and takes off her coat and then her bulletproof vest: another eyeroll. Who actually uses those? Get over yourselves, filmmakers -- amirite?


"There are all sorts of dangers [for] postal workers, firemen, police officers -- everything has a risk to it. I would prefer, personally, to have a challenging, stimulating and emotionally and spiritually rewarding career that is short rather than having a long one that is filled with ho-hum, mundane mediocrity -- feeling as if you don't make any difference to people."

Dr. Tiller said that. I often have these moments of sharply realizing, all over again, how much we lost when the antis murdered him last year. Many of my friends say that brilliant blue-sky days always remind them of hearing the news that day; isn't that shitty? And I feel that way about Memorial Day weekend in general: from now on it's a time to remember one veteran in particular.

After Barnett Slepian ― an abortion provider in suburban Buffalo, New York ― was murdered in 1998, police brought the Carharts bulletproof vests. They wore them until, as Carhart drily noted, "we realized that the antis usually shoot providers in the head."

And then they killed Dr. Tiller, who wore a vest to work but was shot in the face at church. So his friend Leroy Carhart was right. But that doesn't mean Dr. Carhart has stopped providing abortions. Even if sometimes he carpools to work with U.S. Marshals.

Dr. Hern hasn't stopped either, but his blinds are always drawn and he never sits with his back to a window in a public place and every morning he checks the clinic roof for snipers. And at my clinic the (far less famous) doctors call ahead to let us know they'll be standing outside the back door in two minutes, the nurses are circumspect when registering their home addresses with the state, we get rides to work in others' cars during high protest times.

A lot of older doctors and nurses started learning to provide abortions when they were either mostly or entirely illegal. I think they got murdered less then, because antis tend to get violent when they start losing their legal domination. But they sure had to deal with the police. Why would those providers have risked prison, and today's providers risk death, to offer a relatively low-paying service that universally lacked in prestige among their colleagues?

Almost to a one, the providers who talk about it cite reasons like this:

and this: 

Gerri Santoro, dead in a hotel room at 29, leaving behind two daughters; she never made it to the emergency room, but doctors saw countless others like her, particularly in septic wards.


We talk and write a lot about how it isn't right or normal or reasonable or legitimate that we work behind bulletproof glass and incorporate security routines into our daily life in order to do something that is both legal and very much needed by a great number of people. It isn't normal. Take a minute to think about how not-normal it is! A lot of people seem to assume it naturally comes with the territory -- "occupational hazard," as one editorialist wrote about Dr. Tiller's death, right before comparing him to a mafioso -- and then on the other hand, others somehow seem so surprised to hear that it does.

Last night I told someone that I'd probably have assumed the Dr. Cher character was an absurd caricature of an impossible saint, if only I didn't know people who actually talk just like her and indeed wear bulletproof vests to work. And at the vest thing he said "Wait, really?" People say that a lot!

But they don't then say "that's ridiculous." They often say (always in the same voice), "Oh, wow..." and trail off meaningfully (I guess). And I don't need that. Like, thank you acquaintances, but: making it socially unacceptable for my life to be in danger would be SO much more helpful than voicing your admiration for my doing something that "must be so hard" as you put it. It isn't hard! It just is what I need to do. And it's wonderful, actually. I can be profoundly useful to others, learn a lot about medicine, learn a lot about people's hearts, spend time with great colleagues who share my values and, similarly, are just doing what they need to do.

As Sparky wrote yesterday, some providers are surly, some are sexist, some are looking out for the bottom line. But by and large, those are the people who probably find this work the hardest. To most of us -- whether doctors or counselors or administrators or whatever -- it's worth it, because and because and because. But that doesn't mean we wouldn't appreciate going to work free of firebombs and shotguns. Thanks for taking note.

Barriers: Stigma and Language

In the work we do, we come across barriers to abortion care all the time. I think stigma is actually one of the greatest barriers: it can stop women from seeking support from medical staff; it may inhibit a woman from talking to her best friend about her abortion; she may have to lie to her employer about why she needs a couple days off of work, for fear of judgment. Or unemployment. The list goes on and on.

But....say you're a woman from a developing country where abortion is highly illegal and clandestine. Suppose you now live in America, but don't speak a lick of English and are completely reliant upon strangers, friends, relatives to interpret for you. Assume you're from a country where already an immense amount of stigma (making the US run-of-the-mill stigma look pale in comparison) surrounds abortion. You must risk speaking to a stranger - from your community - to translate that you need an abortion.

...Think about that for a moment. Just let that sink into your heart. How would you feel? How hard would that be for you? How scary would it be to tell a complete stranger your needs and desires? Could you trust this interpreter from your community? Could you trust that person to maintain your privacy and not divulge your information to other community members? Family? Husband? Could you trust this person to do their job and actually tell the healthcare worker your need to have an abortion? Now...imagine how brave and how difficult it must be to put your trust in all these strangers and not have a clue about the outcome. Not know if the abortion will be safe. If you'll survive. If anyone will be compassionate or understanding. Imagine the power these strangers have over you. The power of the interpreter. The power our medical institution has you. The power the stigma so embedded in our own country has over you.

I worry about these women. Often. I worry they don't know their rights: that their lovers don't have to give permission for them to have abortions; that she can access healthcare in a safe way; that abortion is legal; that she will be okay - that she will not die; that abortion providers will do everything they can to ensure she understands her procedure and understands how to access us if needed afterwards.

Yet, how easy would it be for her, really? I've been working with a woman who is from a country where it's difficult to find a pro-choice interpreter. A country where no one talks about abortion. Where women are regarded very little. Where men have all the control. She doesn't speak English. So, through the interpreter, I tell her, to call me if she needs me. The reality is, though, how would she call me if she needed me? How would I understand her? How would I help her? Of course, I'd find an interpreter to translate our conversation. Yet, still then, I wonder if the interpreter is being accurate in the information being translated - let alone kind and compassionate.

I feel for these women. I have compassion. And even some empathy regarding what it's like being a stranger in a new land. Without much help. And it's not fun. It's scary and hard. And. Well. We're thinking of them here in Abortionland.

Surely I don't need to be writing this post at all. Right?

"It's time to stop treating us as two equal sides in a reasonable debate. Let's get it clear -- they are the perpetrators and we are the victims. Any discussion of how to de-escalate the situation should take place within the anti- abortion community. "We do not have anything to bring to the table," said Convisser. "We are not willing to say it's O.K. to shoot every sixth doctor or woman."

Recently I attended a conference all about abortion. It was pretty awesome. I met providers of abortion care, advocates for abortion access, researchers of abortion medical protocols -- and even some fellow abortion bloggers!

Speakers included lawyers who prepare court cases defending the right to abortion from encroachment by state legislators; counselors whose experience assisting abortion patients stretches back to before Roe v. Wade; and the women of the Chicago Abortion Fund representing their efforts at grassroots advocacy for patients by patients, which was incredibly cool.

You know who else was there? Security guards, lots of them, and police officers with explosives-sniffing dogs. Not because they were called in to investigate something, just, you know, every day of the conference as a routine precaution. There was a panel staffed by First-Amendment lawyers, criminal prosecutors, and law enforcement experts. It was all about how to respond to violence and harassment against abortion clinic staff and patients, and what threats are and aren't actionable. You could tell some of the abortioneers in attendance were relieved by the rare chance to talk about what they were enduring and to be around others who understood.

Curious what sorts of activities have been documented? Or what threats aren't actionable (or whether it depends on a particular judge's mood on a particular day)? You might be surprised. You'd definitely be disgusted. No matter what your political stripe, I'm pretty sure you think of yourself as a decent person who wouldn't stalk people, threaten harm to their families, kill their pets and destroy their homes and workplaces in order to get what you wanted. You might even go so far as to say, "Hey, that sounds like, um...terrorism?"

Or would you?

Does your movement accept someone who firebombs women's clinics? How about someone who bursts into them with a shotgun and murders whoever he sees first? Someone who conceals explosives underneath an overturned flower pot, maiming a nurse and killing the security guard who stops to straighten it?
Someone who burns down a doctor's house and barn, killing horses and a dog and a cat? Someone who shoots a hero in the fucking face in his fucking church?

How about the people who visit clinic builders' neighbors with photoshopped fetus posters or greet nurses by name at the door of their own homes? The people who park outside my friend's apartment building night after night, or the ones who followed my patient as she drove home from her appointment? The ones who line the sidewalks outside of clinics and jeer, insult, shove, and elbow pregnant women and their partners and their mothers and the people helping them get inside the clinic? Who say creepy but just-vague-enough shit to clinic counselors as they walk in to work, on the phone at work, in the mail at work?

Not the same, you say? They're only expressing their concern and compassion for the innocent? Protected free speech? I wonder what you'll say when yet another one of those "sidewalk counselors" is added to the list of those arrested for harming born, life-living women and men.

I hate that I have to choose between talking about this so that everyone will know, or reassuring my parents and siblings and partner and best friend that I'm fine, my clinic is fine, we have police-caliber security staff and bulletproof glass and a relatively quiet neighborhood populated with relatively friendly businesses. But those ARE the options, because quitting this work is not an option.

I'm fine, my clinic is fine. I just need to: take a different route to work each day, live in a walk-up, never be a homeowner, not shop online, marry a police officer, not have kids or pets, never be famous, not write about my school or my neighborhood or anything about my family, not tell people I meet about this wonderful blog for fear they might connect the dots. You want to talk about common ground? I'm doing lots to meet you there. What are you doing to prevent my murder?

What Brought You to This Work?

Recently, someone asked me how I became involved in abortion care work and who or what has guided my journey in that work. After writing to her I thought I would share that story here.

As a child my mother took me to clinic defense rallies. I didn't really understand what it was were defending but I knew that it was important to my mom. I don't really remember a time when I learned about abortion or choice. Abortion was always a part of life just like pregnancy, miscarriage, or childbirth is a part of life.

I sort of fell into abortion work, or rather it chose me. I wrote a personal narrative about coming out as gay and being from a multi-racial family for an adjunct professor my freshman year in college. She encouraged me to attempt to publish the piece, but I didn't follow through. As the school year came to an end, I told her I was looking for part time work and asked if she had any suggestions. She told me she didn't know where I stood in regards to choice but she worked for a pro-choice organization while in school and gave me the information, and I pursued a job working in direct service with women seeking abortions.

The question of where I stood in regards to choice was not really a question for me. The understanding that women should be able to control their bodies and lives seemed like something very basic and unquestionable. I distinctly remember having a crush on a boy in first grade, who I then saw in the midst of a huge pro-life rally with his family. My mom and I were on the clinic defense team. At that moment my 6-year-old heart was crushed, because I knew he was on the wrong side of something really important and my infatuation with him was over. As a child, when my mom told me she had an abortion a few years before having me as a single parent, I told her it was me. I told her this because it made sense to me that I was meant to be my mother's child. It just wasn't the right time when she found herself pregnant the first time at 20 years old. I told her it was me and I came back when the time was right.

When I was hired in abortionland I did not feel particularly passionate about the work. I had just come out as gay and I was hired the week of a catastrophic disaster in my hometown, so it was really the least of my concerns. But I needed a part-time job, and I was all about helping other people regardless of how much or little it had to do with my life.

I had to have an ovary removed within the first 6 months of working in abortionland, and as time went on I was just going through the motions. I knew I was good at the kind of phone counseling I was doing, but I felt highly disconnected from abortion. My supervisor during most of the time I worked for this organization was definitely instrumental in solidifying my understanding of how abortion was important to me personally. My supervisor and the women I spoke to each day are the primary people who shaped my journey.

One day I went to my supervisor for a new security card because I had been robbed. She looked at me and said, "Your life has never been easy, has it?" I responded, "No, not really." This authority figure's acknowledgment of my personal circumstance made the work I was doing to help women seeking abortions feel more important to me.

Some of the staff and I began joking that I would win the award for having the most pregnant friends of anyone in abortionland. During the first few years that I worked in abortion care, I had several friends who had abortions and several more who had babies. I had a friend call me on my personal cell phone one day when I was at work to tell me she had been raped and she was pregnant. I was able to leave my break, call her from a work phone and attempt to assist her. I ended up lending her half the cost of her procedure from my next check so she could be seen as quickly as possible.

The many women in my family and friendship circle who have made the difficult choice to have a baby or an abortion have guided my journey too as I have become passionate about reproductive choice, health, and education. For me this work is the closest thing to what a lot of people, especially Christians, might identify as a calling.

I would love to hear others' stories of what brought you to this work, so please share.