Encounter for Elective Termination of Pregnancy: An Abortion Story
“For every woman, abortion as a decision is not a theoretical abstraction, but is rooted in the concrete conditions of her life.”
-Linda Kaplan, The Story of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service
There is really nothing remarkable about my abortion story. I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t feel ready to have a child, and I was able to access an abortion relatively easily. I found support when I confided in people close to me. I lived in a state where abortion access was guaranteed. There were no waiting periods, no forced transvaginal ultrasounds, no lies spewed about breast cancer and infertility. My recovery was straightforward and practically pain-free. Still, it was a day that I will always remember and that has shaped me tremendously as a nurse, a midwife, and an advocate.
As I headed into the parking lot of a Planned Parenthood in California, I was heckled by protesters (all men) who, like angry paparazzi, shouted “murder!” into bullhorns at everyone who passed by them. I had to enter the building alone– no support persons were allowed in for security reasons. I was pretty shaken up by the time I checked in with a receptionist who sat behind glass, like what you might expect to see in a bank. She let me into a locked waiting room, which I noticed immediately had no windows, and I felt like I had entered a bunker.That was a scary realization, as I sat there thinking about the fact that there are people who would choose to harm us just for being there as patients. I thought too about the people who choose to work in this setting everyday, despite the risk, and I was grateful.
I’m one of those people now. I go to work everyday in a health center that provides both medical and procedural abortions, although we do way more than that too. Before I was a midwife at Planned Parenthood, while I was in school at Yale, I was a recovery room nurse here. Back then, all the patients I took care of were having abortions. I loved this work. I still do. I still take every opportunity I can to pop into the recovery room, to grab someone a ginger ale or cover them up with a blanket. Medically speaking, the work is almost always very straightforward; but it fills me with joy and gratitude, perhaps in part because of the wonderful people who took care of me when I had my abortion.
I was 9 weeks pregnant when I walked into that clinic. I was a wide-eyed graduate student, who was both unprepared for a baby and shocked that I was going through with an abortion. I had always been very pro-choice, but foolishly hadn’t really considered the possibility that I could be someone who would need an abortion. I sat in the waiting room clutching a book I never opened, gripped by a combination of fear, anxiety, and sadness. Later I would tuck an ultrasound photo into that book, something concrete to hold onto from this experience.
People who have abortions, I have learned, are as diverse as the reasons they have for choosing abortion. They come from every racial, ethnic, religious, and economic background imaginable. Many are already parents. Not all identify as women. Some thought themselves to be “pro-life” before finding out about their own unplanned pregnancy. Others are pro-choice but never imagined they would have their own abortions. Some have good support in their lives, while others have to drive themselves to their appointment because no one else knows about their decision.
I was led into a lab by a kind clinic assistant, who drew my blood and gave me some medications. I was a bit of an emotional wreck for this part of the day, and I cried and sniffled my way through her questions. But she didn’t seem to mind, and her patience and kindness have stayed with me all these years. Then I was off to yet another waiting room (the inner sanctum, in my mind), and it was from here that I would be called back for my procedure. At this point I had to put my belongings into a locker, and without my phone I felt even more alone. I’m not sure how long I waited; it could have been twenty minutes or two hours. I was honestly pretty numb at this point, the way you feel when you know what you’re doing is the best option, but it still really sucks.
I hesitate to admit that I cried, or that I felt anything other than relief, because I can only imagine someone with an anti-choice agenda reading this and thinking, “See! She regrets her abortion!” But I think it is important to be honest and also to acknowledge that an experience like having an abortion can be hard, and at the same time be one hundred percent the right choice. At every step of the way the counselors and providers at Planned Parenthood made sure I felt clear and confident in my decision, and I was, despite the fact that it was an emotional one. It is completely normal and healthy for someone to grieve an imagined future that they know in their heart isn’t right for them (we do this with relationships all the time); that’s where I was on my abortion day.
I was called back to the procedure room and changed out of my clothes into a gown. I sat on the table where I met the doctor and anesthesia provider. They were incredible. I was still crying quietly, and the doctor took my hand and asked me if I was okay, if I was sure about my choice. I stated that I was ready to proceed, incredibly appreciative of her gentle touch and words. The last thing I remember were the kind eyes of the anesthesiologist before I drifted off into twilight, still sniffling but feeling brave and ready for the ordeal of this pregnancy to be over.
Abortion is a remarkably safe and quick procedure. Most patients receive some kind of sedation, though this is not always true, and the procedure can be performed under local anesthesia only. When anti-abortion activists rail about the need for ambulatory surgical centers, with wide hallways and transfer agreements with hospitals, they’re not actually following the best evidence about how safe this procedure is. And, let’s be honest, they’re not actually concerned about the safety of women having abortions; their sole impetus is to make abortion inaccessible.
I came to in the recovery room, where a nurse had covered me with a blanket and given me some ginger ale and crackers. I say “came to,” but what I really mean is I became aware of my surroundings again. I promptly started sniffling and crying again, and she had a box of tissues at the ready. I was amazed at how physically comfortable I was. There was no pain to speak of. The patient next to me reached out and took my hand, and told me that it was totally normal to feel sad today, but that it would get better.
She was right. I am better for having had that abortion, and not only because it allowed me to go back to my life as it had been before the positive pregnancy test that changed everything. I am better because that experience taught me so much about what it means to hold space for another person, to really provide care for another person, and I carry those lessons with me into every clinical space I enter. The abortion clinic is an especially sacred space for me. It is a place where women’s choices matter most. It is a place where women’s futures matter most. And it must remain a safe space for women and those who provide care to them. In honor of the women who cared for me during my abortion, and all the women I’ve cared for since, as well as every woman I know and love who has had or will have an abortion, I plan to spend my life working to make it so.
-Sam Cohen
