I began working at a reproductive health clinic in my late 20’s. Part of my training included being with a client during her entire abortion appointment, from intake to resting.
I sat with her during the paperwork portion. As we went into the exam room, I avoided anything medical to avoid passing out because I’m a wuss. She shared how she thought she became pregnant – her mother-in-law gave her an herbal cleanse that may have interfered with her birth control pills. She and her partner already had a child. Now wasn’t the time to bring in someone new. She was happy to have the procedure.
After 10 minutes, we were done. The nurse gently walked her into after care. She rested for an hour, with us by her side. Then off to home.
When I went with the tech to confirm the abortion was complete, I felt squicky, still a wuss when it comes to blood and guts. There were no blood and guts. There was a feathery shape of pink tissue. I learned that outside of its environment, a 5 week fetus is simply not.
The procedure confronted me with my own judgment. It all seemed so momentous.
The truth is that we comfortably make consequential decisions every day. The parent that prevents their toddler from certain death every day – keeping them out of the street, away from chokeable legos, safe from strangers. The person who chooses to carry a pregnancy to term knowing a lifetime of development, connection and care await them. The person who happily has 6 kids. The person who knows their child will experience prejudice, simultaneously shielding their child and preparing them to confront it. The person who lovingly ends a pregnancy because they care about everyone’s quality of life. The person who purposefully never gets pregnant. These are big responsibilities adopted with ease because that’s what life is.
