| [ |
mood |
| |
 tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Daniel Myer remixes - Front Line Assembly- Plasticity (Zero mix by haujobb) |
] |
i never post in this anymore. ever. i think it's just because i've grown out of it, or have too much to say, or don't care as much. instead, i'll use this as a place to post my writing. this is an A paper i handed in for English regarding the first time I saw an abortin be performed.
"Choices"
Jennifer A. Paul
ENG 121-11
Dr. Roach
I had always considered myself a staunch supporter of a woman’s right to choose so, when I was approached with the opportunity to work as a counselor in an abortion clinic, I jumped at the chance. My friend volunteered for the clinic as a "bring-back." She would escort nervous, crying women from the "counseling room" to the "changing room," wait for them to change from their clothes into a blue paper gown, and then guide them into the room where the procedure was performed.
My duties as a "peer counselor" were to run pregnancy tests, counsel distressed patients, give lectures about the procedure and various birth control methods, do "bring backs", assist the head nurse, and deal with the everyday office bullshit like, answering telephones and making appointments.
There were two doctors who owned the clinic, which was opened three days a week. The female doctor, Dr. L, would perform abortions on Tuesday and Saturday. Tuesdays were always especially quiet. I suppose that most people did not want to sacrifice a day’s pay to go through such a painful procedure only to return to work the next day.
Dr. L was a very nice, middle-aged woman who was a bit less strict than Dr. M, the co-owner. One quiet Tuesday, she approached me and asked if I would like to see a procedure be performed. My feelings were rather mixed. I didn’t know if it was the best idea, but I was incredibly curious and determined. Here I was, at the very forefront of a woman’s right to choose. Not only was I fighting for these rights, I was putting them into practice! I felt so proud of myself for standing up for what I believed in. Everyday, I was confronted with being called a "murderer" by the protesters who stood on the curb between our property and the road. They would sermonize with their signs and brochures filled with false information and hand them out to patients and staff alike.
After giving it some hard thought, I took up the offer and soon found myself in the operating room with Dr. L, a technician, the anesthetist, and the patient. It was a cold, dry room with a gray vinyl table in the center. There was a cart in the corner on which there were plastic curettes, gauze, non-sterile gloves, and other assorted medical devices and accessories. I saw a machine next to the cart. It had a brown, cubic base with two cylindrical holes, each containing a glass jar. The jars had white plastic lids, which were connected by a hose. Another hose, emanating from one of the jars, led to a plastic curette which the doctor would use during surgery.
The patient was a girl in her teens. I could clearly make out the drying saline which had poured out from her eyes only moments earlier when the intravenous anesthesia had been administered. Her eyes were moving back and forth very slightly but she looked quite sedated, almost asleep. I walked around the patient to the end of the table, where the doctor was waiting to begin the abortion. The girl’s legs were in stirrups and spread widely. A bright light shone into her vagina while the doctor asked if I was ready to begin. I gave her a quiet nod. The machine was turned on which created a loud whirring sound. The doctor inserted the speculum into the girl’s body and opened it to its maximum width. The patient made a slight moan. It was at this moment that I began to feel faint. I couldn’t help putting myself in her place. She looked so helpless and exposed on that table. I wanted to stand next to her and hold her hand instead of stand my ground with a front row seat to this atrocity. Dr. L inserted the curette into the patient’s vagina and began to use the suction of the machine to remove the internal tissue and fetus. I simply could not handle anymore! The look on the girl’s face was tragic. Her moans got louder with each passing second until they became shrills. Blood ran off the table and dropped onto the floor. The heat was intense and my thoughts were relentless. I ran out of the room and crashed onto the floor. When I came to, I went into the bathroom and began to cry in a way I never had before. I had no idea that watching what the staff called "a simple surgical procedure" was such an intensely frightening and humbling experience.
To this day, I am a changed woman. I am still a devoted supporter of the pro-choice movement but I don’t believe that I could ever bring myself to have a surgical abortion. The entire experience was one that opened my eyes in a way that marching on Washington never could.
|
bouncy
dorky
irritated
horny
full
scared
angry
accomplished
indescribable
pleased
