I am standing in the exam room, in the Women’s Health Center,
listening to the rapid heartbeat of a four-month-old fetus on a
Doppler. The patient, Carey McDonald, 17, a slim blond cheerleader, is
alone today. Sometimes her mother, a single waitress, comes with her.
The father of the baby, a star football player on the hometown team,
denies paternity. "But it’s his!" Carey told me. "It is! He’s the only
boy I’ve ever been with and even that was only two times." Carey and
her mom will raise this baby together.
I don’t ask the young woman if she thought of using a condom.
I don’t ask her if she had access to a birth control clinic. I don’t
ask if her mother ever talked to her about sex or if she had sex
education classes at school. It’s too late for that now.
Natalie Lopez is a 29-year-old travel agent. She’s seven weeks
pregnant and accompanied, at this first exam, by her lover of three
years. "I can’t take birth control pills because of the other
medications I’m on, but we used protection every time." Her eyes water
over and she hands me a folded white paper on which are printed the
names of two antidepressants and a mood stabilizer. "We want to be
parents. I’ve always wanted a baby. But I can’t have this one. The
medications I’m on are toxic and there’s a high chance the child will
be born with a congenital defect."
If Natalie had come to me sooner, to get a more effective
method of birth control, this might not have happened. But Natalie
doesn’t have health insurance. There are over 17 million women in the United States that don’t have health insurance.
Appreciate our work?
Rewire is a non-profit independent media publication. Your tax-deductible contribution helps support our research, reporting, and analysis.
Diane Boggs is only twelve. Her eighteen-year-old cousin sexually
assaulted her. Afraid people would say it was her fault, Diane didn’t
tell. Sitting on the exam table, she hangs her head low so her long red
hair covers her face and the tears fall into her lap. She is, by
ultrasound, sixteen weeks pregnant. Her grandmother, Mrs. Boggs, a
widow, who’s raising Diane alone, clutches her pocket book and takes a
deep breath. "I never believed in abortion, but I can’t raise another
child. I’m already seventy-three."
Diane is too far along for a simple termination. A second
trimester abortion is difficult to find. In some states they’re
illegal. The pressure of the pro-life movement has closed abortion
centers. Older physicians in private practice, skilled in the
procedure, are afraid to help, even in cases of incest, for fear of
reprisals by anti-abortion activists. Ninety percent of counties in the United States don’t have access to reproductive termination.
Ruth is a forty-five year old, married mother of three who had
a tubal ligation after her last delivery. She is ten weeks pregnant.
"The doctor told me there was only a 2 in 1000 failure rate for the
sterilization, but I never thought it would happen to me. My husband
has been laid off his job and I was trying to make him feel better."
She smiles a half smile and looks up at me from the corner of her
eye… then her expression changes.
"I love my children more than anything. I just never thought
I would be in this spot, but you see, it’s all we can do to keep up
with the ones we have. My youngest is autistic. Ron lost his health
insurance along with his job. I’m one payment behind on the house and
can barely afford the heat. I don’t know where to turn; none of my
conservative family would understand or help me get a termination. What
am I going to do?"
I’m thinking of lending Ruth the money to drive to Maryland. The cost would be $400 dollars.
We live—if you are a health care provider, a female, a parent,
or someone who cherishes a woman—in dangerous times. The Health and
Human Services Department of the U.S. is cutting funding to
reproductive health centers and birth control education programs in
schools. Right-to-lifers, who picket on the sidewalks in front of
abortion centers, still heckle and humiliate vulnerable patients
seeking services. The pro-life movement has energized around their new
calendar girl, Sarah Palin.
I am a nurse-midwife, not an ethicist, but I know Diane,
Natalie, Carey, Ruth, and Mrs. Boggs. I don’t even ask myself what I
would do in their shoes.
This is their very private decision. I give them a handout on
reproductive centers, all of them two hours away. I tell them how many
weeks they have until they must make the appointment and not to make a
decision in haste. I provide prenatal vitamins and prenatal care,
should they decide to keep the pregnancy. I talk to them about giving
the baby up for adoption. I give them birth control afterward and try
to prevent another unwanted pregnancy.
In thirty years, I have never met a woman who made the
decision to terminate with a dry eye. I hold them in my arms while they
Maybe, if those who judge could sit in the exam room with Diane
and her grandma, they would understand that, as a society, we must do
all we can to avert such unintended pregnancies… and sometimes we must
weigh one life against another.
In the interest of privacy, the names and some identifying details of the women discussed in this post have been changed.
This post was first published at the Beacon Broadside.