The counselor sat me down in a chair and was very straightforward the whole time. I’m sure everything she asked was required, because she did it with no emotion whatsoever.
“Now you understand that taking these pills will cause an abortion and this is the decision you’ve decided to make?”
She had such a monotone voice, no sympathy, not even in her face.
Considering what this counselor knows Amber is in for, she probably can't afford to have any feelings whatsoever. If she connected on any level with these patients she'd probably slit her wrists at the end of the work day.
When my name was called again, I was led to a room in the back of the hallway known as the “Recovery Room”. It’s a little weird for a recovery room. There aren’t any beds; instead they have these really comfortable leather recliners. I mean, they are comfortable, and they recline to about the length of a twin-sized bed. These are probably the only good things about this room. In the far corner, there were 4 of these recliners with women lying on them. Curtains were drawn around each one, and I could only see their feet hanging out. They were all shaking, crying, and moaning. I wanted to walk up to one and hold her hand and ask her how she was feeling, and if there was anything I could do. It was so awful to sit there and hear all of it.
So much for the assertions I've often encountered about how giddy with joy women are after their abortions. Not to mention the alleged warmth of abortion staff. These women were left alone to deal with their anguish, with nobody there to give a damn about them but poor Amber, who wanted to reach out but didn't know how.
So, not knowing what to do, Amber left those women to their individual agonies, took her "abortion to go kit", went home, and followed the instructions.
It felt like someone was stabbing me in the stomach over and over again. And at that moment, I really did want someone to do that.
And, as we'll see later, Amber didn't get a full dose into her system. Imagine how much she'd have been hurting had she managed to get the full dose.
When I stood up I felt dizzy. I grabbed the door to balance myself, and my vision began to blur and go black around the tips of my eyes. I began to freak out, thinking something was seriously wrong and that I would have to go to the hospital and tell my parents and everything was just all down hill from there. I got to my room, and literally fell on my bed. I had broken out into a cold sweat, but by 5 minutes, the dizziness and sweat had subsided, and I passed out again.
So much for the idea that abortion is quick and painless.
He explained that since I had thrown up some of the medication, it most likely caused the procedure to not work as it should have. At this point, I was pretty much freaking out. I KNEW what the next step was, and that was surgery. ACTUAL surgery. The vacuum surgery. I asked him what the sound I heard coming from the ultra-sound was, and he said it was the heartbeat. I began to cry.
He went on to explain that although the child was still living, there was an extreme possibility of deformity, and that surgery was my best option. My appointment was set up for the following Monday.
I'm not sure if Amber was crying because she had to undergo surgery, because the heartbeat made her baby real to her and that was hard to cope with, because all of this was scary and dragging on what must have seemed forever, or for any mix of those reasons and then some. I don't think Amber really knows. She seems pretty much overwhelmed. And I haven't read any sign that she got any help at all sorting out her emotions aside from what she Googled on her own.
I wanted everything to be over. I was tired of coming to Planned Parenthood, and reliving that first day. I wanted it all to end.
When it was over, they wheeled me into the recovery room, and I lay just like those 4 women I saw on the first day, with my feet hanging out, and shaking all over.
I was sore over the next few days, and felt miserable not just about that situation, but about everything else going on in my life too. I sat down and opened up a google webpage, this time I googled “ways to commit suicide.”
I prayed. I got on my knees and said, “God, take my life, or please show me your will. I do not want to live any longer.” Everyday after that, I began to pray for God to remove me of that pain, and from all the insanity going on in my life at the time.
Imagine you're the counselor. You know this is what the future holds for your patient. How do you get through your day? Your week? How do you sleep nights?
What do you tell yourself to keep you getting up in the morning and going in for one day after another of processing women through this ordeal?
And supposedly the prolifers are the anti-woman monsters -- for thinking women deserve better.
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