When I was eight, my mother asked my late Grandpa Sowecke his thoughts on abortion. He said whole-heartedly, It's a woman's right.
For abortion, I have admitted to planting prickly pears amongst the peach trees. I have soured everything. I mash my grievances for jam. Siphon my curiosities, my thoughts, my opinions. I have been demeaned and harassed, called killer, whore, man-hater. Believe it or don't.
I spare you.
I devise complex sentences to divert attention from my blatantly, obvious places of employment: the Center for Choice, the National Abortion Federation, the DC Abortion Fund.
I muse over working at places your mother dreams about, so you can take me home. My romance is a dimly, haunted paperback by Fydor Dostoyevsky. My mother and father, sister, brother, and several best friends have suggested I save my love-affair with abortion for a second date, but my heart has a swinging door, and I am a flaming storyteller inside. A tender mother.
I bottle my octomom for abortion, tie her in white jackets.
This Saturday I counseled eight women - six current mothers. Five obtaining surgeries, two obtaining pills, one referral for Monday. Three cried, seven laughed. All eight displayed various signs of residual regret, guilt, shame. One was in a hurry. Five paid credit-card. Two paid cash. The one waiting for Monday was forty-dollars short.
One woman had private, insurance-coverage for elective abortion. After scrutinizing every possibility of losing her privacy, she opted to override her insurance-coverage with a full, cash payment because she did not wish to see the word >>ABORTION<< on an insurance statement thirty days from now.
Meanwhile, instead of obtaining abortions, actual abortion patients could have been calling C-span, or something, to voice their opinion on abortion prior to congressional sociopaths taking a moment to politically and historically spit on women's faces before proceeding to vote for bullshit.
It's worth mentioning that the leader in your field was murdered in June because he was the leader in your field.
ReplyDeleteProud of my daughter...she's a gifted writer and a passionate warrior for a woman's right to chose!!
ReplyDeletedad
proud of you too, and proud alongside your dad who reminds me of my dad in his pride and support of you, your work and your remarkable writing.
ReplyDeletethe leader in our field was murdered on may 31st which is soooo close to june...what a poignantly astute sentence from daughter of wands, i love it. (pardon the date correction, it is an indelible memory i think is important)
Thank you, Robin and Daddi-o! Your readership is special to me.
ReplyDeleteNo apologies. DOW can be awfully provocative, but trite.
oh-ho, not trite i don't think. but why were there cops?
ReplyDeleteUm. Well. My patient threatened to wait outside of the clinic to kill everyone of us until she found her 10-dollar bill so our director of nursing called the cops. She was sleepy OR she stole the ipod and was creating a diversion. Regardless, as a counselor, I kind-of failed because CLEARLY she was uncomfortable.
ReplyDeleteTo treat each patient like they are our mother or sister, we need to have hearts which are always filled to the brim it seems.
ReplyDeleteIt's hard not to feel deflated when we have profound stories to share with the world, but we're met with a puzzled look or dismissing remark.
Your stories are respected and treasured here.