Let's get some cocktails and De-brief, Shall we? Part one of many about Abortion Day, 2008
Let’s go chunk by chunk.
The night before, which I imagined would consist of a gin swilling me feverishly writing, answering emails, declaring my relief and conviction etc, etc.
Instead, when my anxiety hits its peak I tend to shut down and sleep. Afraid to answer the phone or click open an email because I’m afraid the flood gates will open and I will just get suffocated by a tempest of icky feelings.
So I spent the night chillin with moms. Napping and nauseated. Taking turns on going on 45 minute monologues about everything. She fell asleep early. And I took an ambien and a sip of wine and watched Mad Men and cried cause I was just nervous about pain and complications. Woke up holding mom’s hand. Tenderrrr isss the nigggghhhhttt lalalal (Blur, people. Awww I miss Blur!)
That morning, woke up with 15 mins before I had to be there, brushed my teeth, really not thinking about what was next cause I knew it wouldn’t be a handful of hours. First mistake.
Second mistake: not preparing for anti-abortion protesters.
Why did I not think of this? By all legal evidence the culture war about abortion is over. Roe v wade, Medicaid funded, second trimester having abortion is on the books. And that’s what’s so frieghtening about these people. According to them, the law is wrong. That civil right is wrong. Imagine people outside of a voting both telling you your very right to excerise your choice and cast a ballot IS WRONG. It’s jaw dropping.
And their presence was felt all the way into the recovery room. The mandatory counseling session, the literature in the clinic, the scowl on the mothers at their young pregnant daughters in the waiting room were all a direct result of the actions of the culture warriors.
I was seething that my body was subject to this debate. That some punk 17 year old who has never had the nerve to stick his trembling shaft into the slit of a woman, who has doesn’t have the right to legally drink, who has never had a period, who will never know what the fuck it feels like to have his nuts up for debate, has the fucking unflinching audacity to shame ME?
But I was too weak and flummoxed to say anything. I walked up to the cheerful bull-dyke in her bright tangerine CLINIC ESCOURT vest. She linked her arm in mine, a line of 19 people shoved a rosary, 2 pamphlets, a Jesus trading card into in my hands. My mom was a step or two behind and a crusty, wrinkly old man with a sagging gut and ball cap screamed at her. He insisted I would be “hurt” and “never be the same”. He warned my mother that if she loved me, she wouldn’t allow me to do this to my body. My moms eyes locked with mine, shell-shocked we rushed behind the bullet proof doors. 
A carbuncular high school girl kept my pace and told me “her group” had the funds to support my baby. I wanted to tell her that I hoped it was twins so I could doubly break her blessed heart.
I walked into a half full, all black (as in Bunk from The Wire) waiting room clutching my copy of the Atlantic and my overpriced sunglasses.
The next 5 hours entailed more protester confrontation, a lesson in population control, and a slow burning class war.
More tomorrow. Here’s a pretty picture. This chick is just all “bitch, please. I cannot even DEAL with this shit right now!” Or in other words, i adore her “languid grace”
Jean-Auguste-Dominique-Ingres
Odalisque and Slave
