On a sunny afternoon in 2008, a young woman got out of a parked car just down the street from a neighborhood Planned Parenthood and walked up the fenced-in driveway to the building's imposing double doors. While they didn't slam as they closed (courtesy of expensive, high-tech automation), the vacuum of silence and air that followed the door's ominous click was all but deafening. It seemed so final, like there was now a barrier between the woman and the world outside. Like there was no going back after that boundary was closed, and yet, at the same time, there seemed to be no way forward either.
Forcing herself to take her next step, the young woman looked ahead to the sparkling white reception room that waited for her. Sparsely peppered with other women waiting for their own (dreaded) appointments, the room was surprisingly bright despite the one-way glass on the windows, a fact that woman pondered as she shuffled up to the reception desk and checked in with the nurse behind it. "Why would any business need tinted windows? Are they afraid of something being seen?" These and other similar questions formed in the young woman's mind as she joined the ranks of waiting patients and watched as each one was called through another set of non-slamming double doors that led deeper into the bowels of the building. When her name was finally called, the woman did the same.
Completely devoid of any windows, tinted or otherwise, the space behind the doors felt jarringly different from the pristine waiting room. Gloomy and narrow, a hallway, colored almost grey by its filmy overhead lights, stretched back as far as the woman could see. Dingy vinyl tiles full of scuff marks did little to reflect the poor lighting. Faceless doors lined the space and served as the only breaks in the walls that, in and of themselves, seemed to lean claustrophobically close on either side. The hallway smelled clean, like bleach and latex gloves, but after a moment even that sterile scent became heavy. Following a nurse through the confined space, the young woman felt an uneasiness growing in the pit of her stomach that churned up and soured what was left of a breakfast she now regretted.
After what felt like endless moments, the nurse turned and held one of the drab doors open. Pausing for a moment to take a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm her nerves, the young woman stepped over the threshold and into the company of a new nurse who sat beaming from behind an imposing center desk. This new nurse's smile did nothing to ease the mounting tension in the small space; in fact, it was unsettling as it glowed a little too wide and a little too bright, like it was practiced and mindlessly plastered on hundreds of times a day.
Sitting down across from the nurse, the young woman took another deep breath and tried to remind herself why she was here. Despite any fears or uneasiness churning in her stomach, she had to do this. She couldn't leave this building without getting rid of her "problem," and these nurses, no matter how cold, brisk, or entirely too cheerful, were going to help her. At least she hoped they would. Holding her wide smile, the nurse broke the thick silence with a cacophony of questions, each one asked a little too quickly and buttered with practiced sympathy: "How old are you?" "Reason for today's visit?" "How far along are you?" The young woman tried to answer each question as it was asked, but as she did, all she could feel were her emotions rising again, bubbling up and overwhelming her until all she could focus on was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the repeated reminder: "You've come too far to turn back now."
Hours later, when the sun had just dipped below the horizon and street lights were beginning to blink on, the young woman finally pushed her way out of Planned Parenthood's double doors to reenter the outside world she had left behind an eternity ago. Her insides felt hollow, in more than one way, and as she walked back to her car, only one thought bounced around her hazy mind: "I will never go through that again." She thought she had wanted an abortion. She had felt there was no other option available to her. But now, having actually gone through with the procedure, she felt and sharp spur of regret growing in her heart. "Had this really been the only option?" "Had the baby felt any pain?" "Would this empty feeling ever go away?" Nothing was clear. Instead, everything was a dull ache. As the young woman started her car and shifted it into gear, she couldn't help but sob as the growing darkness sank lower around her.
This is a common experience for thousands of woman walking into Planned Parenthood every single day. While the industry would love to deny it, there is no ignoring the reality right before our eyes. And yet, so many do because it is much easier to ignore a painful truth than take the difficult steps to expose and change it. But consider this: abortion is not female empowerment. It is a violent and isolating exploitation that no one, let alone a frightened young woman, should be subjected to. A true champion of women would fight to protect the vulnerable from it, no matter how difficult the battle.
Photo Credit: IStockPhoto.com
Original Article
See Also: March 2024 Edition Other News and In the News
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For more stories that expose the abortion industry check out The Walls Are Talking by Abby Johnson (reviewed by Heartbeat Press, September 2022)