Let me tell you a story.
Last week, at the abortion clinic I work at, I met a teenager named Amanda. Amanda, 16 years old, was the child of two alcoholics. Her father had long since left her. Her mother was neglectful and abusive. Amanda's mom's boyfriend picked a fight with Amanda. Amanda's mom, of course, sided with her boyfriend. Just as she had always sided against Amanda. Just as everyone had sided against Amanda.
Amanda had a friend at school. This friend was a good friend. The friend's mom knew Amanda's situation was bad. So she did the courageous act so many of us are tempted to do but never do: she took Amanda in. She got Amanda's power of attorney. She fed Amanda. Kept Amanda safe. And made Amanda feel like, maybe, she didn't need to be afraid all the time.
When Amanda was younger, Amanda's mom didn't care where Amanda went for days at a time. Amanda would go to parties and do lots of drugs, alcohol, and boys. Searching, always searching, for the love she never had. For the person who wouldn't give up on her. Drugs, alcohol, and boys are hard. And they often hurt. Amanda figured this out and cut back. She worked in a vet's office. She dreamed of becoming a vet someday. She'd go to college, pursue her dream career path, be a good mother and be loved by a good man.
She found a boyfriend. Her mom didn't like him. Her friend's mom, who had taken her in, didn't like him. He was on probation. He got a DUI on probation. He was likely to go to prison. He was 19. He got Amanda pregnant.
Her friend's mom panicked. She couldn't take care of a baby. Amanda surely couldn't take care of a baby. Amanda needed to not have a baby. Amanda's mom agreed. They said she should have a regular high school life. She should have a prom, have friends, have few responsibilities. She should be young and free. One cannot be free with a baby.
Amanda did not care. Amanda had never been young. Amanda had never been free. Amanda did not know what that meant. Amanda did not want to be young and free. Amanda did not care about being young and free. Amanda knew there was much more to life than that.
They said if she had the baby, her boyfriend would get arrested for statutory rape. She didn't want her child's father to to prison. She didn't want her child to not have a father. She loved her boyfriend. She thought he loved her. She didn't want an abortion. She said she'd get an abortion.
Her friend's mom and her friend took her to our abortion clinic. We talked to Amanda. Amanda did not want to have an abortion. If you don't want to have an abortion, we will not give you an abortion. Her boyfriend was not guilty of statutory rape. We told Amanda. She no longer thought she wanted an abortion.
We talked to Amanda awhile. Amanda was a minor. Amanda was in a bad situation. I talked to Amanda for awhile. Because I talk to teenagers. I talk to everyone. I liked Amanda.
After four hours of waiting and hearing nothing, we told Amanda's friend's mom. And by "we" I mean "my boss" because I knew there would be anger and lots of yelling. I don't handle anger and yelling well.
Amanda's friend's mom was furious. She said we had convinced Amanda not to have an abortion. She did not say it. She screamed it.
I almost started crying. My boss said that was not true: Amanda did not want to have the abortion. She only agreed because she was afraid for her boyfriend.
"YOU HAVE DELUDED HER. WHAT HAVE THEY TOLD YOU? THAT YOU CAN HAVE THIS CHILD? WE CAN'T AFFORD A BABY, AMANDA. YOU CAN'T HAVE A BABY. THINK OF SOMEONE BESIDE YOURSELF. THINK OF YOUR CHILD. YOU CAN'T HAVE THIS BABY."
An hour ago, I told Amanda that things would be very difficult. I told Amanda to not expect her boyfriend to help. I told Amanda that it would make her dreams quite difficult. I told Amanda it wasn't impossible. I should have been there to tell her friend's mom. To stand between the rage and Amanda. To protect her.
I wasn't. I didn't. I couldn't. I listened from another room and tried not to cry instead.
"WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH TWELVE DIFFERENT GUYS AND LET THEM ALL CUM IN YOU AND DO DRUGS AND LET THEM ALL COME IN, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT TO HAPPEN?"
"HE'S DIFFERENT."
"HE IS GOING TO PRISON. HE WILL BE BACK IN PRISON. YOU CAN'T HAVE THIS KID."
The other office workers talked. "Do you think she should have this kid? It sounds like she does a lot of drugs and sleeps around." "No, I don't think she should." "What kind of life would that kid have?"
I didn't say anything.
"YOU HAVE RUINED THIS FAMILY AGAIN, AMANDA. YOU HAVE RUINED THIS FAMILY AGAIN."
Two hours ago, I had asked Amanda why she wanted to have the child. And she said, "I thought about having the abortion, but then I thought about my child. And I felt like I would be abandoning it just like my parents, just like everyone had abandoned me. And I want to do better than them. I want to be better than them."
"FINE, JUST KILL THE FUCKER. KILL THE LITTLE FUCKER. GET IT OVER WITH."
"OH, THAT'S JUST GREAT AMANDA. VERY DRAMATIC."
They were ushered outside. We needed to close. We should have closed an hour ago. There was more screaming outside. None of them had stopped crying since we told Amanda's friend's mom. We started to close.
I left work. Amanda's friend and Amanda's friend's mom had walked across the street, into the park, to talk about what was going to happen. Amanda was crying, by herself, alone. I asked my boss if she thought it would be ok if I went and talked to her. My boss said I could if I wanted to.
I did.
I asked Amanda if she wanted me to leave her alone or if she wanted to talk. Her tear-stained face looked at me. She said she didn't care.
I stayed.
"I called my mom and asked her if she'd put me in a home. And she said she would. I don't want to go to a home, I don't want to go."
I said nothing.
We had talked about resources. She mainly needed someone to stay with. We didn't know what was available. I started to say there must be a safe place for pregnant moms to go. I stopped because I knew I was speaking from privileged hope, not reality.
"Family is supposed to love you no matter what. That's what family is supposed to be."
I said nothing.
Amanda mentioned, when we talked about potential career paths for her, in our little bubble before we had talked to her friend's mom, before she told her mom, before she got close to giving birth, Amanda mentioned that she wanted to start a nonprofit organization that would support children of alcoholics, children in abusive situations. Amanda wanted to create an organization like that. Her father said there was one in California, where he lived, that would even drive to pick those interested up.
I said I didn't know what was possible. I asked Amanda if she had considered social work.
"I finally thought I had found a stable place to live. I finally thought I was in a good place. And now everyone hates me."
The tears suppressed more words. I wanted to hold her. I didn't.
I thought it was true. I told her I'd only known her a few hours, but I liked her. I told her the people she was with would leave her. That everyone would leave her, sooner or later. That it was going to be really hard. That I didn't know what was possible. That she would do what she had always done: survive.
I told her that the only person who would never leave her was herself. And that that was who she had to get right with.
"I kind of wish they would leave me. I kind of wish they'd all leave me."
Her friend and her friend's mom started walking back towards the car.
"I can't handle the yelling, so I'm going to go. I'm sorry, Amanda. I really do like you."
I reached my car as they reached Amanda. I didn't look at them. I didn't look back. I drove away. I left Amanda to carry the weight of the world upon her shoulders alone. I left her because I could. I left her. Even when I knew she could never leave.
On Monday, my boss talked to the HOPE pregnancy crisis center across the street. The one that does "free pregnancy testing." The one that shows you pictures of dead fetuses. The one that is "pro-life."
My boss asked them what services they had for young pregnant girls. They could give her a carseat, they said. They could give her some formula, they said. My boss asked if they had housing available. Or daycare. They said she could earn diapers by going to classes.
I left Amanda. Like everyone had left Amanda, I left her too. And as I drove away without looking back, I cried. I cried because I lived in a world, I was part of this world that left Amanda crying on the sidewalk in front of the abortion clinic, hated and unloved for doing what she felt was right. Doing for her child what no one else, what we had never done for her.
Last week, at the abortion clinic I work at, I met a teenager named Amanda. Amanda, 16 years old, was the child of two alcoholics. Her father had long since left her. Her mother was neglectful and abusive. Amanda's mom's boyfriend picked a fight with Amanda. Amanda's mom, of course, sided with her boyfriend. Just as she had always sided against Amanda. Just as everyone had sided against Amanda.
Amanda had a friend at school. This friend was a good friend. The friend's mom knew Amanda's situation was bad. So she did the courageous act so many of us are tempted to do but never do: she took Amanda in. She got Amanda's power of attorney. She fed Amanda. Kept Amanda safe. And made Amanda feel like, maybe, she didn't need to be afraid all the time.
When Amanda was younger, Amanda's mom didn't care where Amanda went for days at a time. Amanda would go to parties and do lots of drugs, alcohol, and boys. Searching, always searching, for the love she never had. For the person who wouldn't give up on her. Drugs, alcohol, and boys are hard. And they often hurt. Amanda figured this out and cut back. She worked in a vet's office. She dreamed of becoming a vet someday. She'd go to college, pursue her dream career path, be a good mother and be loved by a good man.
She found a boyfriend. Her mom didn't like him. Her friend's mom, who had taken her in, didn't like him. He was on probation. He got a DUI on probation. He was likely to go to prison. He was 19. He got Amanda pregnant.
Her friend's mom panicked. She couldn't take care of a baby. Amanda surely couldn't take care of a baby. Amanda needed to not have a baby. Amanda's mom agreed. They said she should have a regular high school life. She should have a prom, have friends, have few responsibilities. She should be young and free. One cannot be free with a baby.
Amanda did not care. Amanda had never been young. Amanda had never been free. Amanda did not know what that meant. Amanda did not want to be young and free. Amanda did not care about being young and free. Amanda knew there was much more to life than that.
They said if she had the baby, her boyfriend would get arrested for statutory rape. She didn't want her child's father to to prison. She didn't want her child to not have a father. She loved her boyfriend. She thought he loved her. She didn't want an abortion. She said she'd get an abortion.
Her friend's mom and her friend took her to our abortion clinic. We talked to Amanda. Amanda did not want to have an abortion. If you don't want to have an abortion, we will not give you an abortion. Her boyfriend was not guilty of statutory rape. We told Amanda. She no longer thought she wanted an abortion.
We talked to Amanda awhile. Amanda was a minor. Amanda was in a bad situation. I talked to Amanda for awhile. Because I talk to teenagers. I talk to everyone. I liked Amanda.
After four hours of waiting and hearing nothing, we told Amanda's friend's mom. And by "we" I mean "my boss" because I knew there would be anger and lots of yelling. I don't handle anger and yelling well.
Amanda's friend's mom was furious. She said we had convinced Amanda not to have an abortion. She did not say it. She screamed it.
I almost started crying. My boss said that was not true: Amanda did not want to have the abortion. She only agreed because she was afraid for her boyfriend.
"YOU HAVE DELUDED HER. WHAT HAVE THEY TOLD YOU? THAT YOU CAN HAVE THIS CHILD? WE CAN'T AFFORD A BABY, AMANDA. YOU CAN'T HAVE A BABY. THINK OF SOMEONE BESIDE YOURSELF. THINK OF YOUR CHILD. YOU CAN'T HAVE THIS BABY."
An hour ago, I told Amanda that things would be very difficult. I told Amanda to not expect her boyfriend to help. I told Amanda that it would make her dreams quite difficult. I told Amanda it wasn't impossible. I should have been there to tell her friend's mom. To stand between the rage and Amanda. To protect her.
I wasn't. I didn't. I couldn't. I listened from another room and tried not to cry instead.
"WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH TWELVE DIFFERENT GUYS AND LET THEM ALL CUM IN YOU AND DO DRUGS AND LET THEM ALL COME IN, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT TO HAPPEN?"
"HE'S DIFFERENT."
"HE IS GOING TO PRISON. HE WILL BE BACK IN PRISON. YOU CAN'T HAVE THIS KID."
The other office workers talked. "Do you think she should have this kid? It sounds like she does a lot of drugs and sleeps around." "No, I don't think she should." "What kind of life would that kid have?"
I didn't say anything.
"YOU HAVE RUINED THIS FAMILY AGAIN, AMANDA. YOU HAVE RUINED THIS FAMILY AGAIN."
Two hours ago, I had asked Amanda why she wanted to have the child. And she said, "I thought about having the abortion, but then I thought about my child. And I felt like I would be abandoning it just like my parents, just like everyone had abandoned me. And I want to do better than them. I want to be better than them."
"FINE, JUST KILL THE FUCKER. KILL THE LITTLE FUCKER. GET IT OVER WITH."
"OH, THAT'S JUST GREAT AMANDA. VERY DRAMATIC."
They were ushered outside. We needed to close. We should have closed an hour ago. There was more screaming outside. None of them had stopped crying since we told Amanda's friend's mom. We started to close.
I left work. Amanda's friend and Amanda's friend's mom had walked across the street, into the park, to talk about what was going to happen. Amanda was crying, by herself, alone. I asked my boss if she thought it would be ok if I went and talked to her. My boss said I could if I wanted to.
I did.
I asked Amanda if she wanted me to leave her alone or if she wanted to talk. Her tear-stained face looked at me. She said she didn't care.
I stayed.
"I called my mom and asked her if she'd put me in a home. And she said she would. I don't want to go to a home, I don't want to go."
I said nothing.
We had talked about resources. She mainly needed someone to stay with. We didn't know what was available. I started to say there must be a safe place for pregnant moms to go. I stopped because I knew I was speaking from privileged hope, not reality.
"Family is supposed to love you no matter what. That's what family is supposed to be."
I said nothing.
Amanda mentioned, when we talked about potential career paths for her, in our little bubble before we had talked to her friend's mom, before she told her mom, before she got close to giving birth, Amanda mentioned that she wanted to start a nonprofit organization that would support children of alcoholics, children in abusive situations. Amanda wanted to create an organization like that. Her father said there was one in California, where he lived, that would even drive to pick those interested up.
I said I didn't know what was possible. I asked Amanda if she had considered social work.
"I finally thought I had found a stable place to live. I finally thought I was in a good place. And now everyone hates me."
The tears suppressed more words. I wanted to hold her. I didn't.
I thought it was true. I told her I'd only known her a few hours, but I liked her. I told her the people she was with would leave her. That everyone would leave her, sooner or later. That it was going to be really hard. That I didn't know what was possible. That she would do what she had always done: survive.
I told her that the only person who would never leave her was herself. And that that was who she had to get right with.
"I kind of wish they would leave me. I kind of wish they'd all leave me."
Her friend and her friend's mom started walking back towards the car.
"I can't handle the yelling, so I'm going to go. I'm sorry, Amanda. I really do like you."
I reached my car as they reached Amanda. I didn't look at them. I didn't look back. I drove away. I left Amanda to carry the weight of the world upon her shoulders alone. I left her because I could. I left her. Even when I knew she could never leave.
On Monday, my boss talked to the HOPE pregnancy crisis center across the street. The one that does "free pregnancy testing." The one that shows you pictures of dead fetuses. The one that is "pro-life."
My boss asked them what services they had for young pregnant girls. They could give her a carseat, they said. They could give her some formula, they said. My boss asked if they had housing available. Or daycare. They said she could earn diapers by going to classes.
I left Amanda. Like everyone had left Amanda, I left her too. And as I drove away without looking back, I cried. I cried because I lived in a world, I was part of this world that left Amanda crying on the sidewalk in front of the abortion clinic, hated and unloved for doing what she felt was right. Doing for her child what no one else, what we had never done for her.
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