This post is about a job I once had as a nurse in an abortion clinic. This is not meant to be a political statement or a forum for debate, only a recording of my experiences. Of course this is a sensitive subject, and I respect everyone's views.

I had just moved with my boyfriend 2 hours away from home. He had gotten a job for a major engineering corporation. In the throes of love and passion, I quit my job and moved with him. I had only worked as a nurse in one dinky little rural hospital, I was 22 years old, and the "big city" hospitals scared the crap out of me. I stuck with applying for the doctors office jobs, somewhere that wouldn't be too intimidating.

The ad stated "Pro-choice doctor's office seeks LPN". The pay wasn't too bad, so I called the number and was set up with an interview the next day. Naively I assumed the pro choice meant they gave referrals to Planned Parenthood or something. When I arrived I realized this wasn't just a doctor's office. It was an abortion clinic.

I've always leaned toward the pro choice side of things, but had never considered working in an abortion clinic. But I was here, I had an interview. I took a deep breath and said aloud to myself "okay, let's do this". As I approached the unmarked building within this huge office complex, I noticed the lone protester. He stood silently about 40 yards away holding a sign bearing a Bible verse. He nodded in my direction and continued his silent protest. This man would become a constant in my morning routine, he stood on the street everyday with his poster board, rain or shine.

I entered the lobby, which looked like any other doctor's office waiting room. As the Director of Nursing looked over my resume she gave me a quizzical look, "Um, you went to Catholic schools and you worked in a convent . . . you know we perform abortions here, right?"

Great.

She was probably contemplating how quickly she could call security as she scanned me for bulges in my sweater indicating a concealed semi-automatic weapon. "I was raised Catholic, but I'm fine with abortion. Well, I'm not fine with it . . . but, um, I'm pro-choice." Did I mention my amazing interviewing skills? She gave me the strangest of looks and took me on a tour of the facility.

The clinic employed armed security, I was assured that the main protester I saw that morning was the only constant presence. Other protesters would show up on major holidays and weekends, however by law they were not allowed onto the property and with a few exceptions, were well behaved. Any concerns for safety were taken very seriously, and that was never an issue as long as I was there.

The clinic was a complete women's health center, they provided pelvic exams, mammograms, birth control counseling, and outpatient tubal ligation. One of the OB GYN's offered prenatal care at a separate location. All patients there for an abortion (or "procedure" as I learned to call it) had to have counseling by one of the licensed counselors on staff. The job I was interviewing for was in the OR, assisting the physician with the abortions, preparing patients for surgery, working in the recovery room, and on occasion working as the 'in surgery counselor', talking women through the procedure. I agreed to return the following day to observe in the OR.

Abortion isn't really a topic I discuss a lot. I have my beliefs, some people vehemently disagree. I don't see a point in debating the issue, as I have yet to hear anyone exclaim "Oh! I get it! You are totally right and I have been so very wrong!"

I know that some women, for one reason or another, will at some point in their life feel they cannot carry a pregnancy to term. It has been proven that legality will not affect their choice, only their safety. My concern was telling friends, family, or even acquaintances: "I work in an abortion clinic." Was I prepared to turn my job into a social statement? As it turns out, I wasn't.

I took the job anyway.

The next day at the clinic I was lead to the locker room where I changed into scrubs, complete with booties and bouffant cap. The other candidate for the job and I stood behind the physician to watch the procedure and observe the nurse as she assisted. Until this point I thought I had the job. I had no idea there would be another applicant there. I stood there wondering why on earth they were having job applicants observe abortions?

The first patient was led into the room by her counselor. The clinic did not allow anyone in the room except staff and patient. The counselor would hold her hand and talk her through the procedure. This patient was about 17 or 18. She entered the cold room bare save the flimsy patient gown and blue bouffant cap. There was an IV in her hand, not for sedation, but for emergency use. She couldn't afford to pay for sedation, and she was terrified.

She was helped onto the exam table, legs in stirrups. Her eyes closed, and as she was given a local anesthetic to her cervix, she clenched the counselor's hand. The physician began dilating her cervix with small metal rods, and the counselor leaned close and whispered to her, stroking her head. When the vacuum machine came on, silently the tears began to stream down her face. Just as it was over, the nurse quickly removed the cloth wrapped jar from the suction machine, taking it to the utility room. The entire procedure lasted about 3 minutes.

I looked at the other observing nurse. She was stark white, hand covering her mouth. After the patient had been taken to recovery, she dashed from the room. I could hear her vomiting in the hallway, she didn't return to the OR, and I never saw her again. Later my question was answered. My new boss informed me that it wasn't unusual for a new nurse or counselor to walk out during a procedure and never return. This is why she requires all prospective employees to observe in the OR before officially offering the job.

We saw about 30 patients that day. Some were a repeat of the first abortion I saw, other women were able to afford sedation by the nurse anesthetist and slept throughout the procedure. Some women were very young, others were well into middle age, already mothers. They all had one thing in common. They were all frightened, they were all sorrowful, they all felt this was the best thing to do at that time in the face of an unwanted pregnancy.

The director of nursing came in as I helped clean the OR at the end of the day. "Are you coming back tomorrow?" I thought about the nurse who left, and I completely understood why. Having a pro choice stance, and actually being there are very different. I questioned if I was strong enough to deal with this type of emotion everyday, I questioned if I was pro choice enough to assist with the termination of pregnancies.

But then I thought about how afraid that first girl was. How she shook with fear and anxiety. It's frightening enough to have any medical procedure, much less one rife with such emotion. My mind whirled, what am I thinking? My mother will kill me, my dad will keel over . . . I'll never be able to tell people where I work . . . but then . . . I can help them. I can make it less frightening. I can do this.

"Yes, I'll see you in the morning."

I quickly learned that the clinic was a pretty informal environment. My first staff meeting was opened with a fellow nurse asking "We need to be more consistent around here in recognizing each other's milestones, I mean, who do I need to screw around here to get a birthday cake?"

I adored her immediately.

The predominant feeling in the clinic was one of concern for the patients. At the hospital I found some health care workers cared, others did not. At the clinic every decision that was made was first considered from the patient's point of view. These people cared about women's health and a woman's right to choose.

They also cared about these individual women. At least once a day, after counseling a patient would be told we could not, would not, perform an abortion. Sometimes a woman would break down, and admit that she wanted a baby, but her partner did not. Some women couldn't state unequivocally that this was what they wanted. Rarely some women had histories of up to 12 previous abortions, and clearly were using abortion as a birth control method.

One woman was in the intake room waiting for her procedure when one of the nurses recognized her as one of the weekend anti abortion protesters, one of the rare protesters there had been trouble with. When asked about the obvious dilemma, she explained that while all the other women there were whores and going to hell for their choice, she was justified in her choice to terminate her pregnancy. You see her brother was getting married in a few months, and she couldn't be pregnant for the wedding because she was a bridesmaid. She was informed she would need to find services somewhere else.

By this time I had told my mom where I worked, and she was supportive, but worried for my safety. I think she just told my dad I worked for an OB GYN. That is generally what I told people when the subject came up. One night at my boyfriend's brother's home a friend of his was asking about my work. My rehearsed generic "I work at a doctors office" wouldn't satisfy him. He wanted to know where, what doctor, what I did there. I felt like I was being interrogated, and was evasive enough in my answers to shut him up, but I'm sure he had doubts about whether or not I was even a nurse. After reflecting on the conversation later, I felt ridiculous. I had chosen this job, I needed to own up to it. To hell with what other people think, this is what I do. If they didn't like it, that's too bad. I'm still who I am, I am not defined by my job.

I had decided to take a part time job in a small rehabilitation hospital. I had my first opportunity to own up to my full time job one night while sitting outside smoking with one of the respiratory therapists I had become friendly with. When she asked where I normally worked I looked her straight in the eye and told her the name of the clinic. She tilted her head to the side and asked "Ohhh, So . . . you don't mind making money by murdering babies?"

She never spoke to me again, and I went back to telling people I worked in a doctor's office.

As I got into the routine of working at the clinic I was actually proud of the job I did. I was making a difference in what kind of experience these women had, and helping them through it. There will always be termination of pregnancy, legally and safely . . . or not. There is no reason for it to be more of a terrifying painful experience than necessary. I discovered though that I needed to let go of my own preconceptions about women who have abortions. At first certain circumstances were exempt from my critical judgment, while others were not.

My heart wept for the couple who discovered that the baby they had been trying for was developing with only a brain stem due to a genetic anomaly. For the 11 year old who underwent her procedure as the police waited outside the room to collect the "evidence" for DNA purposes, in order to assist in the prosecution of her father. For the college freshman who still bore the healing knife wounds and fading yellow bruises to her inner thighs and vulva from her violent attackers. These women were the exception though, not the rule. They are able to lie in bed at night taking the smallest of comforts in the socially acceptable reasons for their abortion.

Yet I found that these women were no more broken hearted than those that came to us for an abortion because they had made a mistake. These were the women that got caught up in the moment, they missed a pill, or maybe a condom broke. No matter what the cause of conception was, I saw the grief and anguish that led them to this decision. After meeting and speaking with these women, I learned who they were, I learned each specific reason why they felt carrying a pregnancy term was impossible for them. They were no better or worse than any other woman, including myself.

So my heart also wept for the teen girl that had been too afraid to ask her parents about birth control. The wife and mother that didn't understand how this happened, but she just couldn't handle the expense and care of another child. The menopausal woman who didn't think she could conceive again. There were numerous stories I listened to, not one of them had come to this choice lightly. They made this decision knowing that abortion would very likely leave a scar, hidden in the depths of their being. To each individual woman, for her own reasons, it hardly seemed a choice.

Several months later, as young women who move in with their boyfriends often do, I discovered that my boyfriend was a self absorbed ass. I wasn't happy in this new city, I had no close friends, I was lonely and miserable. Looking back, I have to wonder if one reason I made no friends outside of work acquaintances was due to working at the clinic. After that first episode of humiliation, I never wanted to talk to anyone in any depth. I kept most people at a distance so as not to even have the discussion of employment. Mostly though, I wanted to go home. I missed my friends, my family, my Acute Care Unit at the hospital.

I quit my job, dumped the jerk boyfriend, and moved back home. When people asked me where I'd been working I told them about the part time rehab hospital job. I left the clinic off my resume, and to this day I've never listed it as a past employer. I don't discuss it with people I don't know well. I will always be conflicted about the morality of abortion, and of working at the abortion clinic. That I wasn't candid about working there disturbs me still. Is it a failing? A good idea? I don't know. I do know that at that time in my life, I had the opportunity to help women at a most traumatic time in their life. I did that job, and I did it well.

I have no internal struggle with that.