The arms of the perfectly formed lifeless baby boys were wrapped around each other.…The fourth baby had to be suctioned out of her. He came out in pieces.
“She immediately called her boyfriend. We could easily hear his response through the receiver. “It don’t matter to me if there are a hundred babies,” he said. “I don’t want any of ‘em.” She tried to assert herself, and make it clear that she wanted to wait a while. She needed time to think. He made it clear that if she did not abort the babies, he would not stand by her.
She began to cry. The poor thing was obviously not mentally prepared for aborting one child. The thought of four was pushing her over the edge. Upon hearing the tone of harsh indifference from the “father” over the receiver, the staff tried to persuade her to proceed with the abortion. Too distraught to make up her mind, she walked out of the clinic without a word.
Several days later, she was back with her boyfriend… He was well over 6 feet tall, much older than her, and the first word that came to mind upon seeing him was “thug.” We all felt tense around him. It was obvious that he had control over her.
“She wants an abortion. Four babies,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, I don’t want any kids.”…
We took her back for counseling. Before we even start talking to her, she was crying again…
I refused to sign the paperwork. I wrote that I felt she was being coerced – not just by her boyfriend, but by our medical director who kept popping into the room and explaining how high risk a multiple pregnancy can be. She left the clinic in tears again.
Late the next afternoon we were preparing to close the clinic when she staggered in. She was clutching and cradling her stomach, moaning softly…
“What did you do?” I asked, trying hard to suppress the panic I was feeling.
Apparently her boyfriend had taken her directly from our clinic to another – more of a butcher shop in my opinion. They had given her a dose of misoprostol and sent her home…I couldn’t believe that someone would give a patient an abortifacient drug and let her leave…
We guided her into the bathroom, undressed her from the waist down, and instructed her to sit on the toilet. We were all horrified at the events that unfolded in the next few minutes. The first baby fell into the toilet…we hurried her to the procedure room. It was then that the next two babies fell out and were hanging from her. The arms of the perfectly formed lifeless baby boys were wrapped around each other.…
The fourth baby had to be suctioned out of her. He came out in pieces.
I remember sobbing with a coworker as we sorted through the remains of the fourth baby boy in the POC lab. We cradled a tiny intact babies in our arms and cried for them. I knew that I could no longer do this work. I was done.
My heart broke for the young mother as she left the clinic that day. She had such an empty look in her eyes. There was no follow-up care or concern for her welfare. My coworkers and I continued to cry, which ticked off the doctor, who was extremely emotionless and matter-of-fact about things. He banned us from discussing what happened that day.”
Editor’s note: This excerpt comes from Abby Johnson’s book, The Walls Are Talking: Former Abortion Clinic Workers Tell Their Stories, and has been reprinted here with permission.
