This Common Secret: My Journey as an Abortion Doctor by Susan Wicklund Read Free Book Online

talked about how hard it had been for her to walk through their gauntlet, and how difficult it would be for women who weren’t as strong as she was. Young women, for instance. Women with no one to turn to for support, women who didn’t know the facts about abortion.
    Later that first day, when I left the clinic, I saw the protesters differently. They were no longer just a nuisance. They were a force that had a negative impact on my patients, planting unnecessary fear and guilt in women at this vulnerable crossroads, as they weighed whether to end an unwanted pregnancy. Their rhetoric and self-righteous pleading were misleading and alarming. I knew, looking at them, that the last thing they cared about was the safety and well-being of the women I had seen that day.
    Within a month I added another clinic, flying to Appleton, Wisconsin, to work for Maggie Cage, a woman full of commitment and understanding who was also a tough, battle-hardened warrior. I used all my vacation days, my usual day off, and all my Saturdays to provide abortions in Appleton and Milwaukee. The atmosphere and attitudes of the staff were exactly what I had been hoping for.
    My contract as a general practitioner in Grantsburg was up for renewal in October. I had been there just fifteen months. I relished the joy of delivering babies for women I’d grown up with and taking care of friends and relatives in the emergency room, the clinic, or the nursing home. But it often cut too close to the bone. Every time one of the elders died, part of me died with them. Taking care of chronically sick people who had abused their bodies for decades did not bring me much satisfaction.
    Juxtaposed against the new energy I felt, and the sense of performing meaningful work on behalf of women, there was no contest. I did not renew my contract. Instead I offered my skills as an abortion provider to three additional clinics, one in Fargo, North Dakota, one in Duluth, Minnesota, and one in St. Paul.
    These clinics were owned or managed by women who understood that no one should be turned away because of financial constraints. They understood that patients needed clear, accurate information and care that was emotionally supportive as well as physically safe.
    Susan Hill owned the clinic in Fargo as well as the one in Milwaukee. I started traveling there regularly. In Duluth the clinic was run by a strong, feminist woman with a great staff. The clinic in St. Paul was part of a large nonprofit organization. The manager was my main point of contact, and she was as dedicated and kind as anyone I’ve ever worked with. She was an excellent liaison between the umbrella administration and the clinic staff, and put patient care issues first.
    As the weeks passed, what grew more powerful in me was the fundamental commitment to patients and to the cause of keeping reproductive rights safe and legal. I was free of the conservative, oppressive bosses who lived in denial and demanded allegiance to the financial bottom line over full treatment. Free of edicts to spend no more than ten minutes with a teenager experiencing her first pelvic exam and wanting birth control advice.
    “Give them a Pap, hand them birth control pills, and move on,” I’d been instructed in Grantsburg. Now I was free of off-site administrators with no community knowledge telling me to stop seeing “welfare patients” because they didn’t bring in any money. More to the point, I was finally free of secretive, furtive abortions.
    Work was invigorating and gratifying, but there was a price to pay. My schedule was exhausting. And it played havoc with my family life. I felt as if I were constantly in a state of jet lag, rotating between airports and clinics and vehicles.
    “Sue,” Randy said one weekend. “It’s your mom’s birthday next week. Let’s find a day to go see your folks. Your dad isn’t doing so well, and Sonja always loves seeing them.”
    “I know,” I said, “but tomorrow I fly to Appleton