I slip out through the back door of the clinic, cut through the car park and cross to the far side of the road. I pick intently at the angry blisters emerging on the thumb and index finger of my operating hand, then shift my concentration to rummaging in my bag for my phone. Anything to avoid catching the eye of the protestors gathering on the opposite pavement, brandishing their gruesome placards of foetal parts.

I can’t say this is exactly what I had in mind when I was 17 and writing my Ucas application, full of idealism and pride to be applying for such a noble profession. Probably not what my parents were thinking of either – it doesn’t make for great dinner party conversation having an abortion doctor for a daughter.



I have heard 21 stories of 21 decisions, some agonising, others more straightforward, but not one of them taken lightly

But somehow here I am. I made a decision not to conscientiously object and I am now nearing the end of my abortion-care training. If I’m honest, I haven’t found it emotionally easy (and I suspect neither have those closest to me!) but I’d never go back and change that decision. Not only have I received excellent tuition, but, perhaps more importantly, I have learnt much about life from the women I have cared for. They have taught me that pregnancy at the wrong time, with the wrong person, or in the wrong situation, can be a very lonely and unsympathetic place to be. One young woman confided in me that she’d rather take three buses home after her medical procedure and risk bleeding on the bus than have to ask a friend or family member for a lift, and therefore disclose her situation. I loaded her up with sanitary towels and silently hoped for the best.

I have performed 21 abortions today, ending pregnancies in women ageing from 16 to 44, who have travelled from as far as Northern Ireland to regain control over their own bodies. I have carefully sieved through aspirate to identify the tiny translucent jelly-fish-like gestation sac at five weeks. I have painstakingly removed a foetus part by part at 23 weeks and watched the ultrasound image of the uterus shrink back to size. I have heard 21 stories of 21 difficult decisions, some agonising, others more straightforward, but not one of them taken lightly. One woman made it as far as the operating table and changed her mind. I wiped away another woman’s silent tears as the anaesthetist counted her down from 10 as he put her under.



The staff in the clinic show boundless compassion. They strike the perfect balance of being sensitive to the enormity of the situation for each individual while not making too big a deal of it. I suppose this is their everyday, their normal and they are experienced at what they do: there is no lack of demand for abortion work, as that well-known “one in three women in the UK” statistic demonstrates. My training also serves to remind me that there is no one type of woman who experiences unwanted pregnancy.

I’ve seen as many professional women in their 40s as chaotic girls in their teens; and the majority have been using some form of contraception, albeit unsuccessfully. Many of the women are already mums. Some are devoutly religious. Some have been advised to have an abortion of a much-wanted pregnancy for medical reasons or severe foetal abnormalities. One woman I encountered had been trying to conceive for many years and finally got pregnant by IVF, only to be given this devastating recommendation.



It has not yet become my everyday and my normal. I wonder if it will ever feel like that. As I leave clinic, I actually feel slightly elated from the work – I have learnt skills far beyond my expectations and I feel gratified to have been involved in helping women out in a vulnerable and sometimes desperate time. I glance back at the pro-life contingent and I wonder whether I feel guilty, or whether I should. There is a stir as a wide-eyed woman leaves the entrance of the clinic; she flinches when she sees the crowd and bows as if to hide her face. As I walk away I know these protestors have inadvertently answered my question. As long as unplanned pregnancy exists, we need to help women in this unfortunate situation, not harass them. Abortion can improve life and prevent harm; pro-choice, to me, does not mean anti-life.

I breathe my customary sigh of relief as I close my front door behind me and kick off my shoes. My boyfriend hears the latch and calls from the kitchen to ask me about my day. I mutter something nondescript, skimping on detail, then get straight to the point: “How about a glass of wine?”.



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