May 3, 2017 (LifeSiteNews) — A woman who laughed through nine abortions asked after her last one if she could look at the “tissue” that had been removed from her womb.

When she saw the reassembled parts of her dismembered baby, she gasped and shuddered before collapsing in grief and refusing to let go of the tray holding the remains of her unborn child.

“That’s a baby,” she cried. “That was my baby. … What did I do? What did I do?”

Angie’s story is among those in Abby Johnson’s 2016 book The Walls Are Talking: Former Abortion Clinic Workers Tell Their Stories.

Sarah Terzo relates the story at LiveActionNews.

It was told by an unnamed former abortion facility worker and appears in Johnson’s book under the title “Frequent flyers.”

According to the anonymous account, Angie was what staff dubbed “frequent flyers” — a woman who has had multiple abortions.

Even among these, Angie stood out for her callousness, joking her way through each abortion.

Angie “seemed to regard her visits to our clinic as an opportunity to perform her improv comedy act,” wrote the former abortion worker. “Although I couldn’t help but like Angie, her flippancy appalled me.”

The writer described how Angie would quip: “Could y’all just Xerox my chart and I’ll fill in the dates?” And after the forms were filled out, she would “attempt to banter with the girls in the waiting room.’It’s no big thing,’ she assured them. ‘I’ve done it 8 times before, and I have no regrets.’”

Moreover, Angie “never even attempted to explain herself. When we would talk to her about birth control and try to set her up with an appointment to explore the matter further, she would just smile and politely refuse with a wave of her hand.”

But when Angie came in for her ninth abortion, the staff “whose paychecks were funded by abortion, shook our heads and said, ‘Really? Seriously?’” wrote the former abortion center worker.

“I wanted Angie to show some indication of remorse,” admitted the writer.

“I didn’t want to feel that way about the numerous women who presented for abortions two, three, or even four times. But nine? That, I felt, deserved at least a slight show of regret or even a bit of good old-fashioned shame.”

And Angie’s demeanor contrasted to that of many other women, whom the writer had comforted and held hands with “as they approached the table with trepidation.”

Some would weep, their knuckles white as they gripped my hand until it ached. Others would clutch Bibles to their chests and mouth prayers begging for forgiveness, even before the abortionist had begun his work and when their babies were still safe in their wombs.”

It was evident Angie was using abortion as a means of contraception, and had accepted the pro-abortion line her unborn baby was simply a clump of cells, observed Terzo.

But after her ninth abortion, Angie asked to see the “tissue” of her 13-week-old unborn child.

“I debated about how to arrange the pieces” of the aborted baby, related the author, which at that age would have been fully formed. “There was no protocol on such things.”

The writer opted to “piece [the baby] back together as we normally did to ensure that none of the parts were missing.”

Angie looked at the body.

“Thanks,” she said, her trademark smile still fixed on her face. When her eyes traveled to the container, she gasped sharply, and for the first time since she had arrived, Angie was utterly silent. A few moments later, her entire body shuddered and gooseflesh was raised on her smooth brown arms. When she reached out her to touch the baby, I tried to pull the dish away. She grabbed my wrist and stopped me. We were both silent for a few moments as she continued to stare at the contents of the dish. I stepped back and Angie fell forward to her knees, her fingers still wrapped around my wrist. … “That’s a baby,” she said, barely audible at first. “That was my baby,” she said. Her volume steadily increased as a torrent of words poured from her mouth, words that made everyone extremely uncomfortable. “What did I do? What did I do?” she said over and over and began to sob. Some of the girls in the recovery run began to weep along with her.

When abortion center staff finally managed to pry the dish from her fingers, Angie became frantic.

When they couldn’t calm her or get her up from the floor, the staff dragged her, screaming and struggling, down the hall to the bathroom.

Even then her cries could be heard, as she pleaded repeatedly to be given her baby’s body. Her request was refused.

Finally, the staff called her emergency contact. It was her current boyfriend, who came to the abortion facility, and after 45 minutes persuaded her to come out of the bathroom.

Both he and Angie were in tears when they left the abortion center, Terzo writes.

Angie did not return to the abortion center, but the author doesn’t know what became of her.

“The road ahead of her, once she realized her responsibility for the deaths of nine of her children, would be agonizing to travel,” concluded Terzo. “We can only hope she found healing.”