However, in the last few months, in the wake of the Gosnell tragedy, I have found my job to be more political, detailed, and sometimes difficult than I could have imagined. The state’s new regulations regarding Serious Event reporting and clinic inspections has caused a lot of confusion on the part of good clinics and the DOH alike. I feel like it creates more problems with patient confidentiality. The rules, to an extent, are so vague that we are always wondering if we are doing too much or too little. We have had to change policies several times, have been bombarded with questions that we don’t feel have anything to do with patient safety and the staff is on edge whenever the inspectors come in (not to mention this can disrupt patient flow if the doctor needs to be pulled away for questions). Of course, I always do and always will continue to make these changes and and follow policies accordingly with a smile on my face because it’s what I believe in. It needs to be done and it needs to be done with passion, compassion, and belief that this fight will continue.

I am motivated by so many things in my profession. From a simple thank you over the phone to a hug from a patient to the anti-choice faction standing outside telling me to “get a real job.” All of these things make me want to go to work everyday and wonder what else I can do to make not only the patients, but my co-worker’s day a little bit better. The women that I work with motivate me to constantly do more and more and keep learning. I was never told that abortion wasn’t an option, I was never told NOT to do this and now I know it’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I hope one day to branch out and help with more causes as well.

We have an entourage of regular protesters here pretty much on a daily basis, there are usually quite a few more on Saturdays. It’s sad to say that I’ve gotten immune to their commentary, but I have. Besides they say the same 5 things over and over. They carry their signs and hand out their literature and speak their anti sentiments, but it no longer bothers me.

When I first began here one of our protesters specifically targeted me and said something unforgivably about my 4 year old brother that had passed away. In my mind I feel like I vowed vengeance…but the best vengeance is continuing to do my job despite whatever they throw at me. I have been followed into bathrooms at clinic sponsored events by protesters, and been ridiculed for making pro-choice speeches…and I say…so what? Bring it on, it only makes stronger.

I wish that they didn’t scare the patients and I do my best to make patients aware and comfortable on the phone when speaking about protesters and sometimes it helps to make a joke out of it. If I feel a patient is having a particularly tough time and that their good experience may be hindered by protesters, I try to counsel them over the phone about walking in the door empowered and leaving proud that they made a choice and no one made it for them. They love the fact that we have volunteer escorts who arrive rain or shine and are incredibly relieved when they are given this information.

I recently had a patient who was a young girl, about 19, with a slight mental handicap. She and her mother called the clinic several times to ask questions and since I had given them my name on the initial call, I probably spoke with them about 10 times before they even came in. They asked all of the most logical questions about our services and had a bit of trouble with scheduling, but they were so patient and so nice and worked with us without complaint to come in for the appointment. I was at a conference on the day that this patient was actually seen and never got to meet her face to face. About a week after her appointment I received a call from the patient’s mother who had questions about post-abortion symptoms. When she found out it was me on the phone she was so grateful and thanked me for doing my job and fighting for choice. I spoke with the patient a few days later to check in on her and she was so happy with her experience and that things had turned out ok. The patient and her mother were able to learn from her experience and what it means to have a choice. I wrote them a letter a few days later to say thank you and I was sorry I never got to meet them in person.

Non-abortion medical providers and community members alike need to speak out about the outrageous rules and amendments that are being passed that are limiting patient’s resources for good medical care in regards to abortion services. A lot of providers are happy to refer to our clinic for services, but very few speak out about having a choice. They don’t understand what it’s like to go to a doctor for a simple medical procedure and be harassed and intimidated and maybe even put down by your family and friends. They walk through the doors of their offices every day without so much as a second thought. They don’t need to look behind them. Abortion needs to be normalized and understood and right now we are far from that. The more physicians and nurses that speak out, the better. Clinics are seen as bad, dirty, or evil places and to be honest, I only see love and compassion when I walk in these doors. We are not asking for money, we don’t ask for these people to come work with us, but verbal support and activism are the first step.

I am Dr. Tiller.

Having lived and breathed evangelical Christianity from childhood until my mid-twenties, I understood ministry as the New Testament directive to emulate Jesus by following His example of service, sacrifice, and caring for others. Since breaking up with Jesus almost 15 years ago and relegating the whole question of God’s existence as SEP (somebody else’s problem), I inexorably shifted from identifying as a “prolifer” to becoming an unabashed advocate of reproductive freedom and abortion access. I then took up escorting for a women’s clinic some 5 years ago, originally motivated to do so as a way to walk-the-talk on my pro-choice philosophy.

From my first shift experiencing protesters shouting at, threatening, humiliating, and shaming patients walking the interminably long walk from the end of the block to the doors of the clinic, I discovered that rather than feeling some detached self-satisfaction about living-my-principles, I instead felt an instant, fierce and personal protectiveness towards the patients and their partners, friends, family, and others coming into the clinic. I mean, I didn’t even know these people – the patients and their companions – but you would have thought they were my own BFFs or sisters or brothers being harassed and humiliated on that sidewalk. Five years later I feel just as fiercely protective and vigilant about each and every one of them who walks down that sidewalk treated to such indignity and abuse by protesters who claim to be “ministering.”

Charley is a protester at the clinic with whom I have an exceptional relationship. “Exceptional” as in he’s the exception to my otherwise standing policy of not conversing or interacting with protesters. As any clinic escort knows – engaging with clinic protesters generally is at best an exercise in futility, and at worst a distraction from the primary purpose of serving the patients for whom we’re there in the first place. The singular reason for my interacting with Charley at all is his openness to genuinely hearing my criticisms of his behavior and his willingness to modify some of his actions and tactics accordingly.

Now it may seem a distinction without a difference when, for example, I’ve convinced Charley to use his inside voice to try to engage the patients instead of his usual shouting-such-to-be-heard-over-a-death-metal-concert volume. However to a patient – such a difference in a protester’s manner can mean the difference between their walk into the clinic being a highly emotionally/psychologically upsetting experience and a merely irritating one. And while some might say the only real “victory” on the sidewalks of our clinics would be for the protesters to be banished entirely (and I wouldn’t disagree), short of that I’ve learned to look for ways of achieving small degrees of meaningful victory for patients in that gray-scale between the all and nothing.

Which brings me back to ministry. In a conversation with Charley early on, I put it like this: “Ideology and politics are what got me out here on the sidewalk in the first place, but what keeps me coming back is that this is my way of ministering to women, it’s my way of manifesting God’s love in the world.” Now some might question the honesty of a now-agnostic/atheist co-opting the inside-baseball vernacular of my former faith-community in communicating with protesters, and a more thorough exploration of the ethics and honesty in doing so is worthy of its own post another day.

My short answer is that I’m done with evangelicals getting away with the claim of exclusive ownership of love, compassion and taking care of one’s fellow humans, or that it’s only through Jesus that such motivation and emotion are even possible. These notions originated neither from Jesus, nor God, nor unicorns nor any other mythological entity – they are, beautifully, human-originated emotions, choices and behaviors. And if I need use evangelicals’ own language – the native language of my own experience – as the framework for meaningful dialogue between me and a protester, I feel no ethical dilemma; hey it’s my language too.

As it turns out, sharing my ministry assertions with Charley are what opened some genuine channels of communication between him and me. It seems no escorts or abortion-associated folks had ever pulled the “yeah – well I’m a Christian too” card on him before, and it took a whole lot of the God’s-totally-on-my-side wind out of his sails. It also seemed to really click for him that I am at least as passionate and ministry-minded in escorting women into a clinic for their abortions as he thinks he is trying to talk them out of going through with it. Turning some Christian lingo back on Charley provided a bridge for him to hear and respond to my criticisms, and for him to recognize that Jesus wasn’t necessarily best served, say, by shouting at patients and to change his behavior accordingly.

One of the glorious aspects of not-the-Queen’s English is the malleability of words and their meanings through co-opting, repetition, new contexts and simple meme-ery, as well as deliberate taking-back or taking-over of words when we find fault with associated history, connotations, flavor or another group’s claimed ownership of a word. Ministry is such a word for me. It may have started out as a word signifying an action or expression of one’s faith, but I assert that ministry irrespective of faith is exactly the right word for what motivates legions of us within the abortion/reproductive healthcare realm to do what we do every day.

Ministry – it’s not just for the religiously-motivated anymore.

I am Dr. Tiller.

Dr. Tiller was murdered a little over a month after I started working with Planned Parenthood.  I’m not going to lie; I was terrified to go to work.  I had been apprehensive about my new position within a clinic that provided abortion services to begin with, but when he was killed, I began to get really scared.  I wasn’t anxious in the “oh man, what if people judge me for assisting with abortions” sort of way, but rather in the “am I going to come to work one day and leave in a body bag” way.

My first job with the office was in high school, doing tech support, ghost cloning hard drives, and generally troubleshooting for the practice.  As I got older, I started working for them as a receptionist and completely loathed it.  Sure, I have a great “phone voice” and interact well with people, but I wanted to be involved in the “action.”  So, as I got older, I was trained to work as a medical assistant and phlebotomist in the practice, and really loved what I did.  This is what eventually spurred me to go on to become an EMT and go to nursing school.

So, when I was offered a position at Planned Parenthood, I was happy to take it.  I was going to be working in the clinic as a medical assistant and phlebotomist, working with women who were seeking birth control, prenatal care, pap smears, and *gulp* abortion.  Please don’t misunderstand.  I had always been pro-choice, but being in favor of reproductive freedom is one thing; being a part of abortion care is something completely different.

So, when news of Dr. Tiller’s slaying flashed across my television screen, my stomach dropped.  Here I am, 19 years old, and thinking about the fact that at 8:00am the next morning I’ll be driving past a group of protesters, some of whom may or may not want my coworkers and I to end up like Dr. Tiller.  I went into work that next morning nervous and ready to tender my resignation.  “Terribly sorry,” I’d say, “but I’m just not willing to risk my life to work here.”  They’d understand, right?

I don’t know how I didn’t notice the plaque before that day, but for some reason it was staring me straight in the face that morning.  I know it wasn’t put there in memory of Dr. Tiller, because I was the one opening the clinic that day and no one had been there since the news of his death had spread.  I don’t tend to believe in “signs,” but I don’t know how else to interpret it.  There it was in our break room, mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator.  In bold blue ink, the plate read “’They may define the way I die, but they will not the way I live.’ –Dr. George Tiller.”

Well, that was it.  How the hell could I turn my back on this clinic now?  Years after Dr. Tiller spoke those words, they gave some college girl the courage to stand by what she believed and not let the anti-choicers intimidate her out of what was possibly the most important job she had ever had.

A few months later, I got promoted from simply being a clinic assistant (taking blood pressures, giving injections, etc.) to also being an abortion assitant, where I was in the room assisting the doctor with procedures.  Again, when I was put in this position, I was terrified.  Perhaps I’d be targeted more, now that the antis could claim there was “blood on my hands,” or some other form of ridiculous rhetoric.  I almost didn’t accept the job because I was so anxious.

But my first morning in the new position, and every morning since, I looked in the mirror and reminded myself that they will not define the way I live.

Perhaps that’s what prompted me to start my blog; I feel the need to share my experiences with people who may be searching for the courage they need to find in their own lives.  So, if you’re reading this, and you need someone to tell you that it really is worth it to stand by what you believe, take this as your “sign”; I was lucky enough to have one, and I am forever thankful for it.

I am Dr. Tiller.

I grew up Baptist. I parroted that abortion was murder and homosexuality was a sin without having the slightest experience with either topic. Sixteen was my age of reason. A pastor reduced my gay friend to tears and I began to realize that the Church was not the loving entity it seemed to be, and the people in it were about as far from living like Christ as one could get. It was the turning point that led me to leave the Church. A wise man later told me that the first step to becoming an adult is letting go of all of the beliefs that you were conditioned with, analyzing situations and facts, and making up your own mind. I feel that this was my shift into adulthood.

Though I’d been subject to a “pro life” assembly at my public school in junior high that I had walked out of because I sensed that the information being provided was largely false or highly exaggerated, I didn’t give much interest to the abortion debate until later in my teenage years. I had a close friend, I was two years her senior. I didn’t particularly agree with her lifestyle and I couldn’t always talk her out of bad decisions, but I tried to protect her the best I could. I found after a few months of close friendship that a lot of her destructive behavior was brought on by her abusive father. The abuse was reported but couldn’t be proved, so it only worsened.

My friends parents were gone the night she had called me, begging me to come over after several months of not talking to me. The second I walked into her bedroom, I gasped and my heart started racing. I will never forget the vision of her halfheartedly slumped against her bed. There was blood everywhere along with several puddles of vomit. At first I thought she had slit her wrists, but I saw no gashes. Plus the majority of the blood was on her jeans, and the comforter on her bed. A bit was on her fingers, and smudged across her face. It was like something I only imagined I would see in a horror movie. She looked up at me with pupils that were tiny little specs, her lips tinged with blue. Apparently, she didn’t remember calling me because she had no idea why I was there. After my split second of shock, I fell to my knees at her side and grabbed her hand. It was cold and clammy, and her breathing was frighteningly shallow. I called 911. They had me stay on the phone until they arrived. A minute or two before the ambulance pulled up, she began convulsing. They had me check her pulse, which was faint and seemingly fading. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that these were the last moments I would ever see her. I stroked her hair, held her hand, and talked to her, though she wasn’t really responsive. Later that night, I found out from a mutual friend that she had found out she was pregnant. Since she was a minor, parental consent was involved to obtain an abortion. Besides, the closest clinic was nearly four hours away. She had tried to talk to a friend’s parent, who got her the court papers and tried to help convince the judge to grant a bypass. He denied it, saying it would only be granted if she could prove the abuse. As she had already painfully learned, this was impossible. So she did the next best thing; she stole a fifth of vodka and her step mom’s Percocet.

I saved my friends life that night and vowed to fight for justice so that no friend would ever have to witness what I did and no woman would ever have to experience what she did. And so I have. I have lobbied my legislators to protect women’s reproductive rights and have worked to elect pro choice representatives nationwide. I have volunteered on the front lines of the debate as a clinic escort. I have stood in the pouring rain to ensure that every woman could enter my clinic and make the choice that she felt was best for her. I have had holy water thrown on me and have been called every vile name in the book, but still I trudged forward. I have helped women who felt coerced obtain resources to parent or place for adoption. I have counseled women, even held their hand while they cried after an abortion. I am a volunteer support specialist for women who experience complicated emotions after an abortion. I had an abortion and I have no shame in sharing my story. Now that I am ready, I am a proud mommy-to-be, starting a family by choice, not by chance.

I may not have a medical degree. I may not perform the surgeries (though I have witnessed several.) But I have dedicated my life to protecting the rights of my fellow women and giving them the opportunity they were promised upon being born into this country: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I am Dr.Tiller.

I love (actually hate) when anti-choicers make such blatantly false blanket statements as if they have any knowledge of this particular topic.

The truth is, many people go to medical school for the purpose of becoming abortion providers, as well as all-encompassing women’s health care providers. I am one of those people. I knew before medical school that I wanted to offer abortion services in my practice, and I was determined to get trained during medical school and pursue a residency that would train me to be a competent women’s health care provider.

I’m sure Mr. Wrong would like to believe that we reluctantly step into the abortion provider role because no one else will, or because we are after the money (which isn’t there) or because we like being harassed by psychos. The truth is, we believe abortion is a right and each woman should have the chance to make an informed decision among all her options. I believe that I can only be a good physician to my patients if I offer them all services surrounding their reproductive freedom, not just some.

Unfortunately for Mr. Wrong, there are more and more of us each year. Not all of us enter medical school with the hopes of having the honor to serve women in this way, but many more of us are leaving medical school with that very ambition. This is especially thanks to organizations like Medical Students for Choice and certain residency programs that support medical students throughout their years in medical school and beyond.

Sorry, Mr. Wrong. We are here to stay, and I would be honored to work in a “Planned Parenthood or some other abortion clinic” one day.

I am Dr. Tiller.

(via abortioneers)

I am Dr. Tiller.

I entered abortionland gradually. My parents never talked about it, I went to a Catholic school for years, so I don’t know how it started. But I used to be obsessed with learning about how people experienced their sexual bodies — I’d ask friends about their attractions, erections, menstruations, you name it.

Anyway, in college I became really interested in sex ed and family planning. I spent several months volunteering in community outreach and health education projects for a local women’s health center; then after college I found a job in their clinic. While I started out passionate about sexual health in general, eventually abortion stood out to me as something that I ought to focus on, precisely because many people drew the line there and I didn’t. It didn’t hurt that I had fantastic coworkers, a supportive work environment, exposure to fascinating clinical cases and many warm, appreciative clients.

Then I moved around some, first for a change of pace and then for school, and each time found something even more abortiony to occupy myself with. Now that I’m in school, I’m learning about various abortion-related research projects (clinical, social, and organizational aspects) which are so cool and important. But direct service, for all its challenges, pretty much rules: every day I can help several-to-many people get something they are seeking in order to make their life better.

It’s not a super exciting story, I guess! But I can remember being in (Catholic) middle school and going with the anti-choice flow, and it seems so weird to me now. I literally can’t see myself ever going back to that. Phew.

I am Dr. Tiller.

I don’t remember when I exactly became aware that I was pro-choice, but I probably always was because I NEVER liked being told what I could/couldn’t do. Thus being an anti would have never made sense to me. My first real memory on the topic was when I was about 16. I worked with a girl who was decidedly anti-choice (she was a year younger than I). I remember having discussions with her about the topic at work . One day she showed me the pictures that anti’s pull out. After seeing them I made the comment that I would likely never have an abortion, but I refused to take that choice from other women, no matter what. I think she took the small victory. Thankfully, I have never been forced to make the decision, but I know now that I wouldn’t hesitate to have an abortion if I were to become pregnant. But that moment stays with me. I think I can say with absolute certainty that I knew I was pro-choice from that day forward. Even though I thought, at the time, abortion wasn’t for me, I still refused to take the choice away from others. I am proud of my 16 y/o self for being able to separate the choice that I was entitled to make re. my body, and the choice that other women are entitled to make re. their body.

Since starting law school in a province with archaic, by Canadian standards, abortion laws, I have jumped into the pro-choice movement with both feet. I volunteer at my local clinic to escort patients past protesters (only clinic in Canada that has the buggers), and I worked on a project for ARCC to create a brochure for distribution in order to raise awareness about the laws so that we can create change.

I have started to get more involved in the movement, much to the chagrin of my closest friend. I am not entirely sure if she is decidedly anti-choice, but she has made it clear that she wouldn’t come with me for an abortion. Nonetheless, I will continue my volunteer work while I am local, and when I’m not, I will get involved in other ways. Also, I display my volunteer work on my resume, and if a law firm won’t have me for that reason, well so be it. I know I am doing a good thing.

I am Dr. Tiller.

In my choice to become a social worker, I knew I would be underpaid, overworked, and that my efforts would not always be recognized or appreciated in the moment — and that all those things are unfair. Yet, still I chose this profession because I have compassion, empathy, and believe that I should be doing my part to make this world a better place.

The transition to working in abortion care came relatively easy in that respect. It’s no secret that abortion care is a marginalized part of women’s healthcare (even though one in 3 women have an abortion). That to make abortion affordable for women, no abortion provider is going to become a millionaire. And, that women who are pregnant when they don’t want to be can get angry and frustrated at the lengths they must take to control their destiny (and sometimes that anger is directed at me). All those things, too, are unfair. Yet, I know that the decision to end a pregnancy is not taken lightly–it’s complicated. I know that most people can’t imagine supporting abortion rights until they learn that their daughter or sister or friend or coworker had an abortion (have you asked?) or they themselves are faced with an unwanted pregnancy. I know that my empathy and compassion is a skill that allows me to see women through transformative experiences when they often don’t think they deserve to have someone (let alone a stranger) supporting them through it.

What my social work training didn’t necessarily prepare me for is that my workplace (my coworkers, patients, and me) could be a target for domestic terrorism. That I would get training in what to do if the clinic gets anthrax in the mail or one of us finds a bomb. It may be silly that I worry about where I lock my bike after riding to work because I don’t want the protesters to damage my ride home. Or, that I don’t want my mother to read too much about clinic violence because she’ll worry more than she does already. Sadly, though, this is the reality of working in an abortion clinic.

Working in women’s healthcare, as an abortion provider, gives me a voice. I’m tired of old, white men making decisions for me about my own body. I’m angry that some states still criminalize women if they deliver a still birth. I’m frustrated that too many people in this country inserted the word “shame” into the defnition of an abortion experience.

Trust that I was born with a uterus and I’ll know what to do if a pregnancy starts to grow inside it. Trust that I’m a grown-ass woman able to make the big decisions. Trust that life’s complicated and there’s lots of gray areas that an outside onlooker (or protester or Bill O’Reilly) may not fully see or even attempt to see.

I trust the women I see every day in our clinic. I believe them when they say they can’t support another child, that adoption is a more difficult option than terminating the pregnancy, that their stepfather or uncle raped them, or that they’ve learned that the fetus they thought was growing inside them isn’t anymore. I trust that they are making informed decisions about their body and their life so that I can have that same trust for myself.

I am Dr. Tiller.

We are associated with ‘Words of Choice’ and have worked to support abortion providers across the country by using stories, theater, radio, articles, tv and DVD to open new conversations about reproductive freedom and justice. We traveled twice to Wichita to present performances for and with Dr. Tiller, and he understood the power of communication. We admired him deeply as saw him as not only a person passionately committed to doing what is right for women’s lives, but a kind and generous man. (We dedicated a program to him on radio on June 29, where we took this picture with the host.) In travels to 20 states, we have encountered thousands who agree with Dr. Tiller and stand up for women’s rights — providers, clinic workers, volunteers, doctors, policy advocates, writers, activists, nurses, para-professionals, assistants, campus organizers, religious personnel, students, videographers and everyday people: our deepest thanks and appreciation to all.

We Are Dr. Tiller.