----------------------------------------
The following is an article written by my daughter that I wanted
to share with everyone. I've also written a little post-script at the end.
Feedback welcomed!
-=} Steve Clifford {=- *
[email protected]
----------------------------------
UN-PLANNED PARENTHOOD
by Jennifer Clifford
I don't know whether to say that I passed the home pregnancy
test or failed it. At any rate, that infamous strip had turned
pink, indicating that I was pregnant. I was eighteen years old,
in college, and living with a steady boyfriend. My life was very
comfortable and uneventful; needless to say, children were not in
my plans for the immediate future. Nevertheless, I was excited
at the prospect, and I felt stable enough in my relationship that
I readily accepted the idea. My boyfriend, James, and I had
often discussed getting married and having kids - this was just
sooner than we had expected.
It was April 1, 1994. James and I drove to Planned
Parenthood to verify the results of the home pregnancy test. The
walk from the car to the door of the clinic was like a hallway in
a dream that gets narrower and longer the farther you walk. I
remember feeling scared, but not necessarily in a negative way.
It was more like the anxiety I would associate with the nerves
surrounding a blind date or the wait in class for the return of
an exam that will either make or break your grade. Although I
didn't know what I would do next if I was pregnant, deep down I
hoped that this test result would be the same as the first.
We entered the clinic and approached the counter. The
receptionist asked why we were there and then asked us to take a
seat. Women came in and out of the waiting room, and I couldn't
help but wonder what each of them was doing there. I shuddered
to think that some of them were coming in pregnant but would
leave without their babies. Abortion was never an option for me,
but I could sympathize with women who weren't fortunate enough to
have someone there to support them. I looked over at James, who
was fidgeting and trying to read a magazine that was clearly not
taking his mind off the issue at hand. I smiled at him to calm
his nerves, but he was wound up too tight for me to reach him.
All I kept thinking was how much my life could change in the next
few minutes.
Soon, the nurse called me in for "counseling". She asked if
I wanted to take a blood or a urine test, and I decided to go
with the cheaper, but less accurate, urine. Next, the nurse
asked me how I felt about the possibility that I could be
pregnant. I let her know that I was excited at the idea but
unsure of my future. She honed in on that uncertainty and probed
further - what would I do with the child? Could I support it?
What would my parents think? These were issues that I had not
yet allowed to enter into my mind; I was taking this whole thing
one step at a time. Consequently, I could not answer her
questions as quickly as she blurted them out. As I floundered
for responses, a look of smug resolution came over her face, as
if she had already decided what I was going to do. I was a
textbook abortion customer to her - young, afraid, and not
knowing where to turn. She thought that all she had to do was
prey on my worries and shoot down my childish dreams of being a
"mommy", and she could add another abortion to the paperwork. I,
however, had other plans.
After this first counseling session, the nurse suggested
that we get on with the test. I took the sterile cup she handed
me into the ladies' room. My bladder, unfortunately, was tied in
knots of anxiety and refused to cooperate. I came out of the
rest room, empty cup in hand, and explained to the nurse that I
just could not go. She off-handedly remarked that I probably
wasn't pregnant then, because if I was, I wouldn't have any
problems voiding. I followed her into the lab where she drew my
blood as I tried, blushing, to make light of the situation. She
seemed disinterested and impatient. When the task was done, she
instructed me to wait in the lobby for the test results. She
estimated it would take about half an hour.
James and I went outside for some fresh air and paced for
what would be the longest thirty minutes of my life. We didn't
say much to each other, but rather drowned in our own private
pools of anticipation. Somehow, the time passed, and we headed
back to the clinic. The test was ready when we got there.
The nurse motioned for me and told James to wait there. I
wrung my hands as I walked into the counseling room, and she
closed the door behind us. She sat down at her desk, slowly and
deliberately, as if for the dramatic effect. She passed me the
test, and I looked down. There in my shaking hand was a plastic
cube with a pink plus sign on it.
"I'm sorry, Jennifer". The nurse shook her head and tried
to look sympathetic. I was confused by her apology. I remember
the dismayed look on her face when I began to smile. She grasped
again at my concern, desperately trying to save her sale. She
reminded me of my age and of my state in life. I knew I could
not support the child on my own, so I asked her for a number I
could call for government assistance. She claimed she didn't
have one to give me. It struck me as odd that she couldn't
provide me with a point of contact. Surely other women had been
in this same situation before me and had needed information on
how they could get help to keep their children, as well. Why did
Planned Parenthood, then, not keep such an important number
handy?
I asked the nurse to give me a list of doctors from which to
choose, as I felt the next reasonable step would be to see an
obstetrician. The nurse breathed a heavy sigh of disapproval and
curled her lip, as if I wasn't understanding her point. "We
don't deal with pregnant women". Shocked, I wondered how this
company could call itself "Planned Parenthood" when it was unable
and unwilling to deal with expectant parents. The way she was
responding to me put me even more on edge about what steps I
should take to best care for myself and the child. She seemed to
sense my uneasiness and pressed some more.
She mentioned my parents again, appealing to my utter terror
in having to break the news to them. The nurse bombarded me with
negativity, playing on my fears and concerns and continuing to
offer me the "easy way out". Although she never actually said
the word, she left no doubt in my mind that in her opinion
abortion was my only option. When I disagreed, she thrust a
package of pamphlets at me on abortion costs and procedures,
adoption information, and a small excerpt on prenatal care. She
presented this to me and told me to come back when I had made up
my mind. I thought perhaps she had confused me with another
patient. I knew I had been very clear that I wanted to keep the
baby, and that this was not bad news to me. That concept seemed
to escape her, for there was no money to be made on her end if I
carried out the pregnancy. She had absolutely no concern for me
as an individual with needs and desires; she was interested only
in making money for her company.
I walked out of the clinic, tossed the packet in the
garbage, and began my reserved celebration. It is now January of
1995. James and I had a baby girl on December 10, 1994. She is
positively perfect in every way. There is no greater joy than
bringing a child into this world, and I have no idea what was
ever important to me before she came. Yes, I am young, but I
have many more years to share with my daughter than most parents.
My own parents, who I was so afraid to tell, have been
overwhelmingly supportive of me, and they are crazy about the
baby. I live at home with them now, and my life is back on
track. It is also full of more happiness and fulfillment than it
has ever been, and I thank God everyday for lending me this child
to tend to for Him.
I think often of the other women who were in the clinic with
me that day. I wonder if their babies were given the same chance
at life that I gave mine. I know how it feels to look to the
future with sheer terror, because I've been there. I've felt the
shameless prodding of the abortionist's pitchfork in my side,
heightening every fear that was brewing within me. That nurse
tried her hardest to manipulate me and to scare me into doing
something that I knew was wrong. I now want to warn other
expectant mothers about these abortion clinics. They do not have
your best interests in mind and they will not give you a choice.
They could, instead, force you into an abortion that you are
afraid to decline. Please be strong and resist them, for
yourselves and for your children. Better yet, don't even go to
these clinics; find counseling in pro-life organizations where
your choices are fair and the help is abundant. Your baby's life
is at stake - and it's all up to you.
------------------------------
p.s. Jenny left home when she was sixteen. As soon as she told
us she was pregnant she asked if she could move from Texas to
Virginia to be closer to us. We've been saying lots of prayers
for her and once she returned home our prayers started to be
answered. She stopped giving money and support to James, she
started living for herself and her new baby, and she returned to
Church and the Sacraments. Mother and daughter are doing fine
and she is making plans to go back to school in the Fall and get
on with her life as a single parent.
Provided courtesy of:
The Catholic Resource Network
Trinity Communications
PO Box 3610
Manassas, VA 22110
Voice: 703-791-2576
Fax: 703-791-4250
Data: 703-791-4336
The Catholic Resource Network is a Catholic online information and
service system. To browse CRNET or join, set your modem to 8 data
bits, 1 stop bit and no parity, and call 1-703-791-4336.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
