Free Unplanned: The Dramatic True Story of a Former Planned Parenthood Leader's Eye-Opening Journey Across the Life Line by Abby Johnson, Cindy Lambert Page A
Authors: Abby Johnson, Cindy Lambert
believer in God, how could I be unhappy about people praying? In fact, I wished I had the kind of prayer life some of the 40 Days for Life volunteers appeared to have—it seemed so real to them. My own efforts at prayer had been steadily drying up. I argued to myself that I should welcome these prayers. Many of the pro-lifers said things like “I’m praying for you today,” and “I hope you have a peace-filled day” as I walked to and from my car.
On the other hand, I have to admit that I resented it. Clearly the implication was that God was on their side, not ours, and I vacillated between squirming in discomfort and feeling downright irritated at their arrogance. I considered myself a prochoice Christian and knew lots of other people like me. I was helping people who needed help and, I believed, saving and improving lives. I didn’t appreciate being surrounded and constantly watched by people who believed I was on the devil’s side. After the first few weeks, I realized I was ticked off! Then at night I would chastise myself: What was the matter with me? How could I resent prayer?
When October 10, 2004, the last day of the 40 Days for Life campaign, finally rolled around, all of us at the clinic were relieved. But the irony was not lost on me: I was relieved that a prayer campaign was ending. Wasn’t there something wrong with that?
Within six months of that first 40 Days for Life campaign, three very exciting things happened in my life. First, Doug proposed and I accepted. That same month, I was offered a part-time job at the Bryan clinic as a health-center assistant, working directly with patients for intake interviews and counseling women who had just learned they were pregnant. Four weeks later, I graduated from Texas A&M with my undergrad degree in psychology, and my position at the Bryan clinic was increased to full time.
I was thrilled! I’d studied and trained in psychology and counseling, and now I was doing it! I was sure this was what I was born to do. I now spent forty hours a week interacting with patients. I explained procedures and options, comforted, and counseled. I could see the difference I was making in women’s lives, and I took that as proof of God’s blessing.
Now that I was counseling women in crisis pregnancies, asking them if they wanted to see their ultrasound photo before making their final decision, I gave in to my own curiosity, which had surfaced under these new circumstances. I secretly looked up my own patient file and for the first time, laid eyes on the ultrasound photo of my own pregnancy taken the day of my medication abortion just over a year before. At eight weeks the fetus was quite small. As I studied the image, I was somewhat surprised to feel a deep sadness. I believed what I had been taught to believe—that the image showed a fetus and not a baby. But as I slid the photo back into the file, I choked back a wave of unexpected remorse.
“Mom,” I announced into the phone one day after work, “you won’t believe a case we had this week!” I was always eager to tell her something positive from the clinic. “A woman came in complaining of several physical problems. When we examined her, we discovered she had significant uterine cancer, and we got her to the ER for an emergency hysterectomy.” I was overcome with the sense that God’s hand had been present as we fought for this woman’s life. I felt privileged to have been by her side, offering comfort and practical assistance. And I told myself that this situation justified the existence of our clinic and my role there.
Another day a woman came in who had recently been raped and now suspected she was pregnant. She was in such emotional pain. After confirming her fears through a pregnancy test, then listening to her and comforting her, I walked her through the three choices we presented when clients had an unwanted pregnancy: parent, place for adoption, or abort. In this case, after counseling, the woman
On the other hand, I have to admit that I resented it. Clearly the implication was that God was on their side, not ours, and I vacillated between squirming in discomfort and feeling downright irritated at their arrogance. I considered myself a prochoice Christian and knew lots of other people like me. I was helping people who needed help and, I believed, saving and improving lives. I didn’t appreciate being surrounded and constantly watched by people who believed I was on the devil’s side. After the first few weeks, I realized I was ticked off! Then at night I would chastise myself: What was the matter with me? How could I resent prayer?
When October 10, 2004, the last day of the 40 Days for Life campaign, finally rolled around, all of us at the clinic were relieved. But the irony was not lost on me: I was relieved that a prayer campaign was ending. Wasn’t there something wrong with that?
Within six months of that first 40 Days for Life campaign, three very exciting things happened in my life. First, Doug proposed and I accepted. That same month, I was offered a part-time job at the Bryan clinic as a health-center assistant, working directly with patients for intake interviews and counseling women who had just learned they were pregnant. Four weeks later, I graduated from Texas A&M with my undergrad degree in psychology, and my position at the Bryan clinic was increased to full time.
I was thrilled! I’d studied and trained in psychology and counseling, and now I was doing it! I was sure this was what I was born to do. I now spent forty hours a week interacting with patients. I explained procedures and options, comforted, and counseled. I could see the difference I was making in women’s lives, and I took that as proof of God’s blessing.
Now that I was counseling women in crisis pregnancies, asking them if they wanted to see their ultrasound photo before making their final decision, I gave in to my own curiosity, which had surfaced under these new circumstances. I secretly looked up my own patient file and for the first time, laid eyes on the ultrasound photo of my own pregnancy taken the day of my medication abortion just over a year before. At eight weeks the fetus was quite small. As I studied the image, I was somewhat surprised to feel a deep sadness. I believed what I had been taught to believe—that the image showed a fetus and not a baby. But as I slid the photo back into the file, I choked back a wave of unexpected remorse.
“Mom,” I announced into the phone one day after work, “you won’t believe a case we had this week!” I was always eager to tell her something positive from the clinic. “A woman came in complaining of several physical problems. When we examined her, we discovered she had significant uterine cancer, and we got her to the ER for an emergency hysterectomy.” I was overcome with the sense that God’s hand had been present as we fought for this woman’s life. I felt privileged to have been by her side, offering comfort and practical assistance. And I told myself that this situation justified the existence of our clinic and my role there.
Another day a woman came in who had recently been raped and now suspected she was pregnant. She was in such emotional pain. After confirming her fears through a pregnancy test, then listening to her and comforting her, I walked her through the three choices we presented when clients had an unwanted pregnancy: parent, place for adoption, or abort. In this case, after counseling, the woman
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