When I was twenty years old I was pretty much a categorical train wreck: hiatus from college, habitual drug user, severely depressed and heavily medicated, under-employed as a terrible waitress, and, cherry on top, in a physically abusive relationship with an alcoholic who had an arrest record literally the length of my arm, and who may or may not have also been unemployed/technically homeless at the time, I don’t remember.
I was such a disaster that when I suspected I’d gotten myself into an unprecedented amount of trouble – a real feat! – and thought I was pregnant, I decided not to spend twenty bucks on a pregnancy test from CVS. I needed that money for pot, or maybe gas so I could drive places to get some pot, or maybe-but-probably-not food. Instead I decided to go to a “pregnancy crisis center” here in Baltimore, where I could get a free pregnancy test and fast track myself to an abortion if need be. It wasn’t a decision I relished or took lightly, but under the circumstances, I didn’t see any other realistic options.
I looked up “Abortions” in the phone book, picked a listing that was close to my apartment, smoked a blunt, and drove to what I thought was a clinic. I pulled open a foreboding door between an ice cream parlor and an underground bowling alley and climbed the stairs to a waiting room with walls adorned with pictures of babies, 
families holding hands, and Jesus. This should have been a red flag.
I don’t remember exactly everything that happened that evening, but I do remember telling the woman at reception that I was pretty sure I was pregnant, needed a test, and wanted to talk to someone about an abortion if I was indeed pregnant.
“Sure, sweetie, have a seat.”
In the waiting room I had to watch a 30 minute video on the development of a fetus (or “baby”) from conception to birth, complete with “can feel pain” and “can hear his or her mother’s voice” milestones. Then I guess I peed on a stick and gave it to someone? I don’t remember. After that I had to sit in a room with piles of pastel colored baby blankets and onesies and packages of diapers while an old lady in a cardigan with lambs all over it asked me, if my test came out positive and I was pregnant, why I wanted to have an abortion.
“Um. Well, I don’t want a baby right now, I have no money, my boyfriend is crazy and in and out of jail, I’m on medication that I know causes severe birth defects, I use drugs and drink and smoke, and I would be a generally, all-around horrible mother.”
She listened to me with sympathetic doe eyes and then went on a giant tirade — in a very sweet, gentle, grandmotherly manner that sounded nothing like a tirade — about how abortions cause cancer, don’t always work, hurt the baby and can make you infertile, BUT the good news was if I wanted to keep my baby (I noticed she used the phrase “your baby” over and over again) they could give me vitamins and free 
diapers, so that was something to consider. OR I could have my baby and give it up for adoption (because people were just linin’ up and dying to adopt mixed race, fetal alcohol syndrome babies with spina bifida).
This went on for awhile, and of course, being a fucked-up, scared, confused, twenty-year old moron, she totally convinced me that it would be way safer and smarter for all parties to not “kill my baby.”
I mean, really, if you think about it, I bet if I’d decided to have the baby my boyfriend and I would have just straightened up and become totally upstanding and responsible, financially secure, loving parents. Our families probably would have been really supportive, and those anti-depressants I was on, which in order to get a prescription for, I had to sign a waiver acknowledging the fact that they caused severe birth defects, probably wouldn’t have done any major damage – nothing those vitamins couldn’t counteract. My boyfriend and I probably would have gotten married and those free diapers would have gotten us off on the right foot and on the road to a happy marriage and secure future. I bet my boyfriend would have even gotten and kept a really good job despite his criminal record and penchant for going ape-shit when he drank.
As it happened, THANK GOD, I wasn’t pregnant. After my self-appointed life coach and I wrapped up our talk, they told me my test was negative and I should be more 
careful and wait to have sex until I was married and ready to have a baby. Free condoms? Birth control pills? Information on resources for substance abuse or domestic violence? Nope, nope, nope, and nope. I got the hell out of there as fast as I could and cried all the way home.
This was years ago, and fortunately, I’ve calmed down and gotten my life together, at least to a reasonable degree. I’m no longer debilitated by depression and haven’t done drugs in years. I’ve graduated college (twice!), joined the work force, volunteer in my community, and have even managed a couple of healthy relationships with the fellas. As I write and re-read this, I’m surprised at how foreign that period in my life seems compared to my life now. Despite the passing of time and the difference in the circumstances of my current situation and those of my past, this little chapter in my life nauseates me on two counts.
One, I made countless bad decisions that brought me to that place. I gave the finger to all of the advantages I’d been blessed with and acted with little regard for other people or personal consequences. I hate knowing that I squandered time, opportunities, relationships, happiness, and my health. That sucked. But what also really sucked is the woman in the lamb sweater. The thought of her makes my heart beat fast and my stomach turn.
For me to assume I know everything about the sweater lady would be as unfair as her assuming she knew what I should do if faced with an unwanted pregnancy (for those of you at home, I’m on my high horse right now). But here’s what I do know: I came to her in trouble and needing help. I was basically a kid and I was a mess and scared and alone. I went to that clinic with the understanding that I would be receiving attention from a medical professional and/or a professional councilor; I highly doubt 
that this woman was either of those. While I will concede that she probably had good intentions, her and the center’s actions were undeniably wrong. They were dishonest by misrepresenting themselves as abortion providers. They used pathetic scare tactics and tried to appeal to my sense of guilt and shame in order for me to make a huge life decision in keeping with their principles. I needed someone to objectively listen to me, not smile and nod knowingly and then push their own agenda. I wonder how many scared young girls have gone there looking for help and instead got this woman’s dogma shoved down their throats (or up their hoo-ha’s, as the case may be).
Look, I don’t like abortions. Who does? I think you’d be pretty hard-pressed to find a girl or woman who decides to terminate a pregnancy without serious consideration and equally serious heartache. Life is precious, which is exactly why there is no way I was going to bring a child into the world under such shitty circumstances and saddle myself with a kid I didn’t want and couldn’t care for properly. I know that some people do not agree with my reasoning, and I respect that. I even understand it. What I do not respect or understand is the prevalence of centers like these and our country’s attitude toward reproductive education and health. I’m astonished by the fact that we have a pop-culture infused with sex, an internet full of porn, and millions of teenagers and young adults that are sexually active, but at the same time we have policies of abstinence education, potential federal de-funding of Planned Parenthood, hospitals and medical professionals that refuse to provide abortions under any circumstance, and the existence of Crisis Pregnancy Centers that misrepresent themselves and spew misinformation to girls and women who need advocates, not preachers.
It would be really great if people only had sex when they were mature adults, in loving, committed relationships and responsible enough to take precautions to prevent unwanted pregnancies and STDs. It would also be really great if condoms 
never broke and birth control was 100% effective. But that is not reality. It’s time to truly start treating the subjects of sex and reproduction with the respect they command. It’s time to provide kids and teenagers with accurate and frank information. It’s time for the government to protect women’s access to birth control and abortions, and it’s time for the bogus, fraudulent Crisis Pregnancy Centers be shut down.