My Experience with Planned Parenthood
Years ago, we had just moved to a new city and I was pregnant. A friend recommended an obstetrician, and I went--and then my insurance changed.
A physician recommended a different obstetrician, one my new insurance covered. I liked him--much more, in fact, than I'd liked my first choice. He exuded competence, but he didn't rush through my appointment. He chatted. He asked about my first labor and delivery, about my husband.
A few days later, at church, a woman asked me what doctor I was using. I told her, and she blanched. "What is it?" I asked.
"He's the president of the local chapter of Planned Parenthood," she said.
With mixed emotions, I kept my next appointment. The doctor was nice. He was competent. He listened to my baby's heartrate and smiled. "I'm predicting a boy," he said. (He was right.)
He was nice. He was competent. I liked him.
But how could I trust my baby's life to a man who thought babies were disposable? How could I trust him to catch my child, knowing he had dropped other children into medical refuse bins?
"Do you mind if I ask what you think of abortion?" I said politely, as if I were asking what he thought about a particular restaurant, or a brand of shoe.
He looked surprised and a bit wary. "Not at all," he said. "My job is to bring babies safely into the world. I don't do abortions. Never have, never will."
"But you're the president of Planned Parenthood?"
"That's right. And there has never been a single abortion here on my watch."
I was relieved, and said so. And he went on to tell me about his medical student days, when the med school decided all residents should learn to do abortions--and learn by doing, of course.
He refused. They threatened. He led a protest, supported by many of his peers. The med school backed down.
"My job," he repeated, "Is to bring babies safely into this world. That is what I do."
[Note: His tenure at Planned Parenthood ended several years ago.]
A physician recommended a different obstetrician, one my new insurance covered. I liked him--much more, in fact, than I'd liked my first choice. He exuded competence, but he didn't rush through my appointment. He chatted. He asked about my first labor and delivery, about my husband.
A few days later, at church, a woman asked me what doctor I was using. I told her, and she blanched. "What is it?" I asked.
"He's the president of the local chapter of Planned Parenthood," she said.
With mixed emotions, I kept my next appointment. The doctor was nice. He was competent. He listened to my baby's heartrate and smiled. "I'm predicting a boy," he said. (He was right.)
He was nice. He was competent. I liked him.
But how could I trust my baby's life to a man who thought babies were disposable? How could I trust him to catch my child, knowing he had dropped other children into medical refuse bins?
"Do you mind if I ask what you think of abortion?" I said politely, as if I were asking what he thought about a particular restaurant, or a brand of shoe.
He looked surprised and a bit wary. "Not at all," he said. "My job is to bring babies safely into the world. I don't do abortions. Never have, never will."
"But you're the president of Planned Parenthood?"
"That's right. And there has never been a single abortion here on my watch."
I was relieved, and said so. And he went on to tell me about his medical student days, when the med school decided all residents should learn to do abortions--and learn by doing, of course.
He refused. They threatened. He led a protest, supported by many of his peers. The med school backed down.
"My job," he repeated, "Is to bring babies safely into this world. That is what I do."
[Note: His tenure at Planned Parenthood ended several years ago.]
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