“I want her to feel pain.” A lump formed in my throat; medical school never prepared me for this. Before I could formulate a response, he let go of his wife’s hand, crossed his arms, and spoke more forcefully through gritted teeth: “I want to know how to make her feel as much pain as possible so this never happens again.” “That’s not what’s going to happen today,” I started tentatively.
The mother sniffed and interrupted wetly, “I never wanted this for her. We got pregnant when I was just 15…” Before she could continue, her husband cut her off, “Enough talk!
Let’s do it. Right now. I want to watch.” When I think about my first abortion patient, the story haunts me — not because I guided her to the best choice for her, but because I watched as her father tried to use medical care as a tool for punishment.
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