My calling is the provision of abortion care. I grew up in Massachusetts, a liberal state where I took reproductive health access for granted. In college, I interned at a local women’s clinic providing contraception education and referrals for abortion to those who needed them. I didn’t think it exceptional that I had three or more places within a short drive of my college campus to which to refer these women.

After college, I moved west and began work as a medical assistant in a Pacific Northwest clinic that specialized in abortion care and was a referral center for advanced second trimester procedures. At the time, it was the only free-standing clinic where women could access care beyond 16 or 20 weeks. I saw women travel from many states away, having sold their wedding rings, family heirlooms, or even their bodies to afford the gas, the hotel, the childcare and the procedure fee.

I saw women travel from many states away, having sold their wedding rings, family heirlooms, or even their bodies to afford the gas, the hotel, the childcare and the procedure fee.

Washington Medicaid covered the procedure, but the eastern half of the state is a seven hour drive away. Alaska State Medicaid covered the procedure and the cost of flying women down from the far snowy reaches of that enormous state, if they could gather the wherewithal to get to the airport and make the needed arrangements. They had to travel alone, of course, and stay overnight in a hotel by themselves, and obtain a procedure with no support because Alaska didn’t cover the fare for friends or family too. I saw Canadian women whose provinces restricted abortion services to some lesser gestational age, or simply didn’t have the providers. I met women who became pregnant on every single method of contraception available, including permanent sterilization. One of our staff became pregnant with no tubes and half an ovary. She had her procedure under local anesthesia and after a short rest and some graham crackers, got up and back to work.

During my tenure at this clinic, I struggled to decide the next step of my career. I’d been planning a short break in my studies and applying to PhD programs, but as the days went on, I couldn’t move past these women’s stories. While I’d come up thinking that women’s reproductive access was secure and easily available, my daily work experience told me this wasn’t true for most American women. I understood I had to work with these women, help them live the lives they were meant to. And as I dealt daily with the financial, medical, and emotional crises these unplanned, unwanted, or abnormal pregnancies represented, I realized I had a gift that would allow me to help. I was equipped; I could become an abortion provider.

I realized I had a gift that would allow me to help. I was equipped; I could become an abortion provider.

Instead of PhD classes, I enrolled in physics, organic chemistry, and biology classes and set my sights on medical school. Through late night cram sessions with molecular models, trying lab classes that made me cry in frustration when my calculations didn’t make sense, and expensive tutoring sessions with a boy genius nearly half my age who finally got me through the necessary math, I kept these women in mind. Their stories fueled me and fed me during the long nights of study. Their stories became my own, as I moved along in my studies, pursued training. And I bring them along with me now, as I work as an abortion provider in an ostensibly easier place. They will always be my motivation and my strength.