When I was 25, I had a safe and legal abortion. Even at that time in New York City, it was dangerous to be a reproductive healthcare provider. Security was low-key, but high. My partner remained in the waiting room. The staff was great, warm, caring, but also at work, with women to care for and procedures to get done.
After I changed, they weighed me and checked my vitals and brought me into a sterile room with the doctor. There I climbed on the table and put my feet in stirrups. I had refused general anesthesia (not totally unusual). They asked if I wanted music and I said The [Dixie] Chicks. They started the procedure. My face got really hot. The doctor talked to me but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.