Ajabu shares a very personal story.

In light of the SCOTUS decision, I want to share a very personal story of my own pre-Roe experience that I’ve never discussed publicly, but because you jackals are like family I want you to hear it.  I need you to hear it.   Considering that the other two principals (girlfriend and doctor) are both deceased, it’s become my story alone.

What the Extreme Court has just done is to recreate the horror I’m about to describe.  I realize as I contemplate writing this that all the minor details that I thought I’d for gotten over the decades are flooding back, so it’s clear that I was more affected by this than I thought I was.

I’m old now.  In 1967 I wasn’t.  In early 1967 I got my steady girlfriend – my first true love that I adored – pregnant.  At the time she was a 20 year old student, raised by a single mother and the first in her family to attend college.

I was a young musician struggling to establish myself as a professional.  I wasn’t upset that she was pregnant.  I had wanted to marry her anyway.  Her response, however, was she wan’t about to drop out of college and said, “If I marry you it will be in spite of, not because of, the pregnancy.”

So we were looking at the only other option.  Abortion.  A totally illegal and VERY expensive procedure.  It had to be right.  I loved her.  And I’d heard the stories of coat hangers and back alleys.  Time was of the essence.

I was terrified of the cost.  Not that I wouldn’t pay it.  I just didn’t have it!

I talked to everyone I knew, looking for a solution.

Days became weeks, and still no answer.  Fortunately for me, a pianist I was working with came from old money and his mother was a an M.D.with some sense and a connection!!

She wasn’t about to get directly involved, but passed on contact info to a Dr. Robert Spencer through her son.  Dr. Spencer was apparently already famous as an illegal abortionist.  Check his Wikipedia page.  He was!  And his price was $50!!!  Hallelujah!!

And that’s when the spy novel shit started for real.

I had to write to a P.O. box. “Dear Dr. Spencer: I have been told by a friend you may be able to help me.  Date of the last period was xx/xx.”  I mailed it and waited.  And the clock was ticking…

About a week later I received an envelope in the mail with no return address.  55 years later I can can still quote it verbatim: “On Monday at Noon and the following A.M.  Bring no luggage to the office.  Make no arrangements to stay until you have been examined.  Be careful.  This is the most difficult time.”

The letter arrived on a Saturday.  This was 1967.  No ATMs.  No access to money.  I had no credit cards and he was in Ashland, PA.  I had to fly there by Monday morning.  To see a (hopefully legitimate) stranger to perform surgery on my girlfriend on the basis of a cryptic, unsigned, typed note.

First things first.  I had to find some money, book a flight and explain to my girlfriend’s mother what was going on.  I was able to get the local grocer to let me cash a check for $100 so we could at least eat and get a room.

I then called the pianist whose mother arranged it and he advanced the plane fare and gave me more cash for me to return to him when the bank opened on Monday.

Then the hard part – her Mom.  I must have talked a hell of a game because once she recovered from the initial shock and rage she agreed to allow her daughter to get a 6:00 am flight to another state with me, to see a stranger for an illegal procedure.  She hoped to see her daughter alive again.

Monday morning we set out.  We flew to Reading, PA, rented a car and drove to Ashland.  We arrived about 10:00 am and went to the office.  Greeted by an elderly receptionist.  I looked at our surroundings.  A bunch of goofy signs like “We grow too soon old and too late smart.”   An equally elderly gentleman arrived and escorted my girlfriend back to the exam room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.  I’m in a nightmare scenario being tended to by Dementia patients posing as medical staff.

When she returned with some pills and an appointment for 9:00 the next morning, we went to check into our motel.  I was struck by the fact that Ashland is a small rural (white) town and the only apparent minorities were us (Black) and another young couple (Asian) while the locals were like “Oh, Dr, Spencer’s abortion patients, huh?”  We were like exhibits…

The night was bizarre.  After taking the medication, Girlfriend spent the night on the toilet trying to induce whatever while I tried to comfort her.  It was a nightmare.

With very little sleep we headed to our morning appointment.  Everything went smoothly (although I was still concerned that we were dealing with geriatric medical staff).  This was a blind contact, after all.  They took her to the operating room, and I spent an endless agonizing time alone waiting for the conclusion and hoping for the best.

At last, the assistant, a man in his 80’s I’d guess, came out to tell me that the procedure went well, no complications – however – she was still unconscious and needed to be moved to the recovery room.  Neither of these elderly men were physically able to pick up an unconscious young woman, they had no rolling equipment, and I was invited into the operating room to remove her from the table and carry her to recovery.

I then spent the next hour holding her hand waiting for her to regain consciousness.  She finally did, I left her to dress and paid the $50 bill.  FIFTY DOLLARS!  For saving this young girl’s future…

Dr. Robert Spencer had been performing these procedures illegally since 1921 simply because because he was a good, righteous and moral man doing the right thing and, in my eyes, a Saint!

We left, drove back to Reading and stopped to eat before going to the airport.  I found a pay phone and called her Mom.  She answered with fear in her voice.  I said, “I’m bringing you back a carefree college girl.”

From that day forward till the day she died, I was Mom’s favorite person.  We took our flight home and resumed our lives, already in progress.*  Relieved, but emotionally exhausted.  It shouldn’t have been so fucking complicated!

Addendum:

*I don’t want to give the impression that this was easy.  Quite the contrary.  That’s why I’ve included so much detail.  The experience had a profound impact both emotionally and psychologically on both of us.   It changed the trajectory of our lives.

We reluctantly participated in a felony (that never should have been a criminal act to begin with) and, because of the nature of the situation and secrecy surrounding it, kept us in a state of confusion and random terror all the way through.  And we were kids at the time.

Six years later I could have driven her to a local facility where she’d have been prepared and nurtured throughout.

Now?  FUCK SCOTUS!!

* Dr. Spencer died in 1969 having done extraordinary good for nearly 50 years.  Rest In Power!

* Girlfriend and I never could quite get past this experience, never married but never completely let go.  We remained close friends (and frequently lovers) for another 20 years. She never married.  I did.  We remained friends till she died.

Ajabu Shares a Personal StoryPost + Comments (98)