“They are different,” said Christina. “Just… different.”
Cheryl agreed. The three of us were returning from a Planned Parenthood center in Reading, Pa. We were discussing the claims the Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance (FMLA) was making about what they called false pregnancy centers, as well as the claims the pro-life movement made against Planned Parenthood.
“Yeah. I think the FMLA are using polarizing language, like nearly all the rhetoric in the whole pro-life/pro-choice debate,” I added.
The three of us had gone to Care Net Pregnancy Resource Center in Kutztown, Pa, and Planned Parenthood posing as a pregnant couple or a pregnant single mother.
“They just offer different services,” said Cheryl, from the back of the white 1986 Toyota Tercel I was driving. “At one, they really talk to you, and the other is so…”
“So medical?” I finished as she trailed off.
In the beginning of 2009, the FMLA began a campaign to expose what they term “fake clinics.” According to Feministcampus.org, fake clinics will “pose as comprehensive women’s health clinics for crisis pregnancies, but offer no abortion services or referrals, and no birth control options.” They “are typically run by anti-choice organizations with staff and volunteers who are not usually licensed medical professionals.” According to the website, they also intimidate women out of abortion and provide misleading information.
“Fake clinics” using names such as “Crisis Pregnancy Centers” and “Pregnancy Resource Centers,” locate themselves near college campuses or near pregnancy centers that offer abortive services, such as Planned Parenthood. They target young people and low income communities, and outnumber what the FMLA terms “legitimate” women’s clinics 2 to 1.
The day before our trip to Planned Parenthood, Cheryl and I went to the Care Net center posed as Elizabeth Thomas and George, a couple which had been dating for one year and two months. Elizabeth and George had just discovered that they were 7 weeks pregnant only 5 days prior. The couple made an appointment the day before to meet with a representative to talk about their options. The Care Net representative informed Elizabeth that she would need to bring documented proof of pregnancy, or she would have to take a pregnancy test.
“So, what did you do?” I asked Cheryl. “Are we going to do this, or are we going to no show?”
“I left them a message telling them I left my papers at home,” she said, “and that I haven’t told my parents and can’t really ask them to get them for me. I kind of freaked out.”
The couple walked down the main street that runs through Kutztown. They only had to go one block from the university before they arrived. The center was the right side of a duplex house, two stories high, with space for an attic. There were concrete staircases on either side of the divided porch with a green sign on the door that said to use the side entrance.
The pair walked around the side and entered the small, quiet room with a loveseat couch on the right and a desk on the left. There was a small painting of a ship directly across from the door. A staircase was immediately to their left and there were doorways on the far left and right corners of the room, only 5 feet away. Above the couch were two posters encouraging abstinence, one including “Ten Reasons to Keep Your Pants On.” An older woman came out of the entrance on the far right and greeted them. She was short and wrinkled, wearing a peach colored sweater and khaki pants. Her hair was the color of Kentucky clay, and frizzy. She wore large glasses and ambled along with the aid of a crutch. When she was younger, she had sustained a neck injury, she said.
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth?” she said uncertainly. She had mentioned earlier she was extremely nervous. “I have an appointment?”
“Elizabeth…” the woman said sweetly, as she shuffled over to her list on the desk. “Elizabeth. Ah! 3 o’clock. Yes, she’ll (the counselor) will be ready shortly. Just have a seat on the couch and fill out these forms.”
They sank into the plush tan couch. It was the most comfortable amenity in this extremely uncomfortable situation. The forms the woman had handed Elizabeth were a reference sheet asking for her name, address and date of birth, while the other was a statement of understanding stating that most of the people in the building were volunteers, and this was not a medical facility. The old woman sat on the chair opposite them at the desk, occasionally glancing at them. One could not blame her. It was a tiny room, and they were the most interesting things in it.
Minutes later, another woman emerged from the same door the older woman had used. She was about 5’6” and chubby. She wore a black shirt with the flower outlined on it in dark, glossy purple, with khaki pants. She appeared to be in her mid-30s with neck-length blonde hair, and introduced herself as Marsha.
“I’m so sorry for causing you stress over the pregnancy papers and test,” she said apologetically to Elizabeth. “You don’t need to worry about it today. You must be going through so much. I didn’t mean to add to it.”
“That’s okay,” she replied.
Marsha led them through the door she had entered from, down a short, narrow hallway into a room with three chairs that was even smaller than the one they had just been in. As they entered, George noticed a small stand to his right that held pamphlets with the names of various sexually transmitted diseases, as well as some on adoption and one or two Christian-based pamphlets.
Elizabeth and George took seats across from one another in chairs that were nearly as soft as the couch, while Marsha completed the triangle in a simple wooden chair with a thin red pad. She sat facing Elizabeth and crossed her legs. Her body language seemed almost to shut George out, and everything he said, he had to interject.
After some brief introductory conversation, she stopped, and asked Elizabeth how she was feeling. Elizabeth spoke haltingly, so Marsha asked another question.
“Do you feel like you’ve lost control?” she asked, shutting George out even more, if that were possible.
“Well, yeah,” Elizabeth replied, looking to the ceiling then back at Marsha. “Kinda.”
“And who took away that control?”
“Ummm…” Elizabeth looked to George as he shrug began to open his mouth. “The baby?”
“Is it the baby that took control, or did you ever actually lose the control?”
“Well,” Elizabeth paused, “I guess the baby didn’t take the control.”
“Right, and most people are tempted to blame the baby. But you chose to have sex. So did you ever really lose it?” She turned to face George.
“Uh, I guess not,” he answered. “But we didn’t exactly plan it.”
“No, you didn’t plan for this,” she answered back in a gentle, measured tone, “but you didn’t not plan for it either. Do you understand?”
George played dumb. Did she mean use condoms or birth control?
“Casual sex outside of a committed relationship,” she added, “does not work.”
She turned back to face Elizabeth, shutting George out again.
“Well, you have three options.” They took this to mean abortion, adoption, and keeping their fake child. “You don’t get off scott free with any of them. They each have consequences. Its just that, two of them ends with a child, and one doesn’t.”
“Well, what about an abortion?” George asked. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a dad, but not like this. Right now, its just what? A little blob?”
She turned to face George again. She maintained a smile, and spoke in a gentle, almost reassuring manner. She talked about the “little person” that would grow into a human being like the two of us. She never discounted it as an option, saying to Elizabeth that she should have no shadow of a doubt if that is something she wants to do.
“You can’t take an abortion back. There is also the adoption route. They both end with the two of you not taking care of a child, but one ends with a life, and the other doesn’t.”
“Well, what about those children that get bounced from one foster home to the next?” George protested. “Those kids that don’t get to have a stable family, or get taken in by one of those parents that take, like, six foster kids and cant care for them all? I would never want that to happen to anybody, let alone my child.”
“Well,” she started, slowly, “you could always do an open adoption. You could even pick the parents, down to what religion they are. All I am trying to say is that if you abort, there are consequences to that, as well as with any other option. But one ends with a life, and the other does not. And ultimately,” she said as she turned to speak to Elizabeth, “its not your choice.”
“Okay, but if we kept it,” George interjected, changing the subjet, “I don’t want to rush into a marriage.”
“I would never recommend that a couple gets married just because they are having a child,” Marsha said with a smile. “You two are too smart and savvy to use that as a quick fix.”
By the end of the session, the trio had discussed open and closed adoption, keeping and caring for the child, and abortion. Due to its finality, abortion was discussed the least. “Its there, and then its not.”
The couple was led out and told that for any referrals, they would need to bring their documentation so they would not put themselves in danger of pregnancy fraud. Marsha asked if they would like some pamphlets, and the couple accepted an envelope with three pamphlets with abortion information, one about marriage and relationships, and another about adoption.
“So, did you find Marsha intimidating, Cheryl?” I asked as we were driving along Route 222 South, back towards Kutztown University. Back from Reading, and Planned Parenthood.
“No, I didn’t think she was intimidating, but she definitely did share her beliefs on why she is against abortion. Christina, what was your name back in there again?”
“In Planned Parenthood?” she asked. “Alicia Kaas.”
Less than an hour prior, George and Alicia had been in the Reading Planned Parenthood. Elizabeth arrived shortly after them, but this time she was the single mother facing a difficult decision.
The clinic was near central Reading, located in a heavily Hispanic area. George and Alicia walked into the windowless clinic, closing the heavy metal door behind them as they stepped into the small foyer area. There was a locked door and heavy glass plates looking into the dim waiting room. They pressed the buzzer and stepped into the waiting room. The receptionist area was immediately to the left, encircled by thick glass plates with a small slit to speak through. It was more reminiscent of a prison than a medical facility.
“Excuse me,” George yelled through the slit in the glass, his voice startling him. The room was as silent as death and as somber as a funeral. “Excuse me, do you offer counseling appointments to discuss pregnancy options?”
“Are you here to terminate?” came the abrupt reply of the large, black woman behind the glass. She was dressed in an off-white dress with a tan sweater jacket over top.
“Uhh, no. We just found out my girlfriend is pregnant and wanted to just talk to someone about our options.”
The woman slid a small yellow piece of paper through the slit and asked Alicia to fill it out. She filled out the small information sheet, and we took a seat. The waiting room was small, with a three steps going to a second level with additional seating. There were posters all around, advocating condom usage and warning about sexually transmitted diseases, as well as some abuse hotline advertisements. Three women sat directly in front of the receptionist, just feet from the door, and a young woman with dyed blonde hair and acne was sitting in the additional seating area. Nobody smiled, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the floor with the exception of a few furtive glances thrown towards the couple.
Elizabeth walked in and asked the same question George had, though not nearly as loudly. She sat down a few seats away from us. Her bright green shirt stood out in the drab environment. George felt out of place. He was the only male in the clinic, and the arrival of the trio had exponentially raised the non-minority population in the room. Within minutes, Elizabeth was called by the nurse. The young woman seated nearby began to curse, and got up to argue with the receptionist. Two minutes later, Alicia was called in and George followed her in. They were led into a tiny room, barely suited for two, let alone three, people. There were more “safe sex” posters on the walls.
“Hi,” started the nurse. “I just want to tell you, I can’t give you a lot of options until you come to a decision yourself on what you want to do. I can let you know what’s out there, but I’m not allowed to tell you what to do.”
“Okay,” said the couple in unison.
“I can tell you what you can do,” she continued, “but we’re not here to…necessarily counsel you on what decision you should make. We’re here to counsel you on what you can choose.”
The nurse was a young blonde woman, with short curly hair. She wore a typical blue flower patterned nurse’s shirt. She explained that pre-natal care was not allowed at centers where abortions were also performed, so she was limited in how much she could offer Alicia. She spoke equally to George and Alicia. She said she could give some information about where to get pre-natal care, or some services that handled adoption, but their clinic only offered abortion services.
“When it comes to making a decision like abortion, that’s something that you have to be 100% completely sure that you want to do. If there’s any shadow of a doubt in your mind, or any of us here feel that it may not be your decision, or not the decision you want to make, its our job to report that to the doctor, and the doctor makes a decision.”
She continued, saying it was the same at every clinic that performed abortive services, as required by law. She was willing to explain what adoption was, and explained open and closed adoptions, however she also reassured the couple that they did not actually deal with the service. The meeting lasted only 20 minutes, and Alicia left with three sheets of paper: a sheet listing the prices of various abortive services, a sheet listing local OB/GYN doctors, and a sheet with the names of a few local adoption services. As abruptly as it began, the meeting was over. The couple left, passing a slightly larger crowd on their way out than had previously been there.
“So, Cheryl, how’d it go?” I asked as Christina and I opened my car doors and climbed in.
“Well,” she answered as she climbed into my back seat, “it was informative.”
“Did they push an abortion on you?” I inquired further.
“Well…” she paused. “No, not really. It seemed like they were a little bit, but… Well, lets just say that if I went in and just said I wanted one, they wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. What about you guys?”
“No, not really,” Christina replied.
We drove around the area, looking for another pregnancy center, preferably one that did not offer abortive services. Finding none, we drove back towards Kutztown.
“So, what do you guys think about the fake clinic claim?”
“Fake?” Christina replied. “I wouldn’t say fake. They are different. Just… different.”
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