“A young girl, a friend of some friends, comes to town to get an abortion and stays with me. Doctor is a well-known, respected abortionist. Charges her $700, which she has to borrow. I’m disturbed to learn she was given no antibiotics. Next day she starts hurting. Neither of us wants to face trouble, so we wait. But the pain gets worse. I waste an hour calling private doctors, leery of a police hassle at Bellevue. Her fever shoots up and I call an ambulance, panicked that I may have waited too long. The doctor, if you can call him that, lets her have it. While he’s examining her and giving her shots and sticking tubes in her and she’s yelling, in terrible pain and scared to death, he starts in, “YOU WENT TO A QUACK, RIGHT?” keeping at it until she says yes, and then, “That was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it? How much did it cost you?” and on and on. She asks him if she’s going to die. The prick won’t say no. When he’s through I ask how she is. He gives me his nastiest you-East-Village-sluts-are-all-alike look and says, “She’s very sick,” loud enough for her to hear, and strides out of the ward. The nurse reassures me. She’s full of penicillin and it’s going to be all right.
She spends a week in the hospital. When she’s ready to go home one of the doctors gives her a prescription for birth control pills, but the clinic pharmacist won’t give her all the pills at once. She has to come back every month. Regulations. I argue: there’s no point to this, it’s harassment. “Don’t be smart, lady,” he says.”
From Up from Radicalism