The Clinic by: Katie Rendon Kahn

The Clinic

By: Katie Rendon Kahn

Maya mindlessly clicked the pen until she became aware of irritated stares directed at her. She dug her nails into her palms and concentrated on a kidney-bean-shaped speck in the linoleum and briefly wondered if the clinic deliberately chose such a depressingly muted color scheme. Intentional or not, the effects were kicking in. She visualized every possible outcome and not one of them ended with everyone smiling and congratulating her on having another baby, someone else’s baby.

The second hand ticked ominously, her leg began to twitch in unison until it drove her from the institutional chair. She paced past nervous glances and key-padded door knobs. The same knobs she had been watching for hours, heart aching every time one turned. 

The exit light called her but she couldn’t shake the memory of the three week wait or the stern warning at her prenatal visit that after twelve weeks, there was no turning back. If she walked out that door she was going to have the baby. She just reconciled with her husband, this wouldn’t help.

The closer she got to the exit the more audible the protesters became, “Choice kills those without one.”

“Abortion is murder.”

“Choose life.” She didn’t want to face that crowd again. They didn’t understand. No one would understand if she kept it. She thought back to her post-partum depression and remembered that sometimes the only feeling worse than being alone, is being depressed and having to listen to someone else cry.

Maya sat down again, much to the relief of the three other women in the waiting room. She pulled out the pamphlet the nurse provided her with during her pregnancy test. Ten weeks, you baby is now about an inch long and a half ounce in weight. Maya hooked her index finger at the knuckle and tried to imagine a baby that size. Shaking the thought out of her head she pushed the folded paper back in her purse.

Her stomach summer saulted and Maya’s hand rubbed it instinctively. She let the ticking, sniffling, shifting and protesting slip from her mind as she hummed Brahms Lullaby.

The padded door jerked open startling three wide eyed women. An emotionless nurse reads from her clipboard, “Maya Avery, the doctor will see you now. Maya Avery?”

About Katie Rendon Kahn