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Charleston (AP):
Danielle Maness clasped the hands of hundreds of anxious patients who lay on a now-empty operating room table. She recorded countless vital signs, sent dozens of snacks to the recovery area, and it was silent now.
In West Virginia’s only abortion clinic, the head nurse looks at every darkened room, wondering if she’ll treat patients here again for abortion care.
“It really makes me sick that we don’t know what their future holds for them,” Manes said of the residents who depend on West Virginia Women’s Health. “It’s a heartbreak that’s hard to put into words. There are all these ‘what ifs’.”
The waiting room was supposed to be full for two days last week, when the clinic reserved all seats for abortion appointments. But after the U.S. Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade a few days ago and ruled that states can ban abortion, the clinic was forced to suspend the procedure because of state laws in the 1800s. The ACLU of West Virginia filed a lawsuit on behalf of the clinic to declare the law unenforceable so staff could resume abortions immediately. Other states are at various stages of legal woes.
Across the country, staff at clinics closing abortion services are feeling fear and stress as they try to pick up the slack and chart a way forward. At the West Virginia Center, the days following the historic court ruling have brought a different kind of grief to employees as their new reality begins, one that, Manes said, will be long after the decision’s initial trauma wandering within.
The conversation with the crazy patient on the first day inevitably looped in her head.
“I don’t think any of us can stop it,” she said. “It’s always on our minds.”
Like many abortion clinics, the facility does not offer abortions every day. Several days of the week are dedicated to routine gynecological care—cervical exams, cancer screenings—mainly for low-income Medicaid patients with nowhere to go. The determination to continue this work inspires the staff.
cancel appointment
Manes was one of the few staff members tasked with calling patients to cancel abortion appointments after the decision was released. On the other end of the phone, she had never heard people speak so terrified.
The entire staff found themselves in a state of crisis for days, although they and others across the country expected the ruling to last for months. “You think you’re ready for this moment, but you’re never really ready until it becomes a reality,” said executive director Katie Quiniones.
She watched her employees collapse and sob. Some call patients or answer the phone. The furloughed workers showed up, some still in pajamas, to lighten the load and provide support for colleagues. Quiñonez encouraged everyone to take a break and often manage their calls themselves.
She will always remember that Friday as one of the worst days of her life. Over the weekend, she turned off her phone, lay under a thick blanket on the sofa, ate junk food and watched TV. It was the only way she could escape and deal with it.
When she and her staff returned to work, she put off filling a vacancy that had canceled abortion appointments. Some patients still need other services, but she wants to give staff a breather. She told them to be late if needed. The clinic’s room was largely empty, dark and quiet.
However, the phone still rang.
Beth Fiddler sits at his desk behind the glass reception window of the clinic in the waiting room. She has no patients to register, no Medicaid data to scan into charts, no information packages to distribute.
Instead, she found herself answering the same questions over and over again, directing callers to a hotline or website to help them find the nearest out-of-state abortion provider.
“Are you guys closing soon?” No, the clinic will be open for other services.
plan B
“Can I get a Plan B – the morning-after pill? How about an IUD or other birth control?” I’ll make an appointment for you.
“Are you sure I can’t book an abortion? Isn’t there a loophole, an exception?” The clinic doesn’t offer abortions.
Some callers denied it. Some remained stoic, some cried. Some responded with hostility, insisting Fiddler was wrong. She tried to be polite and empathetic – but the conversation took its toll.
“It frustrates me,” she said. “I’m already stressed and frustrated. I understand wanting to find a way, but there’s no way.”
Fiddler prides itself on making people feel welcome and safe, as the first workers patients saw. She said it was frustrating to have to shut them out and just refer them to a website.
“Even though I feel helpless about it, I can’t imagine how they feel,” she said.
Outside the clinic, it is also very quiet. No hum of patients arriving in the parking lot being escorted by volunteers in pink vests. The only cars belong to the staff and security. Across the road, a lot owned by an anti-abortion group was vacant, save for a large white cross.
A regular protester, a pastor holding a “Jesus Loves You” sign, prayed outside for several early mornings, but the crowd that usually begs the sick to reconsider is gone. Some cars slow down when passing by. Workers, recognizing some of it as transport for protesters, imagined the clinic being monitored — to make sure patients didn’t go there for abortions.
Director Quiñonez said she knew the next steps would be challenging and that workers still had a long way to go to recover from the pain.
“Our employees need space and time to deal with this very painful loss,” she said. “And all the secondary traumas we experience from all of our patients.”
Simply working is hard work, but the staff are all dedicated to helping patients.
“Yeah, we’re tired, we’re depressed, we’re angry,” Quiniones said. “But it’s far from over. I want to assure people that no matter how hopeless and dark it feels right now, this is not the end.”
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