Looking for Jane (38)
Evelyn sniffed. “You could say I’m feeling quite human about the whole thing, then.”
“The best physicians do, Miss Taylor. And your experience will allow you to offer a uniquely valuable level of compassion to your patients. Cultivate that. Cherish it. The terror you obviously experienced has brought you here to my office today, with this incredibly courageous request. You would not be here otherwise, now, would you?”
Evelyn couldn’t argue. “So, will you teach me?”
“It would be my honour, Miss Taylor.”
Evelyn’s heart leapt in her chest. “Thank you, Dr. Morgentaler.”
The doctor surveyed her for a moment. “Before you make this decision, let me ask you something. Do you have any loved ones close to you?”
“No. Not really,” Evelyn replied, clearing the faces that floated into her mind. “Just my roommates, and a brother in Toronto. He’s a doctor, too, his wife is a nurse. Why do you ask?”
“I ask because this window behind my head is made of bulletproof glass.”
His words sucked the air from the room and a shivering silence descended. Evelyn’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the window. Leaves on the maple tree beyond it swayed innocently in the breeze.
When the doctor spoke again, his tone was carefully measured. “Providing abortions is, as you must know, illegal in this country, Miss Taylor, except under the strictest of circumstances. I assume you have familiarized yourself with them?”
Evelyn nodded. “Only if continuation of the pregnancy would endanger the life or health of the woman.”
“Indeed. And the parameters of what constitutes ‘health’ are further determined by a biased and ludicrously broken system made up entirely of men. Thus, to fill the need, there are underground networks operating across Canada and the United States, and overseas as well. It is a calling, not a vocation, Miss Taylor. And it is a calling you can only answer at enormous personal risk. It is both morally and spiritually challenging. You must understand that the cost is high.”
Evelyn took a long, deep breath. “Dr. Morgentaler, they can’t take anything away from me that I haven’t already lost. I assure you.”
He paused, a sad smile on his face, then offered for her to come observe the three patients he had booked for that afternoon.
“I’m sorry, sir, did you say three procedures?” she asked him, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“How… how many do you do in a week?”
“Ten to fifteen, usually.”
Evelyn was stunned. “There’s that much of a need?”
Dr. Morgentaler folded his hands together on his desk. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly.
“As long as the male sex continues to exist,” he said, “there will always be a need, Miss Taylor.”
Out on the sunny Ottawa street, Evelyn shakes her head to clear the weighty thoughts of the past. Today is about the future. She tears the Abortion Caravan poster off the telephone pole, folds it, and tucks it into the front pocket of her jeans, turning her feet in the direction of Parliament Hill.
She hails a taxi and throws herself into the back seat. “Confederation Park, please.”
As the taxi crosses through a bustling intersection, Evelyn fishes the poster out of her pocket and lays it flat on her lap.
THE WOMEN ARE COMING, indeed. Several of them had set off from Vancouver several weeks ago, stopping in smaller towns and cities along the way to hold rallies, collect more troops, and stir up media coverage. Women’s liberation is hot news, after all.
This protest is overdue and necessary. The radical feminists who started the abortion caravan in Vancouver say something needs to be done on a bigger scale. “A radical overhaul of the system,” one woman shouted into the camera on last night’s news. Her long blond hair flew around her face in the spring wind as she shouted, her eyes bright with anger and exhilaration. Evelyn thought she looked like a superhero. “The state needs to recognize women’s rights to their own bodies,” the woman said, “and make sure all women can exercise those rights regardless of their race or income.”
Evelyn had watched the woman from her usual spot on the living room couch, felt her face flush with excitement in the glow of the television screen.
“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” Tom asked her in his melodious, English-accented voice from the other end of the couch. Evelyn glanced at him before returning her eyes to the screen. “Well, yes. I think I have to.”
Tom was silent for a moment. “You could be risking your career, Eve. There will be arrests. This part might not be your fight, you know. You do enough.”
The news anchor moved on to the next story and Evelyn had no excuse other than to turn to her best friend, whose eyes were filled with concern. She and Tom had moved into their own apartment, just the two of them, the previous year.
A couple of months into their friendship, Tom had been open with her about his sexuality to ensure she didn’t get the wrong idea about his intentions. But for Evelyn, their relationship was a perfect scenario. She could talk to Tom on a level in a professional capacity, and he understood the demands of their work on her time and mental and emotional energy. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. It was straightforward and comfortable. Evelyn was looking for companionship, not romance. Someone to sit and read with when the snow is falling outside, or talk to over coffee on lazy Sunday mornings while she works on a crossword from the newspaper.