Alright, so you wanna know what it’s really like volunteering at an abortion clinic, day in, day out? Forget what you think you know from the news or loud arguments. Let me walk you through one of my regular shifts.
First thing? My alarm blared way too early. Like, 5:45 AM early. Coffee was non-negotiable – big, strong cup gulped down while throwing on comfy clothes and sneakers. I grabbed my keys and a granola bar, walked out the door into the quiet morning air. The drive is usually calm, traffic light that early.
Getting Set Up at the Clinic
Rolled into the clinic parking lot just after 7 AM. Saw a few staff cars already there, lights on inside. Walked in the back entrance, buzzing myself in with the code. The quiet hum of the building waking up. Got my volunteer badge clipped on at the coordinator’s office.
“Morning, Janet,” I said. She looked tired but smiled, handing me my assignment sheet and a bright orange vest. “You’re on door support today, Sarah.” Door duty. Okay. It means being the first face people see, sometimes the only friendly one. Gulp. Grabbed the volunteer radio and a water bottle.
Out the Front Door
Took a deep breath and walked outside to my post at the front entrance. Set up my little folding chair right by the door, clipboard in hand. The city starts waking up, buses rumble by. Already noticed a couple of the usual protesters setting up their signs across the street. Felt my shoulders tense just a bit – happens every time.
My job now? It’s actually pretty simple, but intense:
- Greet everyone walking up. Simple “Good morning” or “Hello.”
- Check names against the appointment list on my clipboard. “Can you tell me your first name please?”
- Walk them straight to the second set of doors. Fast. Like, shield-and-escort fast, keeping myself between them and the sidewalk noise. Sometimes I’m literally arm-in-arm if someone’s shaky.
- Call for a Clinic Escort on the radio if protesters get too close or loud. “Charlie team to main entrance, please.”
- Hand them over to the next volunteer or staffer inside the lobby. “This is Maya, she has a 9 AM.”
And I do. this. constantly. For hours. Feet start hurting after the first hour. Back gets stiff.
The People, The Moments
Saw all kinds come through. Women alone, gripping their IDs tight. Couples looking nervous but together. Folks that looked exhausted, relieved, scared, determined – sometimes all at once. Some days you get yelled at from across the street. Makes your stomach clench.
One person I won’t forget? Young woman, looked maybe 19. Wide eyes, walking up alone. Protesters started shouting specific, nasty things as she got near the door. Her steps faltered. I moved fast, got right beside her. “Just look at me, focus here. What’s your first name?” Loud enough so she could hear me over the noise. “Jessica,” she whispered, barely audible. “Okay Jessica, let’s get you inside right now,” I said, putting my arm lightly behind her back, guiding her firmly to the door. Could feel her trembling. Got her inside, to the volunteer waiting at the inner door who took her hand. Felt my own hands shaking a little after.
Another time? Just stood talking with someone’s boyfriend while she was inside. He paced like a caged animal, worried. Offered him water, made some small talk about the terrible coffee in the waiting room, anything to ease the tension. Sometimes you’re just a human presence, waiting with someone.
The Long Haul & Wrapping Up
Shift usually goes like 6 hours. You get a break inside, grab some clinic-provided pizza (it’s always pizza!), chug more water. Maybe chat quickly with other volunteers about how things are going. Then back outside. Sun gets hot, or rain starts falling. Feet really hurt now. Voices from across the street become background noise you try to tune out.
Finally, the call comes over the radio. “Door shift, Sarah, you’re clear. Last patient just checked in for the day.” Oh, sweet relief. Packed up the chair and clipboard, handed the vest and radio back to Janet inside. Said goodbye to the staff and other volunteers filtering out.
Driving Home
Sat in my car for a minute before starting the engine. Felt drained, honestly. Tired feet, tired brain. But also… okay. Needed that moment of quiet. Drove home, the city noise finally fading. Showered, ate something simple. The images, the voices, the moments of connection – they kinda replay in your head. It’s not easy work. It’s messy. It’s loud sometimes. It’s emotionally heavy. But knowing you were a steady, practical, kind presence on what might be the hardest day of someone’s life? That’s what keeps me coming back next Saturday. It’s just about being human for another human, one escort at a time.
