Matter of life and death: Days after abortion is legalised, an M&G reporter tries to get one and we ask health workers how they feel about performing the procedure
Maria McCloy
‘HEY sister! Can you help these ladies find out about abortion?” shouted a nurse at Johannesburg General Hospital. This was after I had been sent to several different floors and wards. No one knew where I should actually go, judging by all the places I was sent to.
I was hoping for sensitivity. I was supposed to be 16 years old, and five weeks gone. But what I got was a nurse screeching out my request for all to hear. From others whose help I sought, I got shocked glances.
On the walls were safe sex and child-immunisation posters, but nowhere did I see any posters or pamphlets to do with abortion advice. Neither did I see any signs directing me to where abortions would be performed.
In one ward I approached, nurses behind a desk. As I left I heard them laughing, who knows at what. But it didn’t leave me reassured – just scared and worried.
Finally I got to someone who seemed to know something. She broke off briefly from her phone conversation and, without asking what sort of treatment I wanted, said: “O batla [Do you want] termination?” She too referred me to another floor, but I pleaded that I’d already been sent up and down.
She said the people in the abortion unit probably weren’t around because they’d also been moved from floor to floor. “You know, I don’t blame them if they’ve gone home, they’ve been moved up and down so much.”
I got the feeling I wouldn’t be getting my abortion in a hurry. She said they were testing people, and they were booked for two weeks. She said something about not having the right medicines. I was told to come in the next morning because the staff left at 4pm. It was 3.30 in the afternoon.
At Baragwanath Hospital, the woman at the gynaecological unit said I couldn’t just come and ask for an abortion, but would have to get a referral from a clinic.
So I went to the Meadowlands Clinic, nearby. The man behind the counter said they weren’t carrying out “the top”, because even though the law had been passed there was no equipment or medicines. He said he knew this because he had heard it on the news.
“Oh no, I just want a referral,” I said, waiting to find out what procedure I was to have. One nurse said they’d just had a meeting to decide which department would take responsibility for abortion. She added that though abortion was legal, training still needed to be done.
The matrons at the clinic were sympathetic. They told me what steps I’d need to take to get an abortion. Because doctors at the main hospitals were busy, I was to be tested and counselled at a clinic, which would then refer me to a hospital with my details. If I was under 12 weeks pregnant, I’d be given some sort of termination pill, but if I was over 16 weeks, a doctor could still perform an abortion.
I was struck by their non-judgmental attitude and genuine concern. “Don’t worry, we can see you’re anxious. Just come and we’ll do the test,” one said. They encouraged me to relax and have some tea, not to panic if I was pregnant, and told me not to rush my decision.
“But are abortions definitely happening at Baragwanath?” I asked. “Do they have all the equipment and medicines there?”
“Yes, of course they do,” the matron said. “You will come for the test tommorrow, then you can be referred to Bara straight away.”
One of the matrons told me they had had a couple of women coming for abortions. They seemed to recognise the trauma of having to make the choice. One said: “Don’t worry, it’s legal now … We are all for it here, you know.”
At JG Strijdom Hospital, the matron in charge was also sensitive. Athough the hospital is not performing abortions, she is involved in counselling women seeking abortions. These patients, she said, were HIV-positive and sought abortions before it was legalised. She had referred them to Coronation and Hillbrow hospitals.
She asked how many months pregnant I was. ” About a month,” I said. At more than 16 weeks, she said, there would be complications, but she seemed to think I could get help at Hillbrow or Coronation.
“Hello,” I said to the woman at the other end of the phone at Coronation “I want to get an abortion.”
“Yo!” exclaimed the woman, before handing the phone to someone who said I should come on Thursday morning, abortions would be starting then.
I called Hillbrow Hospital, and was told to come on Monday. “How long till I can get one done?” I asked. “It’ll depend on your condition,” she said. She seemed in a rush to get rid of me. “Ok, ‘bye,” she said. And she hung up.