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December 31,2022
“I resolve to go where I’m needed most.”
SAM
It’s just the two of us on New Year’s Eve for the first time in years. Our tween social butterflies are at sleepovers, and neither of us are in the mood to party. When I propose my idea to Dee over dinner, she is, understandably, floored.
She runs a hand through her hair, now grazing her shoulders, and a natural blond instead of the black she dyed it until she was halfway through law school. At almost forty, the laugh lines and worry lines only add to her ethereal beauty.
Even when she’s combative. Which she often is.
“But when you worked at Planned Parenthood, we were both idealistic kids who didn’t have kids. I can’t raise them without you.”
She’s spiraling—understandable with what’s happened the past couple of years. “Come on, Dee. I risked my life more in 2020 working at the hospital than I ever did doing abortions.”
“What if some crazy person comes to the clinic with an assault rifle to take out the baby killers? It’s not like it hasn’t happened. Two people were shot at the clinic where me met! I mean, it was ten years before we were there, but the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act didn’t stop that guy. And North Carolina doesn’t have a bubble zone like Massachusetts does. You just can’t have a”—she makes finger quotes—“weapon on site. Like that’s going to stop anyone.”
I’m not going to argue with her. I’m just going to wait.
“Ugh. I know. The chances are low.” She groans and drags both palms down her face. “I feel like you’re—we’re—still recovering from the shit that went down in 2020. I can’t believe I ever complained about you working twenty-four-hour shifts. Thirty-six-hour shifts, intubating pregnant women who couldn’t breathe?—”
“While wearing so much PPP I could barely use my arms?—”
“Or not having enough PPP and doing it anyway.” She shudders, but then she takes my hand. “You seriously want to move back to North Carolina? One of those states where people don’t believe in vaccines?”
I shrug. “Those people are everywhere. And at least our votes would make a difference. And without skilled CRNAs, women are suffering. With these new laws—”
“Which we are fighting,” she cuts in. “We made gains in the midterms.”
“I know, but in the meantime, requests for abortions from states surrounding North Carolina have gone up exponentially. And there just isn’t enough staff. My old boss is basically begging me to come back.”
A line appears between her brows. I should probably give her a moment to sort things out herself, but I need her to understand where I’m coming from. “I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t do this. Women are dying because there aren’t enough people to take in all the patients…”
I let my sentence trail off, letting her fill in the blank for herself. She’s always been the bigger activist in this marriage, but I’m now the one in a position to make a difference to actual human lives, even as she continues to do what she can to make change.
She’s up from the couch and pacing, which is a good sign. My wife moves when she’s changing her mind. “But the kids. To move them in the middle of middle school?”
“I could go by myself.”
“No. No way. I can’t do”—she gestures vaguely at our house—“any of this without you.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Then there’s the money.”
She waves this down, and my heart squeezes with love. She’s rallying. “Don’t worry about it. Our parents have filled up their college funds. And the only time you and I fight is when we’re working just for the money.”
“Living in Carolina is cheaper.”
“This is going to be an interesting family meeting,” she says, the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Maybe we tell them we could get a dog?”
9
SIX MONTHS LATER
SAM
I get a hit of deju vu as I ease the middle-aged woman on the hospital bed out of the twilight sleep we typically use for abortions. After I ask my patient how she’s feeling, that sense is heightened when she replies, “When are you going to put me to sleep?”
It’s a common question, but it takes me right back to the first day I saw Dee. The day I brought her coffee before asking her out for coffee. What a dork. As I reassure the woman that her procedure went well and answer her questions, part of my mind hangs onto the memory, still in awe that Dee said yes.
