[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 128 (Thursday, August 3, 1995)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E1612-E1613]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


  DEPARTMENTS OF LABOR, HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES, AND EDUCATION, AND 
               RELATED AGENCIES APPROPRIATIONS ACT, 1996

                                 ______


                               speech of

                           HON. TOM A. COBURN

                              of oklahoma

                    in the house of representatives

                       Wednesday, August 2, 1995

       The House in Committee of the Whole House on the State of 
     the Union had under consideration the bill (H.R. 2127) making 
     appropriations for the Departments of Labor, Health and Human 
     Services, and Education, and related agencies, for the fiscal 
     year ending September 30, 1996, and for other purposes:

  Mr. COBURN. Mr. Chairman, I would like to insert the following 
article about a crisis pregnancy center in Rockville, MD, into the 
Record.
                     [From Family Voice, Aug. 1995]

                          Making A Difference

                          (By Candy Berkebile)
       Negative advertising campaigns have targeted pro-life 
     crisis pregnancy centers in an attempt to marginalize the 
     role they play in young women's lives. These centers, they 
     say, are deceptive; only care about the baby before it's 
     born; and don't care about women. To counteract these 
     accusations, Family Voice interviewed two young women who 
     have made life and death decisions. Millions of women have 
     gone through similar experiences. Their stories demonstrate 
     the vast difference between an abortion clinic and a 
     pregnancy center. More importantly, they help us see beyond 
     the rhetoric to the heart of the issue. We are dealing with 
     real women faced with crises that they don't know how to 
     handle.
       Anna, a young unwed Christian entered a Planned Parenthood 
     clinic in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1985.
       What happened to me that day changed my life forever. The 
     day I walked into the clinic was a muggy August afternoon. I 
     was seventeen years old and I was eight weeks pregnant. I 
     can't tell you step by step what
      happened, because I remember that day in snapshots.
       I went into the room, a quiet and rather serious teenager; 
     I left a silent, deeply hurt young woman. I sat and talked to 
     the counselor in a room that, like most others at the clinic, 
     was clean but shabby in appearance. It was bright and cold--
     there was no comfort, no luxury, just the tools to change 
     life. I'm sure the counselor told me her name, but I don't 
     remember it. She tried to put me at ease, to let me know it 
     was alright, and to explain what was about to happen to me. 
     She told me about the procedure, about the qualified medical 
     resident who would be carrying it out. Then she asked, 
     ``Anna, is this what you really want? Are you sure you have 
     no other options?''
       My voice quavered as I said, ``I have to do this. My 
     parents would never understand. They expect so much out of me 
     and my future. I can't let them down.'' My mind was made up. 
     I had to do this. There was no other way out. I hated myself 
     for what I was about to do. But I could do nothing else.
       She ushered me to another room, a room which will stay 
     vivid in my imagination forever. She gave me a smock to 
     change into and left me alone with my thoughts and fears for 
     a few moments. When she returned, I was sitting on the padded 
     table-top wearing the flowered smock. She gave me a cotton 
     blanket to wrap around my waist as I waited.
       ``Do you want to know the funniest thing about this whole 
     situation?'' I laughed nervously as tears brimmed my eyes.
       ``What's that?'' she asked.
       ``I never believed that this could happen to me. Even when 
     I thought I might be pregnant. I prayed to God it wasn't 
     true. But I was still pregnant.''
       The resident dressed in surgical green entered the room. 
     The counselor placed her hand over mine to calm my fingers, 
     which had been nervously fraying the edge of the wax-like 
     tissue paper I sat on. She said, ``Anna, scoot down here to 
     the end of the table. Put your heels in these holes--these 
     are called stirrups.'' She pointed to the shiny pieces of 
     metal protruding from the end of the table. ``Now, lie back 
     and relax. Let your knees fall to the sides. It's okay. 
     That's right. Now relax,'' she said. ``I'll be here with you. 
     I'll talk to you, we'll go through this together.
       I knew that while in some respects this was the truth, that 
     nothing could be further from it. She would hold my hand, but 
     I would experience this alone. I stared at the ceiling and 
     counted the watermarks as the resident opened the cold steel 
     speculum inside me. I tried to block out the discomfort and 
     humiliation I was feeling. I was scared. She tried to divert 
     my attention.
       ``Anna, what do you have planned now that you have 
     graduated?''
       ``I'm going to college,'' I answered bravely. ``I leave in 
     to weeks.'' I clamped my mouth shut quickly as the pressure 
     began to build in my
      lower abdomen.
       ``Do you know what you want to do?'' She tried to speak 
     softly, reassuringly. She knew the pain was quickly 
     approaching.
       ``I want to be a lawyer,'' I stated in an anguished voice.
       One tear sprang to the corner of my eye, She squeezed my 
     hand, I experienced the pain--at least some of it--when the 
     eight-week-old fetus was scraped from the inside of my womb. 
     This, I was prepared for. But what I was not prepared for was 
     the pain that followed in the next few seconds.
       ``We need more women as lawyers,'' she continued talking. I 
     think she wanted to drown out any other sound I would hear. 
     But her voice was barely a whisper to me now; I was not 
     focusing on her. She asked me if I knew the area of law I 
     wanted to pursue but I barely heard her, and I didn't answer. 
     I only heard one sound; a sound which was, for me, amplified 
     to a deafening crescendo. I flinched as I heard the hollow 
     splash of the sopping sponge-like tissue when it bounced off 
     the bottom of the awaiting utility bucket. I began to move my 
     head back and forth slowly, my swollen eyes were closed, but 
     the tears crept out.
       ``No. no,'' I repeated.
       The medical resident left the room, but I didn't notice. I 
     must have been in shock. The counselor helped me dress. Then 
     she took me to a recovery room to lie down. I curled up on 
     one of the many grey cots which lined the room. She sat in a 
     chair by my side. I turned my back on her and faced the blank 
     wall my knees were pulled almost to my chest. My body was 
     quivering. Wave after wave of cramping pain clawed at my 
     insides--the pain of a womb hysterically trying to readjust 
     to its recent loss. I know she probably wanted to help, but 
     what could she do?
       Five hours later, I walked out the door. The counselor must 
     have given me a reassuring hug as I walked out, but I can't 
     remember anything beyond the recovery room. She 

[[Page E 1613]]
     has faded from my memory, I can barely remember her face. But what I do 
     remember is that, there in that clinic, I alone experienced 
     pain and death. But, that was my choice.
       Vena a young 24-year-old college student walked into a 
     crisis pregnancy center in Rockville, Maryland in 1994.
       I walked into the center in October. I'd taken a home 
     pregnancy test and wanted to verify it. I was scared. I was 
     still in college. I wasn't married. So I looked through the 
     yellow pages. But I didn't want to go to an abortion clinic. 
     I didn't wan to make a drastic choice right away. And if I 
     hadn't finally seen the ad for the Pregnancy Center, I may 
     not have kept my baby--because I wouldn't have known who to 
     turn to. I was so confused and scared. I couldn't tell my 
     parents. I knew they wouldn't be supportive. And I didn't 
     think I could handle the responsibility of a baby right then.
       I needed someone to talk to, someone to help me get through 
     this. And I needed support. When my boyfriend and I went into 
     the center, that's when I met Sylvia. She confirmed that the 
     pregnancy test was positive. I
      was about six weeks pregnant. At first Joe was excited about 
     the baby. But the more we talked about it, the more I knew 
     it was a bad time to have a baby. I was in my junior year 
     at the University of Maryland. I knew I didn't want to 
     have an abortion. I wanted to give the child life. But I 
     needed someone's support. Joe was not supportive at the 
     time. He was so confused. His parents had died when he was 
     a teenager, so he couldn't go to them for advice.
       My parents were divorced. And I had a difficult time 
     figuring out how to tell them because they were very strict. 
     Besides, they believed in getting married before you have 
     kids. I ended up telling my mother I was pregnant a few weeks 
     after visiting the center. She said, ``It's your 
     responsibility. You got pregnant; you have to deal with it.'' 
     She also told me to get married. I was afraid to tell my 
     father. We hadn't had a good relationship up to that point so 
     I didn't tell him until the eighth month.
       It was late December. I was having trouble with one of my 
     roommates at school. Joe's attitude at that point was, ``It's 
     your baby, and you're the one who has to deal with it.'' I 
     was depressed and crying. I didn't think I could do well in 
     school. I was working a job. I didn't have any support--and I 
     wanted to scream.
       It was 11:45 at night. I called Sylvia and woke her up. I 
     didn't think I could deal with anything anymore. I asked her, 
     ``What should I do about the pregnancy?''
       Sylvia was great. I don't think she realizes how important 
     she was to me. ``You're going to be okay, Just take one day 
     at a time. Don't
      worry about anything right now,'' she said. ``You don't want 
     to jeopardize your health. You need to calm down and think 
     rationally.'' Sylvia encouraged me, ``Talk to me as long 
     as you want to.'' I talked for about an hour. She got me 
     through the night. Sylvia isn't the only counselor I 
     talked to. I called a couple of times and spoke to some 
     others. Especially when I needed things I didn't have 
     money for--like maternity clothes. The counselors gave 
     them to me. It was wonderful to be able to use the 
     resources of the center.
       Then in January, I called Sylvia again for emergency 
     counseling. I had just moved from one dorm to another. Here I 
     was moving in January and I was about five months pregnant. 
     At least my old roommates knew the situation and I was close 
     to them. I had no transportation. Money was tight. Everything 
     I had was going towards transportation and food. I was 
     providing for myself. It was difficult. No one was giving me 
     money. I needed to talk to someone, so I called Sylvia.
       ``I don't have any money, and I don't know what to do.'' I 
     told her. ``I need to go to a doctor, but I don't have any 
     money to get there. I want to take care of this baby. I can't 
     make it to my doctor appointments. And no one can give me a 
     ride there. I really need to talk to you.''
       She said okay. She met me after work. She reassured me that 
     even though it was difficult, I had to understand that I 
     might be the only one who could take care of this baby. She 
     reminded me that I couldn't always depend on someone else to 
     do it.
       ``You can't blame someone else or feel sorry for yourself 
     because other people aren't helping you. You can't dwell on 
     that,'' Sylvia said. ``You have to think positively. Think 
     about what you can do.'' She was always concerned about how I 
     was doing financially.
       Sylvia was very good about talking to Joe too. She helped 
     him understand that he was going through a difficult 
     situation as well. And she really let him know that she was 
     there for him. There were a couple of sessions where she 
     helped Joe and me communicate. Before that, we fought all the 
     time. Sylvia helped us cope with our feelings.
       In late January, we went to visit Joe's relatives. When he 
     took me to visit them, he was very confident. I felt secure 
     because he was very sure of what he wanted to do. He wanted 
     this baby. He told them I was pregnant a few weeks 
     afterwards. ``We're happy for you,'' said his aunt and uncle. 
     ``This baby will be really special.'' They also hoped we
      would get married if we really loved each other. It was 
     important to Joe that we have family support. Soon after 
     that we started to talk about getting married. But we were 
     both nervous and kept putting it off.
       In April, Joe and Sylvia convinced me to tell my dad. I had 
     wanted to wait until I had a plan to tell him. But his 
     response surprised me. He encouraged us to get married. Then 
     he invited us to move in with him. So we did. He helped us 
     with groceries. And after I had the baby--when I couldn't 
     walk--he was a great help.
       Joe and I married on May 18, two days before the baby's due 
     date. Six days later, I delivered a beautiful baby boy--
     Benjamin Cleveland. Everyone was at the hospital--Sylvia, 
     Joe, my Mom and my Dad. I told Sylvia she was welcome to 
     watch the delivery because I couldn't have done it without 
     her. She was really my constant, main support during my 
     pregnancy.
       Clearly both situations were hard. But, in Vena's case, the 
     strengths of the modern-day crisis pregnancy movement are in 
     full evidence. So, the next time you hear someone say these 
     centers are deceptive or that they don't care--remember 
     Sylvia and the thousands of other counselors who are out 
     there helping the Venas of this world make it through another 
     night.
     

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