Dancer Read Online Free Page B

destruction.
    On a cloudy, dreary afternoon, Allison drove me to downtown Houston where the clinic was located. Said clinic loomed ahead like a bad omen, tucked amidst a row of taller buildings, a parking lot sprawled in the rear.
    Quite uninviting with the center's plain, white angular construction and the giant sign that read Women's Clinic . A name which could only mean one thing.
    Destruction .
    My anxiety worsened as we made our way to the entrance.
    The interior was no more inviting than the outside. With white walls and navy blue carpeting, everything appeared cold and clinical.
    Then again it was a clinic.
    In the lobby, a handful of nurses and receptionists perched behind an L-shaped desk. Allison and I headed there to announce my arrival and fill out a thick stack of papers.
    We lounged on ugly beige chairs, waiting. I kept stealing glances at the far left to a corridor lined with steel doors containing rooms where actual— procedures— were performed.
    I shuddered.
    A plump nurse waddled into the lobby. Short colorless hair didn't flatter her aged face, her small eyes.
    She wouldn't let Allison accompany me to the surgical room.
    Helpless, I tossed a backward glance at my friend. Allison shrugged, as helpless and confused as I. She flashed a tentative smile that gave little comfort.
    The elderly nurse led me inside a small room with an examining bed and medical equipment. Odors of disinfectant and bleach permeated this room, burned my throat, triggered my gag reflex.
    Gesturing at folded gowns stacked on a corner chair, the nurse said, "Take off everything, including your bra and put on one of these gowns."
    When she left, I numbly went through the motions of undressing. I sank to the edge of the mattress, struggling to tie the gown in such a way that my ass wouldn't show.
    Dressed in surgical scrubs, a middle-aged female doctor entered, hesitated and poised stiffly nearby. Her platinum hair was fashioned in a high ponytail.
    "I'm Dr. Thomas. I'll be performing the abortion." As if bored, she spoke in a disinterested tone and wouldn't initially meet my gaze.
    Trepidation twisted my insides as I listened to Dr. Thomas describe the procedure.
    "First the nurse will give you misoprostol and ibuprofen. Then I'll have you lie down so I can insert a speculum into your vagina. An injection will be given to numb your cervix, a tenaculum will be used to hold the cervix in place while small rods dilate your cervix. After that, I'll place a tube inside your uterus to suction out the fetus and placenta." She went to the towering ultrasound machine and pressed keys.
    To say the least—her description of the procedure did absolutely nothing to soothe my anxiety.
    "How long will this take?"
    "Around fifteen minutes," came the curt response as she observed the monitor.
    I mercilessly chewed my bottom lip, tasted surging blood.
    Dr. Thomas went on to casually describe each gory detail of potential side effects: Nausea, cramping, heavy bleeding, blood clots, damage to the cervix, perforation of the uterus, infection...
    I stopped listening. Until she ended it with a final shocking statement.
    "Before we begin, state law requires us to perform a sonogram. You'll see the fetus on the monitor." She motioned at a grainy image. "I'll describe various fetal parts including an approximate gestational age. You'll also be hearing the heartbeat."
    I choked back tears and all-consuming horror. I'm forced to see my baby before killing it? Is this shit not bad enough?
    What kind of sick punishment is this?
    "Do I really have to do this?" I asked, fidgeting and twisting my fingers till the knuckles cracked.
    "Absolutely."
    I reclined on the bed, preparing for a terrible fate.
    Dr. Thomas tapped the keyboard, holding a weird plastic tool in the other hand. It resembled a— vibrator ? And she put a fresh condom on that thing , made me raise my knees and part my legs.
    She penetrated me with the vibrator thing. I winced. Ouch, this fuckin' thing