A day in the life of an itinerant abortionist

By Dave Andrusko

Planned Parenthood abortionist Colleen McNicholas

What requirements might there be to qualify (so to speak) as an itinerant abortionist, like, say Willie Parker? First and foremost, the capacity to abort women with a speed that puts an assembly line to shame.

Parker, who fancies himself a Christian, is prolific at his trade, aborting up to 45 babies a day. As for how late in pregnancy, there’s a kind of blinking yellow light at 24 weeks, 6 days, but there are always extenuating circumstances for the industrious Dr. Parker.

Planned Parenthood abortionist Colleen McNicholas is only 2/3rds as fast. A fawning profile in Marie Claire in 2016 casually observed, “By the end of her eight-hour workday, [McNicholas] will have terminated 31 pregnancies.”

But, of course, her motivation is beyond noble. As a post at Planned Parenthood observes (boldface in the original)

“Part of the problem with being so committed and feeling so passionate about an issue is that it’s hard to say no… because that means somebody is going without care, and what that means is, they’re probably going to have a baby they don’t want.

So ultimately, I end up saying, ‘I can do one more day.'”

Get it? Without the “care” that McNicholas administers so dutifully, a baby might sneak through. So, even when her hands are bone weary (and blood stained), she carries on. I think I’d paraphrase her observation slightly differently: “I can obliterate one more helpless unborn child—be sure to pat me on the back.”

McNicholas’ name surfaces a lot in the debate in Missouri over the requirement that abortionists have admitting privileges at a local hospital for when there are complications. McNicholas insists complications are as rare as hen’s teeth (“incredibly rare”).

There was an even more unctuous recent profile yesterday in Mic Dispatch titled. “Abortion provider travels across states to administer care.”

It was written, we’re told, by correspondent Kendall Ciesemier who followed McNicholas who travels “over 400 miles nearly every week to work at four clinics in three states — Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma, where access to care is limited.”

You can read Ciesemier’s profile in its entirety, but it’s important that the reader know that there are 60 women waiting in Wichita, Kansas, presumably all to abort, and that McNicholas, who will plow her way through all of them, is just regular folk.

“And what are you missing these past few days not being at home?” Ciesemier asks.

Well, there’s a baseball game about to start here in an hour that I won’t be at. But just sort of everyday life things, you know — homework and baseball and dinner at the table together. Certainly there are times when my family probably feels it more than I do, but I think we feel like it’s sort of an important part of the life that we live.

“An important part of the life” she leads is ending the lives of those who have no one to protect them. Perhaps the worst part of the profile is the ending:

Back in Wichita, she completes the last abortion of the day just before 3 p.m. She checks on her patients in the recovery room, and then she’s out the door, with 30 minutes until her flight takes off. She makes it through airport security just in time to board the plane. She’ll have one day at home with her family tomorrow before it all begins again.