Here, linked through AlterNet.
The walk is usually no more than a minute from a woman’s car to the clinic door, but:
For some women, then, those sixty seconds are a nightmare. Well before they arrive in their cars, they’re afraid of that walk. They’ve been worrying about it, steeling themselves. They don’t know what they’re walking into, but they’re imagining a worst-case scenario. You can tell by how they’ll busily step from their cars, shuffling keys and bags or talking very loudly to their companions so as to plausibly ignore you, or pop up from behind the wheel with the words “You need to leave us alone right now” already out of their mouths, before they see you quietly standing and pointing to the word “ESCORT” emblazoned across your neon orange vest. You can tell from the plain relief that floods their eyes when they realize who you are and why you’re there. You can tell from the haste with which they apologize for their perfectly understandable mistake, and from the emphatic way they say “thank you” as you open the door for them at the end of that long, long walk.
