A poorly-kept secret among my colleagues at the ICE detention centers is that we force pregnant women who illegally cross the US-Mexico border to undergo abortions.
I’ve never been proud of it, but a job’s a job. National security is more important than my feelings.
Susan Dell is the doctor who performs the procedures at the camp I supervise. She loves her line of work. She’s a true believer of the whole Trumpian worldview if there ever was one.
I remember asking her early on if the whole abortion thing went against the pro-life positions espoused on the bumper stickers displayed on her truck.
“There’s pro life,” Susan replied, waving her hand inclusively between the two of us, “and there’s that.” She gestured at the throngs of detainees. “That’s not life. That’s something… else.”
And that’s how she left it.
Months later and countless abortions performed, I had no doubt about her convictions. Convictions, but also enthusiasm. If anyone loves their job, it’s her.
Last week, the first wave of illegals from the latest of those migrant caravans arrived at our center. They’d been scooped up at the nearest crossing. We did what we needed to do as far as identifying them, checking our databases, our allies’ databases, and all that. For the most part, everything was going normally.
At the end of the group, though, was a couple — a man and a much younger woman. A girl, really. Maybe 40 and 15, respectively. She was heavily pregnant.
“Probably cartel lifers,” one of the guards remarked. “No papers, no luggage, no nothing.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, and gestured at the pregnant girl. “She’s too far along for Susan, though. Gotta be at least eight months.”
The guard shrugged. “Dunno if that’ll stop her.”Continue reading “Parthenogenesis and Catastrophe”