If you don’t believe in abortion, don’t have one.

I grew up with varied interests—communications, theater, maybe TV production, but when it was time for college, I chose medical school. It felt secure, given my feelings about the economy at the time.

I assumed I’d go into internal medicine or geriatrics, but in medical school I realized much of that felt like prolonging life at the very end. Then I discovered obstetrics and gynecology—part surgery, part medicine, and very focused on improving lives from the beginning. That resonated with me.

After residency, I started in a suburban OBGYN practice, but found it a little boring. I felt like I wasn’t really using my medical degree. So I went back for fellowship in maternal-fetal medicine—learning about prenatal diagnosis and managing high-risk pregnancies, both fetal and maternal. And what I loved about maternal-fetal medicine was the opportunity to help in rural areas that lacked resources, so Idaho ultimately felt like a good fit.

I love helping families. My job is taking difficult situations—whether it’s diabetes, heart conditions, preterm labor—and improving outcomes. I enjoy prenatal diagnosis and ultrasounds, especially when I can reassure someone that their baby is healthy.

Of course, sometimes there are anomalies. That part isn’t easy, but it’s rewarding to guide families through the process—educating them, connecting them with subspecialists, and sometimes supporting them in the decision to terminate when that’s appropriate. Being able to do that here, close to their support systems, matters. 

I experienced a great loss that shifted my empathy. I don’t share it with everyone, but sometimes it helps people to hear how loss can happen, and it’s always profound. It humanizes things.

I compartmentalized more when I was starting out, but now I feel the impacts more. COVID was brutal—we had maternal deaths, ICU cases, families devastated. Then Dobbs layered on top of that. It’s been exhausting.

And what frustrates me most is what patients go through. Right after Dobbs, the distress was high–not being able to do what’s right for patients. My simple summary is: if you don’t believe in abortion, don’t have one. Often folks are opposed to abortion until it happens to them, and then they quietly find a way.

The biggest change now is navigating the gray zone—when someone comes in with ruptured membranes or a failing pregnancy, how sick do they have to be before we can act? The law is vague. Medicine depends on clear definitions. Instead, we’re left guessing, worried about malpractice on one side and breaking the law on the other. That’s terrifying for physicians.

I do worry that people are becoming accustomed to this as normal. That’s dangerous. We can’t throw up our hands. History shows bans don’t stop abortion—they just make it unsafe. Policymakers don’t seem to grasp harm reduction.

But what gives me hope now is seeing good people push back, and knowing there are cracks in these laws. There is the referendum, and keeping the issue alive in public conversation. Showing that a small minority doesn’t represent the majority.

I probably couldn’t work in this environment today if I were just starting out. Many of my younger colleagues have already left. But with some experience, I can see the broader impact on patients and communities. Empowering women is crucial—not just for them, but for families and society.

It’s disheartening to feel ignored. To give testimony and have legislators not pay any attention to you. Abortion is healthcare. And that providing this option supports families, prevents unnecessary suffering, and ultimately strengthens communities.