The Sullivanians:Through a Blue Window ((c) 2019 shelley feinerman's Podcast
CULT! This podcast chronicles the rise and fall of the Sullivanian Institute and its members. The psycho-sexual therapy] and institute existed on Manhattan's Upper West Side from the 1970s through the 1990s. Directed to abandon family and friends, as we all were, after five years my life was inextricably altered. The podcast begins with my childhood, then goes on to my time in the Sullivanians, and 20 years later, its self-destruction when it was characterized as a cult. It is entitled Through a Blue Window: The Sullivanians and is dedicated to mother, Ruth.
The Sullivanians:Through a Blue Window ((c) 2019 shelley feinerman's Podcast
The Silent Shrieks: A raw look at abortion circa 1970
New York made abortion legal in 1970 – three years before Roe v. Wade. I needed a late-term abortion and I was having trouble finding a doctor but then Rachel's mother found Dr. Lowenthal. He was brusque during the consultation and examination and as he explained the procedure to my mother in an emotionless monotone she became distressed. I assured her it was my choice but at the hospital a few days later when he rolled himself into the waiting area in a wheelchair, my mother couldn't hide her apprehension
This is a raw and unfiltered description of what every woman experiences when faced with the agonizing decision of abortion and the intense fear, the physical agony, and the psychological distress, that follows an abortion that is often overlooked..
The painful procedure and the risks that came with it were exacerbated by the sadistic doctor and the reproachful nursing staff and the palpable fear at the bone-chilling realization that the doctor was operating without anesthesia
The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you
Even though New York State had recently adopted a law that allowed abortion on demand, I was having difficulty finding a doctor. In the end, it was Rachel's mother, through her family physician, who found Dr Lowenthal. He was already a physician at the end of the examination table. When I padded into the room in nothing but my white socks and cotton gown, holding it tightly wrapped around my body Right on the table, he positively barked with attachment. I did this, the paper crackling beneath me Move down to the edge of the table and place your legs in the stirrups. I was barely 23 and could probably count my visits to the gynecologists on one hand at this point, and those visits were under much friendlier circumstances. I zoned out finding the cracks in the wall as Dr Lowenthal reached his surgically gloved fingers into my vagina, and soon the brief humiliation was over. He straightened up and as he pulled off the gloves, dropping them into the travesty septicle, he directed me to sit up. I did as I was told and moments later my mother was escorted into the room by the tight-lipped nurse with her starched white cap, professionally perched at the crown of her head, unruly red tendrils struggling to get free. My mother sat on an opposed chair while I remained on the exam table, feet dangling, shivering slightly, in the cool room.
Speaker 1:The procedure you're asking for is now called a termination of pregnancy. Dr Lowenthal said, beginning to explain the procedure, because of how long you waited, it's more complicated. I will need to insert Saline into the uterus, he continued, icicles forming on his every worry. I didn't wait exactly. I interrupted, rubbing my arms. The thin cotton gown authoring little protection. I'm not really interested in the reasons, it doesn't really matter dear. He said in clip tones. Now please let me finish, young lady, I have other appointments. As I was saying, a rubber, gloved-like device will be inserted into the uterus and filled with Saline. The Saline is then released through the fingers.
Speaker 1:My mother's hand moved to her throat. She wouldn't be silenced by this arrogant doctor and she interrupted him. It sounds dangerous. Isn't there another way? She asked, as she stood to place her coat over my shoulders. As I have already explained, mrs Feldman, is it? He asked it's too late to terminate any other way. Of course, there's always a risk, but this will be done in a hospital and by an experienced doctor. I usually do these procedures on Friday, that's two days from now. My receptionist will help you fill out the necessary papers.
Speaker 1:My mother and I arrived at Booth Memorial Hospital at 7 o'clock am for the procedure. The baggy-eyed receptionist, probably near the end of her shift, directed us to the waiting area diagonally across the crowded lobby. I dragged my suitcase over and we sat down. The coffee shop and new stand were open for business, but I wasn't allowed to eat or drink, so I went to get a paper and a coffee for my mother. Ten minutes later, the flower shop unlocked the doors and that's when I noticed the man in the wheelchair, wearing blue sterile garb, a mask hung loosely around his neck, moving quickly down the hospital corridor in our direction. It was only when he pivoted to a stop before me that I recognized Dr Lonethal. He slowly rolled where my mother was sitting. I followed behind him, aware of the shock and disbelief evident on my mother's face, as if she had seen someone set on fire. When I reached her side, she grabbed onto me for support. Did you check in, young lady? Dr Lonethal asked, ignoring or oblivious to my mother's horrified expression. We were told to wait for you here, she answered, and barely a whisper. Okay, dear. He said to me, you go back to the front desk, we'll do it all there and I will see you. In the operating room.
Speaker 1:When Dr Lonethal was safely out of air shot, his wheelchair disappearing quickly down the hall, my mother turned to me and asked did you know he was crippled? No, how could I know? I do remember he was already positioned at the end of the table when I came into the exam room for the internal, and then, of course, he never moved from the spot. You remember you were there too. We left him behind when we left the room. It's not too late, cora. You could have the baby and live with me. We could raise it together. I couldn't do that, mom, cora. He's crippled. He still has his hands. Mom, please help me. Please just go, don't worry, it'll be fine, I'll call you later. I kissed her cheek and she gathered her coat and pocketbook and left. A nurse escorted me upstairs. I noticed the hospital walls were marked with red arrows.
Speaker 1:As we moved through the corridor one to the next like a game of Piggly Wiggly before we finally reached my room. I stepped inside with uncertainty and sat on the edge of the chair, hugging myself toward off the chill and unnatural light of the room. The window bed was occupied by a young woman who was propped up against a mound of pillows, her long brown hair, braided and tied with a white satin ribbon. Hi there, she said cheerfully, turning in my direction. I'm Paula, and I'm still waiting Before I could figure out her elliptical statement.
Speaker 1:A nurse with a large winged hat sitting atop her tight topknot came into the room pushing a small metal cart. You're Feldman Wright, she asked, checking her papers. I have to prep you. Then she handed me a white hospital gown and pulled the curtain around the bed. What do you mean prep? I have to shave your pubic hair, dear, all of it. Nobody told me that. Didn't someone explain the procedure to you? I have to give you a mini prep before you have the saline inserted. Okay, now slip the gown on with the opening to the front and climb onto the bed.
Speaker 1:I turned away from the nurse and quickly slipped off my jeans and green sweater, making a neat pile on the chair. The doctor didn't tell me about being shaved. What happens after that? I asked, climbing onto the bed and trying to ignore the riot her words were inciting within me. Open the gown for me, dear, and I'll explain while I soap you up. She picked up a mug and shaving brush, added water and quickly whipped the soap into a lather. She then spread the frothy mix on my pubic hair like she was frosting a cupcake, picked up the straight edged razor and definitely scraped away my pubic hair. The end result left me as hairless as a 10 year old.
Speaker 1:There you go, so to answer your questions in a little while you're going to be wheeled to the operating room for the procedure. You know about that, right? Yes, fine, hold still for me, dear, one more second there. Then she patted me dry. She was smiling, proud of her handiwork. Okay, you can sit up Now. Where was I? Oh, yes, after the saline is inserted, you will be held back down here to wait During that period.
Speaker 1:Once you're back here, you can't get off the bed because once the labor pains begin, if you get up, it stops the procedure, and even if they get too bad, you just have to hold on as long as you can. If we give you a sedative too soon, it could stop the fetish from aborting. I will have to start all over again. I don't understand. Dr Lowenthal mentioned none of this to me. Real labor pains. I don't understand. Well, he was supposed to explain. The labor pains happen as a result of the saline, the body aborts the fetus like giving birth, and that pain could be mighty fierce.
Speaker 1:I lay on the operating table, trust up like a chicken, my feet strapped into the stirrups, an intravenous drip hanging from my right arm and an arctic whim blowing up my legs. There were two nurses. The taller one, with skinny lips, had strapped my arm down to find a good vein. My other, dark skin, with short, stubby fingers, had pushed my legs apart and strapped my feet into the metal stirrups. Excuse me, I said, trying to lift my head. Does it have to be this cold in here?
Speaker 1:The nurse with skinny lips stopped in her tracks and, speaking in a raspy voice, said Did you say something, hon? But before she could answer, dr Lowenthal was wheeled into the room and positioned at the end of the table, gloved hands in the air. Where's my money, young lady? He yelled through the green, sterile mask, his abrasive voice, loud and clear. I tried to lift my head again, but I couldn't. My mother has it. I yelled back. Remember you told her to leave a while ago. Okay, okay, okay, never mind, he said, annoyed, I'll get it later. Now let's get started. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish. This should take all of 15 minutes from start to finish, but you have to hold still, very still.
Speaker 1:At this point the dark-skinned nurse locked Dr Lowenthal into place and he immediately got to work, pushing the cold, stainless steel specula into my vagina without even a dab of lubricant, and I flinched with pain. Poat still young lady. Poat, still young lady, he said again. I shifted my gaze to the wall clock, a large, standard, round institutional clock with a white face, large Roman numerals, and for the next 15 minutes became the only thing in the room that I cared about. As the instruments clinked between my legs, I concentrated on its long, thin hour hand and sweeping red minute hand, hoping sudden kinetic powers would force them to move faster. But instead the clock swelled to the size of a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon filling the room, the numbers floating above me like a dolly painting.
Speaker 1:For a while I was outside myself watching the parade, and then my attention was brought painfully back to the space between my thighs. My right leg spasmed in the stirrup and began to shake. It was getting colder and I was still sweating. Cry me a river, cry me a river. I cry the river over you. Was I fucking singing? I looked at the clock. The clock again. Six more minutes to go.
Speaker 1:And just when I thought the pain couldn't get much worse, my uterus ignited. A prolonged searing pain that reached up through my legs to the depths of my belly and breast, ripping at my uterus. It was a pain too intense for tears. A low plane of whale began rising from somewhere inside the room, but all I could see was the top of Dr Lowen-Fall's blue surgical cap and his hands working feverishly. You'll have to quit making that noise, young lady. You're distracting me.
Speaker 1:I looked at the clock again, but the pain pulled me back to the table. Jesus, what is he doing? He's cutting my flesh. I'm supposed to have anesthesia. Stop, he has to stop now. God, please stop him. Make him stop. He never mentioned cutting. He's a fucking sadist. He never told me about the pain. I can't do this anymore. And in that exact moment, dr Lowen-Fall snapped off his gloves, just like he was shooting rubber bands, and exclaimed proudly Fifteen minutes exactly. Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, young lady?
Speaker 1:Paula was gone when they wheeled me back to my room and, after the orderlies transferred me to the bed, I clicked on the tiny bedside TV and the voices droned on as I fitfully slept. It was dark outside the window when I was sharply awakened by the first contraction in my lower back. By midnight they were everywhere. A single light glowed above my bed as my entire body violently contracted. No matter which way I turned right side or left, sitting up or lying down, I couldn't get away from the pain, and in my head I was singing again cry me a river, cry me a river. I cried a river over you. Through it all, I was mindful of the nurses' warning, so I stayed in the bed and held on to the sides of the mattress, bargaining with myself Five more minutes, maybe one, maybe none, and then I screamed for help.
Speaker 1:The night nurse, a pugnosed woman with bright rouge cheeks, saunted slowly to my bedside as though she were about to fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for one of her grandchildren. She took my arm and tapped the vein twice with her fingertips. Wasn't worth it. Now was it Deary? Then she administered a shot of sodium pentathol into the IV, finally sending me to a glorious, pain-free world. The tape recorder clicked off automatically and the plastic cover popped up. Sliding the cassette up and out, the label read history tape for abortion. It was the last tape.