THE PATIENTS JUST KEPT COMING. They were overwhelming the Planned Parenthood clinic that’s tucked between a craft brewery and a four-star hotel on the edge of Denver’s Park Hill neighborhood. One woman’s water had broken prematurely, long before a fetus could survive outside her uterus. Another called, panicked, because her flight had been delayed, and she had an abortion scheduled that afternoon. Others just got in their cars and drove—hundreds of miles, for hours—crossing two, possibly three, state lines. All of their stories were different, but they had one thing in common: None of them could access abortion services in Texas, where they lived, and they had looked to providers in Colorado for help.
On September 1, 2021, Senate Bill 8—sometimes called the “heartbeat bill”—took effect in the Lone Star State. The law bans abortion once a fetal heartbeat has been detected, typically around six weeks into a pregnancy and before many people even realize they’re pregnant. That makes more than 80 percent of the approximately 56,000 abortions previously performed annually in the state illegal. The Texas statute is arguably one of the most restrictive in the country—there are no provisions for rape or incest—and it is unique in that it dispatches everyday citizens to enforce it by bringing suit against those who help women (and nonbinary and transgender people who can become pregnant) get abortions after cardiac activity is confirmed. Their potential reward? The promise of collecting at least $10,000 from the people they’ve sued if they win the case.
With SB 8 in effect, Texans in need of abortion services have had to look elsewhere, quietly. Whether family and friends taking care of the children of parents who flee the state to get an abortion could be sued under the new law is a vexing question and is just one of several hurdles for Texans who want to terminate their pregnancies.
Texas’ northernmost border comes within approximately 34 miles of the Colorado state line. But abortion-rights activists such as Laura Chapin, a consultant for Cobalt, a Denver nonprofit that advocates for abortion access and reproductive rights in Colorado, explain that asking some patients to get to Colorado is like asking them to fly to the moon. Money for the procedure—which can cost hundreds of dollars out of pocket—isn’t the only financial burden. Childcare. Transportation. A hotel stay. Missed days of work. It adds up quickly.
Amanda Carlson, director of the Cobalt Abortion Fund, an arm of Cobalt that provides financial assistance and support to people seeking abortions,
