By Melanie Jones

Last December, I slipped on water on my bathroom floor and fell hard onto the tile. Later that night, I felt cramping in my back and abdomen. The next morning I was bleeding. After doing some online research, I feared my intra-uterine device (IUD) was dislodged. I knew I needed to see a doctor.

I did what anyone would do—I called an OB-GYN in my insurance network and made the soonest appointment I could. The doctor examined me briefly and confirmed my suspicion that my IUD had become dislodged, and said it needed to be removed.

However, instead of removing the IUD, the doctor said she couldn’t help me. She said her hands were tied because of religious restrictions imposed on her practice by Mercy Hospital and Medical Center. She explained that those restrictions prohibited her from removing the IUD, because it was being used solely to prevent pregnancy.

I was shocked. I kept waiting for the moment when my doctor would say “But, in this instance we will make an exception.” That moment never came. I asked if she could refer me to someone who could help me, but she said she could not. After speaking with her colleagues to confirm it, she said that all of the health care providers in my network followed the same religious restrictions. She explained that my only option was to change my insurance network and said I was “lucky” because it would only take a month to make the change. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt shocked, judged, and angry. I left my appointment feeling worse than when I arrived—stigmatized, in pain and bleeding, facing the prospect of waiting an entire month before I could get the care I needed. My options were limited. I could not afford an expensive trip to the emergency room or an out-of-network visit to another health care provider.

Thankfully, I was connected to the ACLU of Illinois. I spoke with a lawyer, who suggested that I contact my insurance company and ask for an expedited change of my health insurance network so that I could receive the care I needed. After more than 5 hours on the phone with my insurance company, repeating the details of my story over and over to a litany of strangers, I finally got approval to switch my network. Thankfully, I was able to have my IUD removed, but it took more than two weeks from my initial fall on the bathroom floor.

Before this experience, I never understood the breadth of limitations imposed in religious health care facilities. I certainly never imagined that a doctor would refuse to remove my dislodged contraceptive device on the basis of religious objections. I do not want to imagine what could have happened to me if the pain and bleeding caused by the dislodged IUD became more severe, or what could happen to other women like me who go to Mercy seeking health care and do not have the resources I had.

I am speaking out now so people know what I didn't before this ordeal—that this can happen to any woman. The Catholic restrictions at Mercy and other hospitals are broad, and such hospitals control a wide range of health care services. I was fortunate to have made my way to the ACLU of Illinois, and that my insurance company switched my network so that I could have my IUD removed. Not everyone will be so fortunate. How much pain and suffering will women need to endure before these Catholic health care providers change their practices?

Earlier this week, Illinois’ Republican Gov. Bruce Rauner and leaders from the Democratic-controlled legislature took a break from campaigning and gathered together at a ceremony in Chicago to smile for cameras and extol the spirit of compromise as the governor signed legislation aimed at reforming the state’s broken criminal justice system.

To an observer outside Illinois politics, the significance of this show of bipartisanship might not be readily apparent. Election year politics aside, cooperation between Rauner and the General Assembly has been almost nonexistent since the governor took office in 2015. The two sides have been locked in a bitter and protracted budget battle, with the government operating on stopgap and court-ordered funding, while each side accuses the other of holding the state hostage.

No one should expect that the recent bill signing represents a break in the impasse that has paralyzed government in Illinois. However, it does demonstrate that the growing consensus that Illinois’ criminal justice system is broken and in need of immediate reform has the power to transcend even the unprecedented partisan distrust and hostility that exists in Springfield today.

The current state of Illinois’ criminal justice system is the product of a familiar story that is playing out in cities all across the country. Although crime rates have been on a steady decline for decades, our prisons are severely overcrowded as a result of “tough on crime” sentencing laws passed in the 1980s and 1990s, and the destructive impact of over-incarceration has fallen disproportionately upon communities of color and the poor. There is also a profound shortage of rehabilitative services to address behavioral health disorders that can thrust people into crisis and lead to  negative interactions with law enforcement.

Those released from prison face barriers to employment, education, and housing years after paying their debts to society. Not surprisingly, recidivism among those released from prison remains high. Meanwhile, relations between police and the community are at a tipping point, and our draconian drug sentencing laws have done nothing to stave off an epidemic of addiction and overdose.

As the governor himself acknowledged, the five bills enacted into law on Monday are the first tiny steps in a long process of reform. Gov. Rauner created the Illinois State Commission on Criminal Justice and Sentencing Reform in early 2015, and he tasked it with recommending specific reforms which, if implemented, will enable the state to safely reduce its incarcerated population by 25 percent over 10 years.

In December, the commission released part one of its final report, which included recommendations to repeal some mandatory minimums and expand probation eligibility for nonviolent offenses in order to reduce the number of admissions to prison. However, the commission has deferred making recommendations to address the excessive length of prison stays — the most significant driver of over-incarceration — until later this year when part two of its final report is due.

Only one of the measures signed at Monday’s ceremony was the product of the commission’s initial round of recommendations: The governor approved a bill that will require judges to justify, on the record, sentencing a defendant to prison for a low-level felony, if the person has no prior probation sentence or conviction for a violent offense. Another of the new reforms prohibits, in most cases, the commitment of a juvenile to a state correctional facility for a low-level drug offense and reduces the length of mandatory probation terms for delinquent youth. Other bills signed as part of this package would ease employment restrictions on people with criminal records and expedite the process of expunging juvenile records.

Gov. Rauner and the bipartisan group of legislators who set their differences aside to achieve these important reforms in a challenging political environment undoubtedly deserve praise and recognition. But these modest achievements are only a small down payment on the kind of cooperation that will be needed to truly transform Illinois’ broken system. Our elected officials must show the political courage to reject the old “soft on crime” lines of attack if criminal justice reform is to continue advancing against the headwind of Illinois’ political dysfunction.

This blog post also appeared in the National ACLU's Blog, Speak Freely.

Learn More

• Press Release: Nearly 3 in 4 Illinois voters believe criminal justice system is broken
• Explore ACLU's work around criminal justice reform
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