With an all Democratic Congress, and a Democratic President, we weren’t able to get a lot of shit done that was promised to us, and without saying “I told you so” (oops, a lot of people just did and have been, like The Red Queen), it isn’t like we didn’t see this coming when you are forced to choose the lesser of evils.

We do not have a Pro-Choice President, despite what all the orgs might have toted along the way.

One of the things that I was extremely angry to see, and in part really made me doubt the power of push-button petition activism is the fact that we allowed Congress to strip the portion of the Defense Authorization Act that contained provisions for women servicemembers’ healthcare, specifically the part having to do with her ladybits.

But apparently the need to care for your ladybits is far too controversial if you tote a gun around a battlefield or are working aboard an Aircraft carrier and while you can expect the government to fund your steel-toed boots (which they don’t) and buy your ship (which they do), you can’t possibly expect them to cover all of your body parts in your healthcare coverage (which they should).

Women have not been allowed to receive abortions in military facilities for a long damned time. It has been lobbed back and forth in Congress casually by men who never will ever have to worry about how an unplanned or, yes, unwanted pregnancy will affect their careers (and let’s not pretend that most of Congress never has been part of the military or isn’t so far detached from it that they are irrelevant).

This trifle of information might not seem like a huge tidbit to someone in the States, but to a woman serving in Iraq, Afghanistan, Djibouti, or, say for example, Republic of Korea, countries where abortion isn’t legal, then it is an issue. These are places where an unwanted pregnancy can’t be dealt with on the economy because the laws don’t allow it. A woman would have to find ways to travel to the nearest country, after securing leave from a commander who is more than likely a man, and who will more than likely want to know why (forcing the release of private medical information).

This of corse all costs money, forgetting all the money for travel.

But some women don’t have even these luxuries, and they know that ostracization isthe biggest fear of all, and they take extreme measures at the end of the cleaning rod of a rifle.

I’ve been seeing a lot of outcry, recently, about Republicans wanting to strip abortion services and provisions from insurance coverage for women over there in the States.

Welcome to our world.

We, uniformed women and dependent (I hate that word) family members of servicemembers have long been denied access to safe, legal abortion services. For four decades our access to abortion has been a political ping pong ball, and our access to a full range of reproductive health services has been nothing but a rec room game.

Unless we can prove rape or incest, or we can get a doctor to say that our lives are in danger (and that is purely at the discretion of the doctor, and I could tell you horror stories of women who have been at the mercy of doctors unwilling to declare this), abortions are not to be had. We only recently were able to access Plan B as part of our TRICARE Formulary (the medications required to be on-hand at all military treatment facilities).

And when the call came out to support the repeal, the silence from mainstream feminist groups was staggering. The only large group that supported it was NARAL, and I am pretty sure I only heard from Nancy Keenan in my inbox twice (usually with a call for money), twice again at Change.org.

My petition to garner support ended with only 631 signatures after more than six months of driving it and pushing it in a way that I was afraid was going to lose me friends and followers. But I believed in what I was doing with all of my person, so I didn’t care.

And Congress stripped the Burris Amendment, the amendment that would have repealed the ban on military abortions in military facilities (if they were prepaid with private funds, and it required no government funds to support) from the DAA prior to passing it.

Military women still can not have a full range of medical care, even though they support and defend a country in which it is legal.

So when I see the outcry from feminists on their blogs and see everyone outraged that Republicans in their new Republican controlled congress are blocking abortion access from insurance coverage and chipping away at the rights of civilian women to access abortion (which I think is wrong, and have said unequivocally many times) and doing their damnedest to make sure that abortion is difficult to access for civilian women…I am finding it hard to say anything but…

How can you be outraged? I am not angry… but kind of flailing here. I am not holding people accountable personally, but when we needed the support of people to pound home this issue… we didn’t have it.

When you fail to take a stand to protect the rights of a small group of oppressed people you can not possibly expect that your rights will not be chipped away at next.

We have to stand together or we will fail to stand at all. When the Republicans managed to succeed in squashing the only chance for military women to have abortions included in their health care and cast it off as a “contentious issue”, it was only a matter of time before they managed to presume that it was OK to continue to dig away at the rest. Why would they think that anyone cares about women’s health care? We don’t seem to care about it enough to stop them from steamrolling over a small group of women, so on to the next group, then the next and so on…

Or, is it because soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines, and coasties don’t matter? I mean, as I said on tumblr, we know they fight wars, which is wrong, so I guess it is OK that they don’t enjoy the same rights as us, amirite?

I am not sure, but all of this outrage just overwhelms me.

Welcome to my world.

You had a chance to support us in return for our service and tell the Rethugs that you give a damn about full, comprehensive health care for women. I can’t believe you are surprised by this next step Congress has taken.

If you are a servicemember or dependent family member who needs access to a safe abortion and has been denied, the ACLU is looking to represent you. You may contact me at ouyangdan [at] randombabble [dot] com and I can put you in touch with someone who is willing to help you, while keeping you anonymous if you wish. You are not alone or without people who care about you.

Photo Credit: U.S. Army

Where did it come from?

A conversation starts about shaming in OB/GYN care, which is an important one.

Suddenly all of these people have flown out of the wood work to make sure that all of we lady folk know that getting our pap smears and pelvic exams is Just! So! Important! Medical and non-medical alike.

They need not even all be lady folk themselves, but experts who have lady relatives who have had their lives saved by paps, so they must impart to us the urgency to spread our thighs and allow ourselves to have invasive medical procedures that we do not want. Medical procedures that can be painful, traumatizing, and even, as has been show, unnecessary.

But there is a whole slew of thing that keep we peeps, and I say “peeps” because I am certain that there are people who do receive pelvic exams and paps who do not identify as women who may also feel bullied or forced into these medical procedures that they do not want as frequently as people feel the need to force us into them.

Why with all the pressure? Even when most of the information I found says every 2-3 years (I think it is worth noting that the Australia site is the only one that has information specifically for people with disabilities)? Even that information is varied. It seems that people, even medical providers pressure people to get paps every year. Especially if you want birth control. There seems to be this habit of holding birth control hostage if you are unwilling to submit to having a metal or plastic instrument shoved into your vagina and having bits of your cervix dug out.

Even on virgins. Oh, yes. In the U.S., for I can not speak to other nations, there is this fixation with making sure that doctors or other practitioners are the first ones to shove things into the genitals of virgins girls seeking birth control, whether or not she is seeking it for sex. Even though there are several good medical reasons why she could want birth control that don’t involve wanting to partake in heterosexual intercourse.

When I was fourteen, I was having period cramps from hell. I was bleeding like a stuck pig for three days straight out of ten. I would need to miss at least one day of school a month due to period cramps because I couldn’t get out of bed from the pain. Sometimes I would vomit from the pain.

Eventually, the cramping started coming when I wasn’t having my period. I was having cramping so bad that I was begging to miss school during this time as well. I remember my mother thinking I was a hypochondriac around this time of my life. She would sometimes groan, and often joke to her friends that I always thought something was wrong with me. I would often try to hide pain from her because I didn’t want her to laugh or make fun of me. She even had our doctor convinced that I was making things up. When I finally got in to see him, he chucked, and without really examining me, told me I had Mittelschmerz, and that what I needed was to stop coddling my body during my cramps and to get up and start being active during my cramps. This would not be the first doctor my mother convinced to laugh at my pain in my life.

So, I tried following his advice, and I would damn near pass out during gym class or band. The pain was so bad that I couldn’t eat and it would bring me to tears, dizziness, and I would dry heave. Finally my mother took me to the doctor again, who finally did an ultrasound and determined that I had large ovarian cysts that were causing me to have painful periods. I needed to see a gynecologist for a consult.

On top of being worried that anyone at church would think that I was having sex (because I knew so little about sex education at the time that I thought that the GYN was only for people having sex or babies), I was nervous. Incredibly nervous. I thought for sure that everyone thought that I had done something already and was lying about it. The gynecologist was the brother of my science teacher, and we were in a relatively small town. I was so worried that someone would KNOW WHERE I WAS. Also, that I was A LYING SEX HAVING SLUT!

Yes, I had cysts, and the doctor said that the best treatment was going to be to put me on the birth control pill (OH THE MORTIFICATION!) because it would help reduce them and ease my period. It was supposed to reduce my period and help them be shorter and lighter (let’s get this clear, for me this was a lie! I still have 8-9 day periods that are reminiscent of a butcher shop). He wanted to know if I was sexually active (OH MY GOD DID HE JUST SAY THAT WAS HE TALKING TO ME *FACE FLUSHING SCARLET*), and even though I said no, I had to have a pelvic exam and pap smear anyway, because that was routine procedure for prescribing birth control. (Wait. What?)

My mother had dropped me off and signed all the consent forms. How nice of her. I had no idea what was going on. What? OK. I guess so. What did that mean? You want to put WHAT? WHERE?

Suddenly this doctor, this man, whom I didn’t really know but looked an awful lot like my eighth grade science teacher, which made me really uncomfortable, was feeling my breasts, telling me that I needed to do the same thing in the shower (Uh-huh, OK, keep looking at the ceiling. That was nice of them to put a poster up there…). I had to put my feet in stirrups, which reminded me of riding horses as our friend’s farm, and certainly didn’t put me at ease. I was naked, and I had never been naked in front of any man who was not may Daddy trying to help me dress for bed, and that hadn’t been since I was about ten, and it wasn’t like this.

I was asked to slide down until I was squatting. There was cold jelly, and a metal thing, and even though he was talking to me through most of it, I remember the poster of the wooded lake on the ceiling, with the bridge over it, with one of those quasi-religious inspirational sayings on it. Suddenly I was being penetrated by metal objects and fingers…and it felt wrong and awful and I just was always told that this shouldn’t happen… not like this. Hot tears ran down my face. He asked if I was OK as he felt around inside me while pressing down on the outside of me at the same time. I could only nod, afraid of what my voice would sound like if I gave in to it. I don’t even know why they bother with gowns. They are laid open, and my whole being, my essence felt exposed on the cold crunchy paper. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I shoved them into my hair, and pulled tight.

I didn’t know that doctors ever did this.

(The poster has a lake…are those birch trees?)

And it hurt. And he felt my ovaries to check for the cysts. And he took his sample…and it felt like a sample of my soul left me.

For all the talk of how having sex outside of marriage or whatever message had been pounded on me for however long, and how it would leave me hollow and leave me feeling worthless and damaged, and for all the ways I had been told that casual sex would leave me reeling and feeling depressed and with a hole of missing self-esteem, nothing I did in my consensual sex life has ever compared to the way that pelvic exam and pap smear felt to me, a fourteen year old girl. A person rising on the crest of womanhood, not yet there but ready to fly, and having had myself violated before I took my first steps.

I left that doctor’s office with a script in my hand and a hole in the depths of my soul and a hollow in my heart. I walked to my friend’s house, because I remember that my mother was on second shift. A long and lonely walk toting my French horn, the plastic molding of the case banging against my shin. They were the kind of friends that had become a second family to me, who kind of took me in as the kid who needed looking after sometimes and loved me intensely. I remember the mother, telling her where I had been and what had happened. And while I have never experienced what I consider sexual assault outright, I can imagine that this must be an ember of that fire. I cried, feeling dirty and awful and ashamed, as she held me.

My friend’s mother looked me in the face and leaned against the carved post dividing the kitchen, holding my face in her hands, as I looked into her angular face, with her short wavy hair, and her kind, almost smirkish smile that always had a way of washing comfort over me.

“Being a woman is Hell”, she said, which surprised me a bit, this being back in my church days. “Going to the gynecologist can feel as embarrassing as Hell, but it won’t always be so awful”. She hugged me against her shoulder, and brought me some Texas Sheet Cake, because it seems that chocolate could always help me calm down sometimes. Or maybe is was a combination thing.

I wonder if maybe it is a combination thing. If maybe I had been informed a little more and had an iota of a clue about women’s health care, and what a pelvic exam and pap smear is all about.

Or, maybe if things like pap smears aren’t forced upon young people who are not sexually active, or upon people who don’t want them. If we don’t hold birth control hostage. If we don’t do things like force people to the outside of their own health care, we might be more prepared. We need to set clear guidelines (OH WAIT! ACOG!) to make sure that folks know what doctors are expecting and what is actually needed, so they can be aware of what is suggested to keep them healthy. This “maybe every year, but it is really only needed every so-and-so years, but, hrmmm…we feel like doing it every two years stuff” isn’t cutting it. We have a right to know the guidelines, and to insist that we only have invasive medical procedures as often as needed. Not as often as someone else who is not us feels like it. Even Scarleteen, a site I love, is vague on the expectations of the requirements for paps and pelvics. We need our medical professionals to stick to what ACOG has laid out (or, in my case, I would like them to just be aware of what ACOG has put out before I am), so we can get a standard measure of care. ACOG has said the risk of being treated for a false positive is not worth testing every year.

Really.

When I see articles like this, I realize it is more about making sure we control women, who just can’t be left to their own medical decisions! They are all so silly! This isn’t about shaming women for being nervous or embarrassed (for very good reason). This is about understanding that people have a right to autonomy over their own bodies. Yes, even teenagers! (I know, I am so silly, thinking they might be people who have thoughts about their medical care!) And health care is a part of that autonomy. An important part.

Education, consistency, and plain ol’ listening to patients might help. Listening to women and people in general who have to have these procedures might be a step. Re-evaluating the reasons for insisting on them for simple things like birth control, especially for non-sexual reasons in virgin teenagers might be a step. Being more compassionate to people experiencing GYN care for the first time — or even in general — might be a step. Including women in conversations about their reproductive care might be a step.

But demanding, shaming, controlling, hostage taking of parts of care? That is not helping.

It could kill, and I venture to say it will do the opposite of what all of your concern-trolling of reproductive health is intending to do.

Kid had it right, learned it in Pre-school even: My face, my space. My body, my business.

But then I read it and I see some little segment of non-truth, some swipe that isn’t as well-done as the rest that leaves me with a sour taste and I see it as equally harmful to some.

That can be said of this almost-home-run piece by Nicole Guidotti-Hernández at Ms. Magazine’s blog. It isn’t a secret that I have my share of issues with Ms. or their blog, like their ridiculous Obama as Superman cover or the recent blog post about how all us disabled folk were a hive mind of dupes working for the anti-choice movement. The difference being that Guidotti-Hernández’ piece was actually good. Solid. The reproductive justice movement, and feminism in general, has thrived on as marginalized women have laboured, forgotten. White women, rich, well-off women marched on to vote, enjoy their new freedom, and gain rights and non-white women nursed their children, and disabled women stayed in the corners forgotten as worthless and unworthy anyway.

Nicole had me until the part where she seemed to be dissing on IUDs:

Yet, I can’t help but think of a recent visit to the gynecologist (not my usual one, but an affiliate in the practice at the University Medical Center in Tucson), at which the doctor kept insisting that I consider an IUD even though I am unmarried and have no children. As a recently tenured faculty member with a hyphenated “Latino” name, this unwavering persistence that I need an IUD–or, rather, am a good candidate for one–and therefore not needing to reproduce, suggests that reproductive racism is alive and well, even for an Ivy-league educated Chicana. It makes me wonder how many other Latinas, educated or not, are being pushed to control their reproduction with this subtle racism that is the dark underbelly of reproductive justice.

I can sympathize with her feelings of frustration here. My own heritage is full of women who were forcibly sterilized. Perhaps what she senses was happening is in fact what was going on. I don’t know. I am not one to fully discount institutional racism. I know all too well what it feels like to feel like your provider isn’t listening to you, maybe even better than she does. There is no excuse for a provider to not listen to your wishes. It still doesn’t change the rest of it. It is also entirely possible that she had a doctor who was simply trying to give her the best possible birth control option for her, and that because she hasn’t researched the IUD properly, and that she is spreading myths about it, that she was dead set against hearing that it was that: a great choice for her. Having “Native American” stamped in my medical record didn’t make obtaining my one any easier. I had insurance on my side, and even my “white” appearance, getting me more than one odd glance when what they see doesn’t match what they read. I am forgetful with pills. I am horrible with getting refills. I have all kinds of complications that interact with hormones, and more reasons than fingers for doctors to dissuade me from having more children. And yet, I have had the opposite experience. Twice.

It is also no secret how I love my IUD. How I have had to fight to get it. Why is that you ask? Why did I have to fight to get it?

Because people seem to be caught up in the days when IUDs in the U.S. were getting a bad rap for still being dangerous, and it seems that most people — women, nurses, doctors, preachers, whathaveyou — can’t be bothered to pick up the latest literature and brush up on what is so awesome about IUDs, or so safe, convenient, affordable (for a privileged sect), and practical.

Modern IUDs, available in two forms: The plastic hormonal and the copper non-hormonal (Mirena and Paraguard in the U.S.). The thing is, they are not just for married moms of three kids these days. IUDs are also great for…well, almost anyone. No longer do you have to have popped out kids in order for your cervix to be right. Some doctors still believe otherwise, and I believe that if we continue to allow people to spread myths like the above quoted passage, they will continue to turn women away from this great form of birth control. Armed with information, doctors, nurses, and even *cough* nurse midwives, will begin to see that everyone’s cervix is different and that it depends on the woman, not her status of maternity.

Being married is no longer required either. It is more important to be smart and responsible about your sexual health than to be in a marital, or even a monogamous, relationship. I think people realized a while back that being married is no longer (HA!) proof that you will be protected from STIs. Many professionals recommend a second barrier method in conjunction with an IUD, but you would have to use that with the pill, the patch, and most hormonal birth control anyway.

IUD is about the most popular form of birth control in the world. In fact, according to Guttmacher, its use in Europe outdoes the other leading three uses of contraceptive in the U.S..

Why could that be?

Well, for one, if you opt for the Paragard, or copper version, there are no side effects. Once your body adjusts — most women experience mild to “oh my stars I want to ker-smash things” cramping the first month or so — you no longer have any of the brought-on-by-hormones deals that are associated with the pill, the shot, etc. Smokers, those with high blood pressure, heart disease, and even people like myself who have medical situations that interfere with the pill, can happily use the copper IUD.

Mirena offers a low dose of hormones with the benefits of being an IUD. An extra whammy if you will. Conditions like endomitriosis are believed to be helped slightly by its use. It is also believed to help aid heavy periods and can help lighten them. It won’t set off metal detectors at airports*. Slate has a good article that focuses on the IUD.

Both are easily reversible. By “easily”, I mean “almost instantly”. I mean, were I to go in to my doctor’s office today and have my Paragard removed, The Guy and I could, in theory, conceive a child within ten minutes of the doctor leaving the exam room. Long term doesn’t mean permanent. You don’t have to wait a month (or longer) for the hormones to leave your body. Many women in Europe and Asia use the IUD as an alternative to the more permanent sterilization at the end of planning their families. The U.S. just hasn’t caught on yet.

It is also ready to use the day (THE SAME HOUR!) you have it inserted.

The start-up cost is, sadly, higher than most other forms (between $300-$500 without insurance), but the maintenance is lower. “Lower” here reads as “virtually nonexistent”. Every other form of birth control requires you to maintain. The shot and ring: Monthly. The patch: Weekly. The pill: Daily. Condoms: Every damn time (no, really, you can’t re-use them, even if you wash them!). With the IUD, you have it inserted, and then you basically ignore it for five years or ten years, depending on your device (well, you should stick some fingers in there to check for the strings once a month or so, but checking your bits out is a good idea anyway), or until you decide to have it removed, barring any complications (and I am not saying there won’t be any).

There is no month-month cost, and if you are paying $60 a month in birth control, over the 5-10 life of your IUD, it is cheaper. In reality, I know that if you can’t afford $60 a month, you likely can’t afford $300, let alone $500, but this is the reality of the economics of the device. If you have access to a women’s health clinic, like a Planned Parenthood, they may be able to help assist. More VA centers are getting into the Women’s Health arena, with closed curtains and everything, but I am not holding my breath. IUDs are usually covered by insurance, but I am not going to pretend this is always the case. I know quite a few notable exceptions to this, which is why it is important for people to realize that reproductive justice issues are a part of women’s health care.

The reason attitudes like this irritate me is because even OB/GYNs and other women’s health professionals have a hard time paying attention to the good side of IUDs. The reasons for this, I am not sure, but it makes it damned difficult for people who want or need them to get them. Some people who need them, who can not use other forms have a hell of a time getting them, and not just because of lack of availability or costs, but because doctors just simply don’t keep up with the latest information (as I recently found out for myself).

You would think that its 99% + efficacy would be a drawing factor. Sure, studies show that the pill and patch and condom also tote these, but with perfect usage. Typical usage put them at closer to … not so much. Depending on who you ask, those methods are more or less reliable if you use them well enough. The copper IUD is has a less than 1% failure rate, and the hormonal IUD a pretty close second. That is the most effective birth control after abstinence. A couple of hormonal birth controls come close, but really, it is the most reliable.

It just irks me, irks me to no end, that amidst sharing parts of a dark history that needs to be highlighted that someone would mix in myths with their, possibly justified, suspicion. Non-white women have endured a long history of forced sterilization, and messages that we shouldn’t enjoy the same freedoms with our reproductive rights. That justifies the suspicion with reproductive medical professionals. I’ve had them myself. But it doesn’t mean that every time it is going to be that way, or that things like IUDs are suggested to keep our wombs closed forever, because that just isn’t what they do, and I will not sit idly by while someone writes a mostly good article, and while it is passed around passively and highly praised (albeit, mostly deservedly). But someone needs to point out the flaw. Someone needs to point out the dangerous myth. Maybe some young woman, maybe a young Latina woman, possibly with some sort of disability or need I can’t think of, someone who doesn’t want children while she completes an education, or doesn’t want a family and doesn’t want an invasive procedure like sterilization, might read this article and think that she has no other options. And specialists will only confirm that suspicion.

I can’t have that.

For more IUD love from a non-white perspective, see Lena Chen.

More of my IUD love.

*I had the surprising experience of my IUD setting of a metal detector at the Honolulu Airport while going to drop The Kid off for an Unaccompanied Minor flight. I had no metal whatsoever on my body, no clips in my hair, and a t-shirt on. The guards were baffled, that the wand was only picking up a crackle near my abdomen. They let us through and when I came back, it was the only thing that occurred to me. They agreed that it was what must be giving them issue. We all had a good laugh, and it cheered me considerably.

So I didn’t have to read more than a paragraph or two of this to be annoyed.

I am not even sure that “annoyed” is the proper adjective (or past participle, wev) here.

These kinds of posts in feminist spaces make me want to toss in my feminist card and return my free toaster oven (it doesn’t work on the 220 volt anyway). The first thing that these kinds of posts do is set expectations that are too high. Whether or not these posts say it directly, and irrespective of later claims and clarifications in comments by the authors, they are expecting children to behave at an adult threshold. They are expecting children to comply with behavioral norms established by and for able-bodied adults. They are also putting the onus on able-bodied adults to “control” that behavior, only mildly admitting that children do not yet have the faculties to reach those thresholds.

The only nod I will give to this post by Jill, who has privilege coming out her nose here in this very U.S., East Coast centric post, is that she isn’t calling for parents and care-takers to hide indoors with the windows locked for 18+ years. Children do need to learn how to live in our world, and how to behave in public and interact with people who are not them and their parent or parents/caretakers. But here is a newsflash for the child-free crowd: part of socializing children is also about teaching them that they are not the center of the universe. That is why we take them to places that are not “kid friendly”. That is why we go to restaurants that “couldn’t advertise any harder that children will be bored out of their skulls“, because they need to learn that they need to live in the grown up world too. That is why we tote the big bags full of crayons and toys and snacks and enough stuff that makes it look as though we have moved in. That is why it takes some of us two hours to leave the house (the “we” that means whoever this includes, not necessarily me, even though I once fit into this, but this is a very privileged set of parents and caretakers) with youngins. We work over time to make sure that our kids behave. Most of us.

Another newsflash might be that “behave” isn’t synonymous with “control” because it seems to escape the attention of many a Feministe reader and commenter that children are people. You can’t control a child any more than you can control a 30-something grown woman who is a fully formed human being. They have feelings and needs and desires…the big difference here, and it’s a big one, is that they lack the capacity of communication that allows them to express these things clearly to the people in charge of satisfying these needs. And I don’ t know about you but that sounds like it is fucking irritating. I sometimes get sensory overload and just can’t communicate that, and I am an adult so people tend to listen to me more than they do to children (I am struggling for a Dumbledore quote here but it is escaping me, so I will have to watch Prisoner of Azkaban later). We as parents try to modify behavior. We try to communicate with children. We try to listen to them and validate them. What I find that most people who don’t have children mean by “control” is that they want us to grab a crying, frustrated child who is overloaded with feelings that they can’t express (an action that would get an adult punched by another adult, I am sure) and try to cover their mouths or even spank them. People assume that if they don’t see a parent physically engaging with a child or verbally (and sternly) having a dialogue with a child that they are taking a laissez-faire approach. We are lazy, the admonished “rather be friends” parent.

Again and again I see in comments that if such behavior in children was displayed by adults, such as a fight with a significant other in a restaurant, they would be expected to leave the public space for the sake of others. Well, of course they would. This equating of adult behavior that is inappropriate for public consumption to a child’s behavior is absurd, because you can not expect children to hit the same bar of behavior as adults. They are not adults. I don’t even expect 17-year olds to hit that same threshold, but I so see them as nigh adults, and expect a level of appropriate behavior. Because they are humans and individuals. Capable of behavior that is appropriate to them, and most of them surpass and exceed the threshold that even I set (which is higher than most, because of my weird notions that they are potential adults and all). We can not possibly expect them to behave like adults. They are not adults. This is a terrible straw argument. Plus, comparing typical child behavior to inappropriate behavior of adults (fighting, drunken conduct) is insulting to children. They are humans.

Also, I would like to note that any behavior that children might engage in that is outside of smiling demurely is not “misbehaving”. Children occasionally cry. They tend to be loud sometimes. Every now and then they want or need something and they don’t know how to tell you that, or they are bored, or they are tired, or any number of things we can’t predict from the Pandora’s box of their range of emotions, and they will find a way of communicating this. It happens, so far in my experience, all the way up until eight, and counting. This is not “misbehaving”. So far, it is behaving. I have seen this “misbehaving”, and a toddler dropping a crayon on the floor in a restaurant to see the response of a person picking it up. Again. And again. And again. Is not “misbehaving”. Read a baby development book for Ceiling Cat’s sake. That is typical development. They like reactions. In fact, if you ignore it, they usually stop.

Which brings me to my next point.

When a child is having what I call a “melt down”, the best tactic is not to pay it attention. You need to validate that the child is having feelings (the specific ones if you can), and allow them to work through it. If you can get them to a quiet private place, sure, like a bedroom, but sometimes their desired goal is interrupting your meal or nice time, and leaving the room with them gives them your undivided attention. You are feeding the behavior by leaving. Sometimes, EGADS! we have to parent in public, and you, the child-free as you like to call it, are going to have to see that just like sometimes I have to sit on a bench outside and breathe second-hand smoke. Or listen to 20-somethings drunkenly go on about whatever. Sometimes I can leave my kid who is having a tantrum in the store standing in the aisle and walk away while she cries, and the tantrum stops. But sometimes I have to sit and ignore her in a restaurant and eat my meal, uncomfortably aware that people around me are pissed off because of her. I was once applauded at a restaurant when I left because of the crying fit she had when I changed her diaper in the restroom on the changing table provided. We can’t win even when we are in places that provide child friendly services.

All of this is, of course, considering that we are able-bodied parents who are capable of moving around freely with our children. Because I noticed that the conversation at Feministe treated disability and child-rearing, again, as if they were mutually exclusively issues (I am not even going to touch this comment, because… o__0 ). Inserting A into situation B as a comparison isn’t the best way to make a point.

People with disabilities have children and are parenting, and doing smashing brilliant jobs at it all the time. They are also doing so in public, and your suggestion that a parent just up and run out of the room with their crying child to assuage your comfort level might not be the easiest of tasks. The comment thread over there was dripping with privilege. And I am certain that I am just seeing the least vile of it (though, not surprisingly some of the worst comes from the likes of Amanda Marcotte, whom I have not lost love over). Obviously we should just sterilize all PWDs so that we don’t accidentally breed and therefore not be able to “control” (where control=beat the everlivinghelloutta, because that seems to be the only acceptable form of punishment…let me tell you that if I ever see a person hit my child…) our children for the comfort of the poor citizens of over crowded Mount Olympus New York… Fuck you.

We live in Seoul. Seoul has a population density that is bigger than NYC’s by more than half (almost double). It is crowded here. Homes are stacked on top of homes and high rises are the thing. You don’t live in apartments, you live in ville, and “the view” is the other high rises. We have public transportation and you only drive somewhere if you are going there and back. It is like New York in the sense that you bump into each other, but it is assumed and no one gets grumpy about it. People are actually nice about it. People don’t make eye contact, sure, but people are not going to cuss you out if you bump into them getting on and off the subway, because it is expected. I don’t see parents making demands for stroller space on the subway, you just know you can’t do it (it isn’t really a friendly environment that way, you have to wear your kid, really). People are serious about the disabled seating (except for the foreigners, which is amusing to me, where amusing = pisses me off because of the racism I see from the U.S.-ian people who live here as a privilege). My point is all that crap that Jill paints about how New Yorkers are entitled to their space and privacy is bullshit because I see it so much better handled here. The thing is that people in the U.S. are pampered and privileged whingers and whiners about such shit. Ever since coming to ROK people have been wonderful to the Kid. They offer her seats, they are nice to her in restaurants, and I don’t have to watch her closely. This society takes the “it takes a village” thing seriously. And it isn’t just our Kid.

There is a lot to be learned if you look outside your privileged box. And as one commenter at Feministe points out, one thing about having a parent’s PoV is that we were once the child-free. We can remember what it was like to be those people w/o kids. I remember thinking I knew better than everyone else how to tell parents to raise their kids. The thing is, if you haven’t been there, if you aren’t a caretaker of a child (if you haven’t reached that milestone with that particular child yet) then these conversations shouldn’t involve you. You don’t get to tell parents how and where they get to parent their kids (unless that child is in danger). You basically get to back the fuck out, especially when you spend eight or so long paragraphs waxing poetic about how the pampered upper class mommies are making it great for other pampered mommies. Cuz I can tell you, that even for someone like me, who has a ton of privilege, there is a huge difference between upper class and middle class, and the rest of people who are left out. Even I can’t enjoy going to the gym with all of the fitness shaming on the post here (even if I had the able body to go all the time) because there is no day care available for my child when I need to go. I can’t afford a nanny (and who is taking care of her kids?) like the Embassy workers or Officer’s wives. There is privilege to unpack everywhere, because at least there are facilities available to me. But I don’t see those mommies making anything easier for me or for their nannies while the whole base is sending out bulletin after bulletin about how I should be in shape because of all the programs available for me to use for free…

2200 words later I am out of steam and my hands are done. I can’t keep this conversation up. I have some parenting to do, and I might do it in public. You might not like how I do it, but I think I am doing a smashing job. Butt the fuck out.

Parenting is a feminist issue. Spanking, and why the fuck it is OK is a feminist issue. Parenting with a disability and parenting disabled children is a feminist issue. Why we have to keep defending the right to defend our children’s rights in public is beyond me. Half of feminism these days is beyond me.

A couple of weeks ago I asked my PCM for a referral to OB/GYN to replace the IUD that I had to surrender over the summer. She and The Guy and I have been talking for some time about the options and realities of having another child with my condition, and the answer we came up with is that we will wait for a little longer and see if I am still doing well with my current regimen.

Usually these things take weeks to schedule, but they called the next day, and I had my referral appointment on the second day. No matter what your history in the OB/GYN clinics you have to have counseling in order to get birth control through the MTF (all the ones in which I have been treated anyway), and the idea is that you get to talk to your OB/GYN about all of your birth control options, what you want from your birth control, take his or her advice, and decide on what is best for you. That is the theory, anyhow.

Some people (like me) have an idea ahead of time what they want or what is best for them. I, for example, due to my medical history and ongoing condition, am not able to use a hormonal birth control. Because of that I know that the copper IUD (ParaGuard) is the best option for me. Also because of this, I often read up on ParaGuard and IUD use in women, and try to keep abreast of any information regarding IUD usage, risks involved, etc. The IUD has such a bad reputation from so much misinformation that I feel the need to stay on top of this. Some would say this makes me a big smarty-pants-know-it-all. I say that sometimes a woman can’t trust that her doctor is going to take her word at face falue, and in the off chance that her doctor isn’t as awesome as mine she needs to be prepared. I am privileged to have information available at my fingertips.

I did not realize that my appointment would not be with my usual kick-ass OB/GYN, Dr. K, the same one who saved my fallopian tubes and life this summer and who promised to give me a shiny new IUD whenever I was ready for it. Not panicking when I saw the face of a woman I didn’t know I sat down as she introduced herself as Nurse Midwife V and told me that she had been looking over my file. Great. Maybe she was doing her background reading too, because I really tire of bringing every doctor up to speed constantly on my condition when it is right there on the computer screen for them to see. I don’t have a bunch of degrees and I can keep up with the required reading.

Before I had even the chance to say anything she told me that I was “not a candidate for an IUD” because of my ectopic pregnancy, and that she was not going to refer me for one. When I started to say that I understood that there were some risks she cut me off and told me that my pap was also past due and kept talking. I tried to assert myself past her obsession with people rooting around in my vagina, to let her know that I was aware that there were risks involved with the IUD, but that I knew that not only was what happened to me rare, but that I knew it was rare that it might happen again. But she wasn’t having any of that. She kept right on talking like I wasn’t even there.

I told her that my regular doctor had already said I was fine to have one. She responded by saying that it usually took weeks to get in to see him, as if this was supposed to deter me somehow. I also tried asking if the new ACOG regulations had been implemented yet, thinking this might distract her and get me closer to my goal (also, I am in the lag area none of them know what to do with, being 29, soon to be 30) and all she would say was that my pap was past due. Is it? I don’t know. I had a normal one in late 2008. I am in a mutually monogamous relationship…

When I left I told the front desk that I would no longer allow Nurse Midwife V to treat me. I am currently in the process of filing a formal complaint against her. What shouldn’t have happened here was having everyone from the desk staff to the NCOIC (that’s Non-commissioned officer in charge) tell me how nice Nurse Midwife V is and how everyone likes her so much, and that she is well known for being very good at what she does. That might well be true, great. My experience is that she was condescending and rude, and didn’t help me with my medical needs to my satisfaction. I think that people forget that sometimes, that doctors and nurses are also here to provide a service for us. I have a medical need, and she didn’t meet it. I shouldn’t have to settle for that. No matter how nice and great she is to work with. I also shouldn’t have my experience erased and dismissed by everyone in place to help me when things go wrong for me. That is not good patient advocacy.

I am rather privileged, however, in that I was able to make another appointment, and I saw Dr. K the next day. Had I been someone who had to drive a long way to a clinic, I might not have been able to. Had I had to pay out of pocket for this visit, or if my insurance limited the amount of OB/GYN visits or birth control counselings I was allowed per year, I would not have been able to. Had the travel cost me money I did not have, this would not have been possible. Had I not had the type of job I do where I set my own hours, I might have had to miss work. These are the kinds of things that women face when they come up against providers like Nurse Midwife V, providers who don’t want to listen to women, who won’t talk to women about their own bodies and medical histories. Providers who don’t trust women to be actively involved in their medical processes. Providers who can’t be bothered to involved women in the partnership that should be their own medical care, especially when it comes to their reproductive health. As it was, having to go back a second time was already taxing on my spoons, and stressful, because now I have be on my game. Suddenly I have to come in educated on something that my provider should have known the first time.

Thanks to meloukhia’s indominatable Google-fu I took in the information I was looking for, backing up what I had already said, that an ectopic pregnancy did not preclude me from having an IUD (or, that a previous ectopic pregnancy was not a contraindication for an IUD). Dr. K was impressed that I was so prepared. He told me that he had heard that information, but he himself had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to read any of the journals for himself. He told The Guy (who went with me this time, because they like to banter back and forth in Korean) that I should come in from time to time to keep him updated on current women’s health, and said he wished more people came to him so informed. He said that whomever told me that I couldn’t have an IUD was wrong. I was prepared, but I shouldn’t have had to come in as if I was fighting a war.

Two weeks later I have my IUD.

Nurse Midwife V didn’t care to ask why, after having one IUD failure (as rare as they are, b/c they are pretty much the most effective form of reversible birth control out there, with a fail rate of less than one percent), I would want another IUD. She didn’t bother to find out anything else in my medical history that might affect my decision to make that very personal choice about birth control, like that I am on medication that might have contraindications with hormonal birth control, or that previous specialists had determined that hormonal birth control is a migraine trigger for me. She simply asserted her own opinion (as wrong as it turned out to be) and called it a day. But all of that information is in my medical record if she cared to look. The same record she said she reviewed when she made her initial judgment.

And now, I can’t trust her.

It should also be noted, that my Congressman hates me. Yes. Me, specifically. He hates me as a Native Woman. There is no place for people like me in his world, because my health care needs won’t matter to him. Lest he forget, also, that there is a whole bunch of Michigan yet above the Mitten. “Northern Michigan” isn’t “above Traverse City”. There is a whole Peninsula left. It’s on the quarter and everything. HA!

So, Thanks for nothing, Mr. Stupak. Thanks for mansplaining that one. I’ll be sure to include this as the intro to your new Broadway show “Fuck You!: The Musical.

Letter after the jump.

Dear [OYD]:

 

Thank you for contacting me regarding health care reform. I appreciated hearing from you on this important issue.

 

After months of negotiations, Congress has moved a step closer than ever before to passing legislation that will provide access to quality, affordable health care for all Americans. The U.S. House of Representatives passed the Affordable Health Care for America Act (H.R. 3962) by a vote of 220 to 215 on November 7, 2009. I voted in support of this critical legislation.

 

I have long advocated for health care reform. In my role as Chairman of the Energy and Commerce Committee’s Oversight and Investigations Subcommittee, I have held numerous hearings over the past three years to highlight the need to reform our nation’s health insurance industry and health care system. My hearings exposed abusive insurance industry practices like purging small business from insurance coverage by raising rates so high businesses can no longer afford insurance. The Subcommittee heard from individuals who, due to no fault of their own, had their insurance canceled after they became seriously ill, a practice known as rescission. We heard from seniors who were tricked into purchasing Medicare Advantage plans that provided less coverage than they had through traditional Medicare. And we exposed nursing homes that put profits above patient care.

 

Almost 50 million people are living in the United States without health care coverage. Approximately 82 percent of these uninsured individuals have a full or part-time job. Unfortunately, it is becoming more difficult for employers to offer affordable health insurance to their employees. Coverage is becoming more expensive and less comprehensive, with high deductibles, high co-pays and coverage limits.

 

In my travels and town hall meetings around Northern Michigan, I have witnessed the struggles our families and employers face with our health care system. In Michigan, from 2000 to 2007, employer sponsored annual health insurance premiums rose from $6,817 to $12,151, an increase of 78.2 percent. Over the same period, the median earnings of Michigan’s workers increased from $25,910 to $27,096, an increase of only 4.6 percent. Blue Cross Blue Shield of Michigan customers are seeing their health insurance premiums increase 22 to 40 percent this year even as inflation remains flat. Clearly these skyrocketing health care costs are unsustainable for families, businesses and our government.

 

Health care is not a privilege it is a basic right that should be afforded to all Americans. In reforming health care, Congress is building on the existing framework by making it easier for employers to provide health insurance through government-sponsored programs.

 

The health care bill went through the committee I sit on, Energy and Commerce. On July 31, 2009, I voted against the committee “mark” of the bill. Although the bill included positive reforms that would ensure health care coverage for 97 percent of Americans and would fully pay for health care reform without increasing the federal budget deficit, I still had concerns that were not addressed during committee consideration. These concerns included the bill; did not effectively control rising health care costs, did not do enough to encourage true competition in the health insurance market, and built on a system that rewards ineffectiveness instead of quality and value. I was also concerned that the bill opened the door for public funding to pay for abortion.

 

After the committee work, I continued working to improve the legislation. For the next five months, I worked as part of a small group of Members to change the way the federal government reimburses health care providers by focusing on quality health outcomes rather than the quantity of procedures performed. Because of our work, health care reimbursements will now transition from a traditional fee-for-service system that rewards health providers for the number of procedures they perform to a system based on quality health outcomes. This approach is widely seen as an effective way to lower health care costs and ensure that patients in all regions of the country are treated equally. The quality care proposal is included in H.R. 3962.

 

An agreement was also reached with the Speaker to include a provision to strip the health insurance industry of its anti-trust exemption. With anti-trust protection, the federal government is powerless to protect consumers from collusion, price fixing and other abusive practices engaged in by our nation’s health insurers. Health insurance is one of the few industries not subject to federal anti-trust laws and it is consumers who pay the price. For six years I have offered amendments to repeal the anti-trust exemption and I am pleased the Speaker included a repeal of the anti-trust exemption in H.R. 3962.

 

By working with my Pro-Life colleagues and with Speaker Pelosi, I was able to secure an up or down vote on my amendment with regards to federal funding of abortion. My amendment does one very simple thing: It applies current law (the Hyde Amendment), which bars federal funding for abortion except in the case of rape, incest or life of the mother, to the health care reform bill. The Hyde Amendment has been the law of the land on federal funding of abortion since 1977 and applies to all other federally-funded health care programs such as Medicare, Medicaid, the VA and the Federal Employees Health Benefits Program (FEHBP). My amendment is not new federal abortion policy but continues current law.

 

My amendment has no impact on those individuals with private insurance who do not receive affordability credits and in no way prohibits any individual from purchasing a supplemental abortion coverage policy. Health insurance companies can still offer policies that cover abortion; insurance companies just can’t sell those policies to individuals using affordability credits to pay for the policy. My amendment was passed by the U.S. House of Representatives by a vote of 240 to 194 on November 7, 2009 and was included in H.R. 3962. Without the votes of 41 Democratic Pro-Life supporters of my amendment, health care reform never would have passed the U.S. House of Representatives.

 

In addition to these changes, the bill already included many important provisions that benefit Northern Michigan. The health care legislation would result in key improvements to Medicare for seniors including improved prescription drug coverage beginning with an additional $500 in benefits next year and fully closing the “donut hole” in 2016. Seniors on Medicare will also, for the first time ever, have preventative care, such as check-ups, routine exams and screenings such as mammograms, prostate exams and diabetes tests, covered at 100 percent cost.

 

The Veterans Administration (VA) would be exempt from any changes under the legislation, ensuring that care is unchanged for veterans.

 

Most importantly, the health care legislation is paid for and will not add to deficit spending or the national debt. The non-partisan Congressional Budget Office (CBO) agrees that the bill does not add to the federal budget deficit.

 

The bill includes three separate provisions to prohibit illegal immigrants from receiving taxpayer assistance for health care coverage. Section 347 of the bill prohibits illegal immigrants from receiving federal subsidies to purchase health insurance. Section 1786 of the bill, also known as the Space Amendment that I supported during Committee consideration, prohibits Medicaid and Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP) coverage for illegal immigrants. The manager’s amendment to H.R. 3962 included additional strong requirements for verification of citizenship or proof of being lawfully in the country before receiving any benefits.

 

H.R. 3962 is supported by numerous organizations including AARP, the American Medical Association (AMA), the AFL-CIO, AFSCME, American Cancer Society, American Nurses Association, Communications Workers of America (CWA), UAW and the United Steel Workers.

 

The health care debate now moves to the U.S. Senate. The Senate proposal contains insurance regulatory reforms similar to those in H.R. 3962, such as preventing health insurance companies from discriminating against individuals on the basis of pre-existing conditions and eliminating lifetime caps on coverage.

 

One key difference between the House and Senate bills is that the Senate bill includes a state “opt-out” provision for the public option. Once the House and Senate pass their respective bills, negotiations will begin to craft one final health care bill in a conference committee.

 

Every day I hear the stories of my constituents – the insured, the uninsured and the underinsured – about how the current health care system has left them helpless, bankrupt and disillusioned. By passing H.R. 3962, Congress has moved the first step toward ensuring that the cost of health care in America never results in our citizens having to file bankruptcy because of illness, disease or injury.

 

A great deal of confusion exists regarding the House health care reform proposal. To help clear up some of the myths surrounding the legislation, I have prepared answers to some of the most commonly asked questions about the bill. I have enclosed a copy with this letter and the document can be viewed on my web site at www.house.gov/stupak.

 

Again, thank you for contacting me. Please feel free to contact me again if my staff or I can be of any assistance.

 

Sincerely,

 

BART STUPAK

Member of Congress

You betcha, buddy. We’ll be in touch.

Are you back?

Notable Notes and Quotable Quotes:

I did not know that about spermicidal condoms.  Guess we’ll be throwing those away.

“I’ve met a lot of people who claim to be allergic or sensitive to latex, which is kind of weird, since only 1% of the population actually is.”

I have seen retailers claim the contrary, but you do not in fact need to be 18 or older to purchase condoms.

“What the fuck, FDA?”

Never use petroleum or oil-based lubes.  It breaks down the latex.  These are also bad for sex toys, as it breaks those down also, and can cause bacterial growth (eww!)  Always use water based lubes.

Do NOT try to reuse a condom you have accidentally rolled on the wrong way.  If there is any pre-ejaculate in there it could be bad news.  NO BAYBEEZ!

“To all those people who refuse to use condoms:  We say ‘go fuck yourselves’.”

*Sometimes Nikol says some things that I don’t endorse.  I don’t think it overrides the overall good that MTSS does in getting good sex-ed info out there in an interesting and factually based manner.

I was eleven years old and it was the summer before I began the sixth grade. I woke up alarmed. The bed was wet, and I was so embarrassed thinking that I had wet the bed. I got up out of bed and turned on the lamp to make my way to the bathroom connected to the bedroom. My younger brother and I were staying the summer with our dad, who was at work, so we were spending the night at our grandparent’s house. “Crap,” I thought, “Grandma is going to be so angry that someone my age wet the bed. It wasn’t uncommon, as I had grown up with a small bladder and many infections, I had wet the bed before. As I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror alarm turned to panic. In a very My Girl moment, I freaked out because there was blood everywhere. It couldn’t be good for that much blood to leave my body all at once. My bed looked like a murder scene. I was dying. There was no other option. I ran up to my grandparent’s bedroom, and hurriedly and woke my grandmother. I told her something was horribly wrong. She got up out of bed and followed me to the bathroom. I remember the look on her face, something mixed between amusement and annoyance at having been woken up. She handed me a towel, a clean night gown, and a thick white thing. She told me to shower up and change while she changed my sheets. When I finished, she showed me how to stick the thing in my underwear, and sent me back to bed, still bewildered and half crying. In the morning she told me I had just “become a woman”. She gave me some books, which I am certain were written circa 1965, and told me to read them, and that tampons were bad for my body (and it was years before I was convinced otherwise). She took care of explaining to my father when he arrived to pick us up after breakfast the events of the past night. I spent the next few nights holed up in my room reading about female and male anatomy, puberty, necking and petting, snickering to myself and re-reading the part about intercourse and ogling the scientific drawings of penises. The books were full of pictures of sanitary napkin belts and never even mentioned STIs or contraceptive. I am absolutely sure it taught that one should abstain from sex until marriage.

And that was that.

That was my big sex talk.

My big lesson on the “birds and the bees”.

I didn’t even know that periods didn’t last forever. Shit, until that moment I had never even heard of a period. I thought I was going to have to wear this miniature diaper every day for the rest of my existence. I spent the next several days lamenting the end of my swimming days and how I would never ever be able to speak to my guy friends again. I was mortified, and angry that no one had ever thought to warn me that this was coming.

And I so did not need this shit going into Junior High.

And I was bleeding. How gross was that? All that dirty blood gushing out of me. I felt like I was supposed to hide it and keep it a secret, even though it was no secret that it happened…well no secret to anyone but me, since I hadn’t seen it coming.

Sex Ed in High School for me meant dividing the girls and boys, and while the boys did whatever it was they did, we were told that our virginity was precious and that “blue balls” were some crazy story made up by guys to get us to “give it up”. There was one day where they passed around a condom and let the students touch spermicidal jelly, but I had a dentist appointment that day, so I never saw them. There was duct tape and something about not wanting to waste all the sticky before marriage. When my Senior Year boyfriend and I got all exploratory, we pulled back and cried from shame. The only thing that kept us from having sex was shame, and not really knowing where things went. Hell, I didn’t even know that girls had more than one hole until I was pregnant. I thought you peed on tampons and out the same hole where the clit lives. I knew what a penis looked like but had no idea what was going on between my own legs. I was curious, and maybe a little bored, but I was too embarrassed to ask anyone about sex. So, I didn’t have it. It was still a word we whispered and giggled about. I got insulted when people suggested I was actually participating in the dirty sex. Sex was only something that dirty girls did, apparently, and no one was to talk about it. I thought masturbation was something only perverts did.

I was nineteen by the time I actually got around to having sex. I was still going to church, and so that meant there was a ton of guilt. It was no big deal. The guy was incredibly kind and understanding that I had no idea what I was doing, and I think it went well. As well as it can go on the bottom bunk of a college dorm room but thank goodness he had experience, because I honestly had no clue what I was supposed to do. We never did it again. While I had enjoyed it, I still had all that guilt jumbled up inside, and decided I wasn’t ready after all. I honestly didn’t know what to think about sex. I didn’t want to ask my mom, because oh my gods was that going to be embarrassing, and then what if she was angry? It just seemed so overwhelmingly above my head…I just wanted someone to talk to about sex. Someone who wasn’t leering at or hitting on me. Someone who could tell me that it was OK to enjoy it, and help me to not feel guilty.

I am pretty sure that no one in my family talked to me about sex again until I had given birth to my daughter at 22. In fact I don’t think anyone talked about sex so much as I heard my grandmother make a joke about blow jobs. Yes, my grandmother said blow job. Somehow I moved on from that moment of surprise. I had stitches in parts of my body I didn’t know existed, gave birth never having had a proper orgasm, had a tiny mouth suckling on my boob, and now was listening to my Nana say blow job.

Someone should have told me. Someone should have said “Hey, Brandann, you are going to have all of these urges, and it’s perfectly normal”, but no one did. Someone should have told me that my body was going to change someday, that other than growing boobs and getting hair in places I didn’t think needed it things were going to happen to me. Someone could have taken the time to explain to me that all that blood wasn’t dirty, but a sign that I had grown into maturity, and what that meant, that I was able to get pregnant and would someday enjoy sex. Someone could have explained what my goddammed reproductive system was really supposed to do. But no body did. I had to figure it all out on my own.

And that put me at risk.

All the hush hushedness and stigma surrounding sex may have set me up to make bad choices. I was so sure that sex was dirty that I didn’t even tell my gynecologist I was having it. I was already taking the pill because of ovarian cysts discovered when I was 14 so I didn’t see the need. I knew about a few STIs, but nothing true about how you spread them. Someone actually once tried to tell me that chlamydia was just like a yeast infection, spread the same way, and I wasn’t corrected until I actually had it. I might have known about other methods of birth control, and when the ol’ “I’m allergic to condoms” line rolled around, I might not have wound up pregnant at 21. Someone should have cared enough to speak up and be honest with me about sex. Not that my family didn’t love me, they just didn’t think I would be ‘one of those girls’ I am sure and probably wanted to “protect me”. Maybe they figured I would learn it all in school. But by the time we are teenagers the silence we build between ourselves and our parents is deafening, so neither side feels comfortable bringing it up.

We need to end this family tradition of silence.

And parents need to grow up and stop feeling awkward about talking about sex with their kids.

If we start young, at a basic age, and begin with the basic differences between our bodies it makes a little path. It gives us a gateway to discussing what is a good touch and what is a bad touch. If instead of telling a three year old that they can’t play with their pee pee, we encourage them to do it in a bathtub or some other private, appropriate place, and at an appropriate time, we help them recognize that it is normal to want to feel those good tinglies, and give them the first lesson about safe sex. We erase the stigma that sex is dirty and that touching yourself is shameful.

Talking to younger children creates a framework for talking about bodily autonomy, and how no one should ever touch you in a sexual way when you are young, and when you are older against your will. It gives us a chance to teach little girls that it is just as acceptable to stick her hands in her underwear as it is for little boys to walk around yanking on themselves as if a penis is made of the same stuff as “Stretch Armstrong” and make them comfortable with their bodies, and with talking to parents about sex and feelings. It seems to me that more parents would prefer that their kids be home masturbating rather than out doing who knows what with who knows who while who knows where, so why don’t we let them know that self pleasure is perfectly normal? Even at older ages, treat masturbation in your child as another part of their development, and part of their privacy. Be nonchalant about it so they don’t get embarrassed talking about, and teach them to lock the door to avoid surprise laundry deliveries (and don’t freak out thinking your daughter is bulimic when she takes extra long showers).

Taking time to talk about sex with young children creates a time for learning the proper vocabulary of anatomy and allows for future talks about bodies. By starting young, with age appropriate material, we are able to create a comfort zone for sex talks about big issues. We give our children the opportunity to learn about sex from the proper channels, at home, in a loving and non judgmental environment, and can encourage them to ask questions. My five year old daughter is the newest resident expert on human reproductive anatomy, and I want her to be comfortable enough to ask me questions about her body. I think we need to teach boys about their penis and testes, and teach girls that you don’t pee from your clitoris; basic anatomy that a startling number of grown ups don’t know. If it becomes normal for parents and children to talk about easy topics, it takes away the thinking twice about asking a parent about the difficult ones, like sex.

But talking isn’t enough. Not nearly.

We, as parents, and by extension primary educators have a commitment to making sure those talks are full of accurate information. From teaching a five year old the difference between a vagina and a vulva to talking to a teenager about ways to protect yourself if choosing to have sex, we need to make sure that we are telling them the truth. Instill value systems, fine, and teach religious lessons, but don’t let them cloud the facts. It’s OK to tell your kids that your chosen god wants them to wait until marriage for sex, but it is also OK to tell them that if they choose to do it sooner it is important to protect themselves. If we teach the facts at home we are arming our kids with knowledge against an onslaught of misinformation that is available. Just as we would never send a soldier or sailor into combat without a proper weapon we should be equally vigilant about teaching children to protect their bodies once they are no longer under our constant care. Teach them that abstinence is the only 100% effective means of preventing the baby parasite and other STIs, but teach them how to properly take a pill, what the other options are, and where to find them as well. Take it one step further and take your teenager to a doctor or a Planned Parenthood for birth control and contraceptive education. The boys too. Show them where to buy condoms. Explain that if they are too ashamed to buy rubbers they are too ashamed to have sex. Teach them about enthusiastic consent, how to put the condom on. Teach the girls how to put condoms on. Teach them the consequences of not protecting themselves, and give them the truth about their options if they accidentally get sick or pregnant. Be their parent, teacher, and their best friend whom they desperately come to for advice.

And for the sake of all that is important about their lives, teach them free from judgment. They have the world and the media and the rest of their lives to be slut shamed and told that sex is bad and that their self worth is in between their legs or a silly piece of fragile tissue. Let them start out loving and accepting themselves, their bodies, and their feelings. Talk to them about how sex is awesome in the right context, because it pretty much rocks, and let them choose for themselves how to feel about it once they have all the important factual information.

Take the confusion out of the basics of sex and sexuality, so that when they leave the sanctuary of the home nest they have an idea about personal autonomy and what to allow on their bodies and when. Give them the tools to make informed decisions when parents are no longer around to talk to. Preventing confusion may not prevent rape, but it will give the next generation an upper hand at making sure they are safe in their world experiences, clear about what they want when it comes to things getting “hot and heavy”, comfortable to talk about it with someone they trust be it a parent or a partner, and strong enough to know that it’s their right to say “no” to any type of sexual contact, and perhaps more importantly, that it is their right to give an enthusiastic “yes”.

This time, day six came and left, and things picked up intensity.  I went through twice as many tampons as normal by day nine, including a whole box of the highest level absorbency available, which I never use.  By day ten I was cramping, a lot, something which is pretty unusual, as I usually suffer some back pain, but nothing like this.  By day twelve I was lightheaded and lethargic.  I was also a little worried.  But each day I went to bed thinking it would be over with the next day…and I am oft reluctant to involve a doctor for fear of being ridiculed for worrying about trivial things.

Day fourteen we called the doctor.

With my usual slew of medical issues the General Practice Major ran a CBC and wanted to make sure I wasn’t anemic or having a thyroid issue.  The last thing he expected, since I use an IUD (currently the most effective form of birth control), was for my pregnancy test to come back positive.

To be honest I didn’t expect it either.

Leave it to me to be inside of that less than one percent.

Since I have the oldest uterus in my immediate family I was afraid of cancer, cysts, and any myriad of other big scary things that could have popped up.  The positive pregnancy test gave me a non-stop trip up to OB/GYN to meet with the On Call doctor, Dr. Kim.  I had to wait another agonizing hour for a quantitative test to come back, which was still inconclusive.  The hormone levels in my body were too high to be normal, meaning I was pregnant, but they were too low to confirm anything outright.  A trans-vaginal ultrasound (they always, always hurt me) revealed nothing visible in my uterus, except for my IUD, perfectly in place.

So, what we were looking at was one of three scenarios.  Either I had been recently pregnant (no more than a couple of weeks) and was suffering a rather nasty miscarriage, I was pregnant and it was too early to see anything or have strong hormone readings, or I was pregnant and it was ectopic.

Ectopic.

Now there’s a word no one likes to hear.

If I was dealing with an ectopic pregnancy, Dr. Kim told me, it was too early to see, and also too early to be actually dangerous.  Anything he would be able to do for me would depend on actually confirming the presence of something where it shouldn’t be.  I would have to go home and wait for a few days and come back for more blood work, with strict instructions to proceed to the ER in the case of severe cramping and pain.  Three more days of cramping (which was now kind of freaking me out) and bleeding, and I can assure you that after the numerous pelvic exams I had that day the bleeding increased with a vengeance.

I started crying.

Funny thing, with my experience with doctors, especially military doctors, is that they are all about protocol, and not one of them actually stops to take care of me.  How I am feeling, or to assuage my fears.

Dr. Kim did that.

He laid out scenarios for any of the three possible outcomes (all of which include the removal of my IUD until matters are resolved and I can get a new shiny one).  He told me, in his very frank way which I have come to endear in many of the Koreans that I interact with daily, that his priority was to keep me alive and to ensure to the best of his ability that my reproductive parts would all be there for me to use in the future if I so chose.

If it was in fact ectopic, he said, there would be no need for surgery.  An injection to abort the out of place cells would work fine, and be safer for me over all.

He said it like he was telling me that washing my hands would be the best way to prevent the spread of germs.

And I found that amazingly comforting.

I have had doctors tell me that an ectopic pregnancy would require the removal of my fallopian tube.  I have had them tell me it would kill me instantly.  In an effort to keep me from obtaining an IUD, recommended for its lack of hormones by my other doctors,those doctors told me that it would cause an ectopic pregnancy leading to aforementioned removal of said fallopian tubes or death (luckily, I know how to read).  Dr. Kim’s casual use of the word “abortion”, with no emotional or political charge to it, calmed all my slow rising panic.  A simple injection, and a little time for the bleeding to run its course (paying attention to my iron levels), and everything would be fine.  Easy as that, he said.

I made note, in my mind, how comforting that was.  How relieved that made me feel, to know that this was available in the event that my life was in danger.  How lucky and privileged I am to have a doctor who not only values my life and intends to do anything to keep it, but who does so without attaching any sort of message to it at all.  Presenting the option of an abortion like any other medical option.

Because it is.

A legal, and safe, very very safe medical procedure.

And in my case, potentially life saving.

It kind of drives home my thoughts on abortions being a medical procedure provided by doctors, one of many.  Here I was in an office where I had been surrounded in the waiting room with women bulging at the seams waiting to see my same doctor, and in between measuring their bellies and making sure their fetuses were healthy he was making sure I knew that the option to abort a blastocyst that could kill me was available.

I wonder what it must be like to not be so lucky, and I grieve for the women who have to go through what I have been through emotionally the past few days without the reassurance that everything would be just fine.  Not knowing if I was or formerly was pregnant and not knowing if it was or was not life threatening.  Even with The Guy at my side, reassuring me that no matter what we had the resources available to take care of me, not having Dr. Kim and his guarantee to offer me a life saving abortion would have left me panicking.  Hells, I was already a wreck with panic.  Not knowing what I would do if in fact something that didn’t belong in my fallopian tubes happened to be growing there.  I grieve for the women who don’t have access to safe and legal medical options, and it pains me to think that there are those out there who would deny any and all of us access to even this most benign and life saving abortion.  

It boggles my mind to think that someone out there would or could try to tell me that this shouldn’t be allowed.  That there are those who would tell you that an abortion is never necessary.  Those who would have us all believe that the only way to avoid death due to an ectopic pregnancy is to have a fallopian tube surgically removed.  Or that it shouldn’t be bothered at all.  To risk dying or having an extremely invasive and potentially dangerous surgery when a simple injection under the care of a compassionate and concerned doctor could be all it takes to keep a woman’s life, to keep my life, in tact.  I assure you, it is often necessary.  My daughter and my husband would tell you that something that saves my life is in fact necessary.

And perhaps when the overwhelming emotions of these past few days (and the few to come, since I have to have yet more comparative blood work to confirm) has passed I will be ready to talk about the what ifs of the other scenarios.  The conversations The Guy and I had over a nice steak dinner with broccoli (iron, FTW!) and a big bottle of wine through many tears and fears might make for a good post when I am finished with life events at hand.  Maybe not.  Recent events and debate really hit home for us this past week, and while the wash of relief is still settling but not certain we aren’t ready to talk beyond our private lives just yet.

Because in the end it is about your private life, and the things you think through and the decisions you make inside those confines.  About the things that are necessary.

I haven’t always felt that way.

There was a time when I was young and blissfully ignorant of anything but what was fed to me.  There was a time when I honestly felt that my being icked out by something should negate the right of a separate and autonomous person to make decisions about her own life.

But a few things happened that changed all of that.

One of them was one of my best friends from High School.  We’ll call her Alyson.

Alyson and I were 17.  We were Seniors in High School, and we had the whole world waiting for us.  We worked together, and often skipped first period together to go to McDonald’s to get Apple Bran Muffins from her boyfriend who worked there.  We spent time at her house practicing how we would wear our hair to the Winter Formal, and lounging on her big bed gossiping.

Alyson had a rough childhood.  Her mother died when she was rather young, and she believed that it was her fault, which of course it was not.  This left her father single and in charge of three children all either pre-teen or teen.  Needless to say he was a bit protective.  His love of Alyson’s boyfriend ebbed and flowed depending on his mood.

I knew that Alyson and her boyfriend (whom I was good friends w/) were having sex.  Even though at that age I was very much against pre-marital sex, I always kind of believed that my feelings applied to me only.  I never judged them for it.  Looking back I know that they were not the only ones, and I know that teenagers are sexual beings.  There is nothing wrong w/ that.  I did not, however, expect the day that Alyson came to me and asked me to meet her in the break room.

There on the break table sat her almost untouched fried shrimp dinner, her usual, b/c she had a special penchant for finger food.  Her face was about as green as the frogs we butchered in Molecular Biology.

“I’m pregnant”, she told me.

Shit.

“I need your help”.

Fuck.  Fuckfuckfuck.

And somehow, that was enough for me.

There was a clinic in Indiana that would help Alyson w/o parental consent.  Her boyfriend had come up w/ some money, and all she needed was an alibi.

Shit, her father will kill them both, I know it.

I promised to lie.  I swore on my own life that I would tell anyone who asked that she was w/ me.  We were having a sleepover/at the drive-in/out to dinner/whatever.  It was not in me to be a liar, but the urgency of her situation hit me like a runaway semi-truck and I knew I had to help her.

If it were me…

And I did.

I didn’t expect that they would call the house I lived in and leave a message on my caretakers’ machine that they were running late, but that her dad thought she was still with me, going to Ypsilanti to see a concert or something.

Boy, was I in a world of trouble.

I explained as best I could.  In the end, I was grounded for agreeing to lie, but given my previous trustworthiness, they sensed that the situation was far beyond what our morals told us was appropriate, and they agreed not to betray Alyson’s confidence.  Some how the direness of the situation was apparent in my voice, and while they did not approve, they understood, and promised not to interfere, and that my grounding would not commence until I was certain that Alyson was OK and didn’t need further assistance.

Her procedure went as well as could be.  She had minimal healing time and was back to normal in just about two days (food poisoning, you know, from all that shrimp).  In the remaining years of her life she showed no signs of remorse, even when asked point blank in the privacy of our cars.  There was never a doubt for her (or for me, it seemed) that she had done the right thing.

We don’t always know why a woman decides that she isn’t ready to carry a pregnancy to term.  Sure, women surveyed might give reasons, but because we are not them we really don’t know exactly what their situation is.  There could be any number of reasons, be they age, money or personal safety (physical or mental), but they are the reasons of that particular woman in that particular moment.  That decision, and the weight of the reasons to impact it, are hers, and hers alone.  As I held Alyson’s hand through this I realized that, and I never really looked back.  Sure, I shed tears over the conflict I felt at my new thoughts on the subject (which are even different than they were then), but in the end, I found that I thought that if it were me I would have done the same.

Don’t I deserve that choice?

When I was the one accidentally pregnant only a scant few years later, and sadly w/o Alyson in this world to hold my hand, I realized I had the same choices that she did.  I didn’t make the same choice, but if I hadn’t had the support of my mother and grandparents I don’t think I would have been able to go through w/ becoming a mother.  I am eternally grateful that I had that support, and for the beautiful child that came into being nine-plus months later.  Having an abortion wasn’t the choice for me, but I am forever glad that it was a choice for my dear friend.  My friend, who knowing how I felt turned to me for help.  I am forever grateful that it is a choice.  I wish it was more available, that’s for sure.

My experiences in pregnancy and motherhood only reaffirm my belief that abortion needs to be safe and federally protected, in any circumstances.  Motherhood is not to be taken lightly.  Motherhood should not be attempted by anyone who is not 100% positive that they are 100% willing to embark on this life altering journey.  Motherhood changes your whole life, mind, body and soul.  Having a choice makes motherhood even more of an active choice*, and helps women know that they don’t have to be ruled by their biology.  Women can remain child free and wait until they are fully prepared and sure of themselves to become mothers.  They can also run in head first without giving it a second thought (I surely did).  Being a mother made me staunchly Pro-Choice, and I make no apologies for that.

A wise woman tells me that children of Pro-Choice parents know they are wanted.  I like that idea.

Thinking back on Alyson’s experience I can’t help but hope that if my own daughter ever finds herself in that situation that she would have a friend like me (even if it is me) to hold her hand and support her through her choice.  I hope that she knows someone who is willing to help her if she needs it.  I sincerely hope that she always knows that it could be me to help her, but if for some reason she doesn’t come to me, I hope to all the gods and goddesses that she finds someone to be the friend to her that I was to Alyson.

*I realize that abortion isn’t widely available to many women who would want or need it.  It is my deepest wish that someday this will not be the case, and that federally protected abortion will be readily available, without shame or fear, and accessible to those who want and/or need it.

To anyone reading this who has known me for years and realizes that they don’t really know me, all anyone has ever had to do was ask.