When I was in high school, Planned Parenthood was depicted in my social circle to be this horrific abortion factory that took great joy in killing sad babies. I wasn't even aware that they did anything other than provide abortions. Say what you will about that, but the day I learned Planned Parenthood was a real, sex-positive, women's health clinic that also provides abortions (just like hospitals do), it was like my world imploded. You mean Planned Parenthood actually cares about women?! No way bro.
I didn't really think about it after that though, at least not in terms of a clinic that was accessible to me. To me, it was something for women that are less fortunate than I, something that I needed to care about because it's good for people in this world. So it was a real thing and a good thing to me, but I never thought about it as a place for me.
Well, not until recently. I'm not in a different position than I was two years ago when I started using birth control. I still have Daddy's health insurance, I still have a wonderful mom who recognized that her daughter couldn't go to school because her periods were too bad, and that birth control would make that better. I'm still having safe, consensual, educated sex in a safe, loving, monogamous relationship. And no, I didn't get "knocked up." I just needed to refill my birth control prescription.
The gynecologist I talked to in back when I was 17 and considered birth control for the first time is difficult to get ahold of, to say the least. My first appointment with her had to be scheduled a month in advance, my second three months. This time around I just didn't have time for that, especially not when I spend most of my time in Boston. I don't know where I'll be or what my commitments will be in three months. And I had been told that the doctors at Planned Parenthood are very good and that if I use my insurance, that will actually help them in terms of funding instead of taking up their time and resources. So I booked and appointment and I scooted off.
The place was actually pretty easy to find. Maybe it's because it's in a big, liberal city where its right to be there isn't questioned; maybe it's just like that all over the country. But the sign was visible and it was close to the subway station. I didn't confront any protestors, although I didn't really expect to. Who would be out on a Wednesday afternoon to hold up signs displaying medically inaccurate facts? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know.
Anyway, the part that was a little weird for me, and probably the only place that reminded me that this was Planned Parenthood and not my local doctor's office was the security guard and the metal detector. The security guard was very pleasant and we actually made idle conversation while he searched through my too-heavy backpack for a weapon of violent protest. Realizing why that had to be in place was surreal, and made me wonder why people could do things that would necessitate this metal detector and friendly officer in the name of "life." Seems contradictory to me. But at any rate, I checked out, he handed me my things, and thanked me.
Then there was paperwork. Of course there was paperwork, there always is. But the questions seemed different. I was not only asked about my medical history and the medical history of my parents, but the forms asked me things about feeling safe in my relationship, whether I felt depressed or anxious, and what orifice I had last stuck a penis in. Reading some of the questions regarding my sexual history made me feel woefully inexperienced and unadventurous between the sheets. I guess there are worse things to worry about, though.
The doctor herself was nothing short of lovely. She looked like a regular woman; I didn't see any horns or hellfire. She was actually quite pretty. She asked me a couple questions about my relationship and was happy to hear I've found a good one and stuck with him. She sent a year's prescription to my local pharmacy, since my brand isn't stocked at Planned Parenthood right now, and explained how billing and picking up my prescription would work. I mentioned that I'm considering a hormonal IUD, and she gave me the details on that and what to expect should I decide to get one, as well as the benefits and effectiveness. She was actually very informative; I thought she was significantly more informative and approachable than any doctor I've ever talked to. It seemed like she cared as much about my health and well-being as I do. There was no finger-waggling about my being young and sexually active, there was no nagging about my weight, and there was no false information about how an IUD will make me sterile (which I have been told before. It's not true.).
All in all, it was basically going to the doctor's. The doctor was very nice and the metal detector was weird, but it was just a medical clinic. Hell didn't open up and eat me, angels didn't cry, and my unfertilized eggs didn't weep for their impure carrier.
So tell me again: what's the big fucking deal?
