Still Owing My Gratitude to Planned Parenthood 21 Years and Counting

When I was 15, my mom told me to get in the car, and she drove me to a Planned Parenthood in Dallas.  It was in an office park, and the decor was bland, like some mid-level motel--all beige and adult contemporary.  I was sexually active; my mother and I had not discussed one word about it.  Yet, she knew enough to drag my ass in for a pap smear and STD testing.  And there we sat.  I don't remember anyone else in that room--I was so narrowly focused on my anxiety, and thinking "How can she possibly fucking know?!"  My body vibrated with nerves, and I still remember the near-impossible task of completing the forms.  Those questions that were asked!  How could I answer them at all, much less with my mother right next to me, probably reading over my shoulder?  Man, I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about it.  Imagine what a shy, nervous 15-year-old girl thought when she read, "Have you had anal sex?" Oh. My. God. People were going to read that form!  Jesus.

After that, I pretty much blacked out the rest.  It was my first pap smear.  My first time having sex was less anxiety-inducing than having to scoot my naked ass to the end of a table, and being told to relax my legs as some old man breathed noisily between my thighs.  It felt abusive, but I know it wasn't.  Just standard gynecological procedure.  I'm sure it was over very quickly.  I was given a prescription for oral contraceptive, and my mother and I were sent on our way.

As scary as that experience was for me, I was always grateful for the existence of Planned Parenthood.  Over the next 12 years or so, I went to them for my annual physical and birth-control needs.  I can also thank them for free HIV testing.  I did not have steady medical insurance until my late 20s--none of my friends did.  We had no idea how else to maintain good vaginal health other than visit PP.

Every time I hear about the proposed federal cuts, in fact complete stripping, to Planned Parenthood, I want to go cut someone really deep and leave them bleeding on the side of the road.  My life has not remotely been what one calls easy, but having access to PP definitely made my life what it is now, which is pretty darn easy: disease- and child-free.  Without having access to birth control and pap smears, I would probably have had several abortions and many raging diseases before I was 22.  I was not a smart kid when it came to sex--I was passionate, eager and didn't know how to stand up for myself.  I had a lot of sex without condoms.  A LOT.  I know I wasn't the only lady out there keeping her mouth shut when it came to asking to wrap it up (mostly out of fear of rejection).

Thus, there was all this awesome sex, having our crushes, breaking hearts and having our hearts broken, and there were a zillion chances to get pregnant, and even more to be passing around god knows what.  Yet, we were able to go to PP and get our birth control and meds.  Did PP encourage me to have sex?  Heck, no.  In fact, it always felt a bit embarrassing to go in there and list how many partners I had had in the last year, and they often frowned and condescended toward me when I was frank about my sexual habits.  They were there to keep me alive and free of unwanted babies, and they did that job well.

Do you know what most Planned Parenthood do not provide?  An abortion.  They could give you a reference to a private clinic, but most of them did not have the resources to actually provide such a procedure.  They provided the same services that your "normal" gynecologist provided.  Also, PP was never free.  There was a sliding scale, and I always had to pay something for the privilege of having my cervix poked, and $10-$20 for a pack of pills per month (that's a crapload of money for someone making $8/hr).  I have been working since I was 15, and so I was able to pay for all of this, for the luxury of my easy ways.

I don't think attitudes have changed all that much for teenagers.  There's a lot of talk about using condoms or not having sex at all, but it is just talk.  In the moment, when the sex is imminent, there is no talking (other than maybe some goofy pillow talk), just doing.  I very much fear that these federal cuts will shutter most, if not all, of these types of clinics, and it won't just be abortion rates that will soar, but women's medical health in general will suffer a devastating blow.  Even if you put the abortion issue aside (which I'm loathe to do, because it is an important issue to me, and more importantly, PP has not been able to use federal money for abortions in years upon years), Planned Parenthood is about access to being a healthy woman for those who do not have affordable health care.  Why would we want to take that away?  Seriously.  This is going to devolve in to something akin to my union rant: the need for Planned Parenthood is so obvious (to me).



I'm very lucky to have a job right now that provides excellent medical insurance.  I pay a $20 premium once a year for a well-woman exam.  Before I got a tubal ligation this past summer, I paid $30 a month for birth control.  That is a pretty damn good deal.  Without my job, I would have easily paid $1000 a year for my pap and monthly birth control.  I may not always have such benefits; I may not always have a job.  I am in a privileged class of people right now.  Having a job and having benefits is almost rare right now.  I don't even want to think what life would be like without those two things, and just think I could be jobless, benefit-less and have nowhere to turn for the most basic women's health care.  That is just horrifyingly sad.

Please help take a stand against this outrage to women's health.  Go to Planned Parenthood's website, and help spread the word: http://www.ppaction.org/IStandWithPP.

Life with Lumpy Boobs

In college, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She is 27 years older than me, which means she was in her late 40s. She had a double mastectomy. A year or so later, my mom's half-sister (my half-aunt), also had breast cancer. She was in her 70s. These are called high-risk factors. None of this really phased me when it came to my own breast. My problems in life more centered around my cervix (another story for another time), which meant I had been seeing a gynecologist on a regular basis since I was 18 years old. My breast were felt up yearly by doctors (usually at Planned Parenthood), and always deemed fine. Around ten years ago, I noticed that my breast felt different. They used to feel kind of like heavy water balloons. My breast by nature are shallow on top and heavy on bottom (my roommate in college made a comment on them once that I can't quite recall, but something about being like flowers); to me they look like ski jumps. I love my breast, especially since the right bra will make them look full on top. It all works out for the best. So, my breast felt different. They felt lumpy. It didn't take a doctor's visit to realize I had breast fibroids.

I was drinking steadily at this time, and I recall having a lot of women touch my lumps (it's educational!). To me, they feel like large land masses moving around inside the sea of my breast. Some months I had a lot, other months just a few. They come and go as they please. When I did see my gyno, she would usually just tell me to cut down on my caffeine intake. I drink at most 12-20oz of caffeine a day, which is minuscule compared to most people I know. So, I ignore that advice. My breast often ache and they do not have much sensitivity, but I rarely think about it because my allergies are my true headache in life. My tits still look great, so I tend not to grouse about them.

Around three or four years ago, I did have a questionable lump. One that my doctor could not immediately identify as a fibroid, and I was hustled off to get my first mammogram. I was around 30 at the time. I was the youngest patient in the building. The tech was really nice, but I felt quite lost. You have to undress in this little closet with an accordion door, and you are just left there until someone comes backs to fetch you; while the whole time you are worrying that you are supposed to do something, like open the door to signal you are ready. There's a lot of that kind of awkward waiting. The actual mammography was more uncomfortable than painful. I'm on the average side of short, and it seems the MAMMOMAT (as the machine is called) can only be lowered so far; thus, not only am i standing with basically one breast and armpit in a machine, but I'm on my tip toes and trying to crane my head as far away from the machine as possible while doing a pelvic thrust toward it. Man, the humiliation is not actually in the smashing of the breast, it is getting in to position. Then you have to wait for the tech to confer with the doctor. Then, off to get an ultrasound. Then that tech consults with the doctor. That first time around, I was there for 4 hours and 7 mammograms. Seems I have weird deposits in my armpits that was freaking them out, but they decided it was nothing. They also felt there was nothing wrong with the lump in my breast. They did tell me that I have extraordinarily dense breast for a woman of my age. I do not have any idea what that really means.

Around last summer, I noticed an entirely different kind of lump in my left breast. It felt like a shooter marble--you know those big gorgeous one that is bigger than the rest of the marbles? It didn't shoot off to a different spot when I touched it. It felt quite attached to where it was located, like an eyeball on a stock. I saw my doctor for my yearly probing fun-time, and she was quite concerned. Off for another mammogram. This all happened around when I was very sick with a nasty cold and got laid-off four days later. So I had to sign-up for COBRA to be able to have continuous medical care. That was a good time in of itself.

I go get another mammogram. Same story, wash and repeat. I could see the damn thing during the ultrasound. Looked like a dark bubble, perfectly round. The tech left quietly, and came back with a doctor in tow. THAT IS NOT A GOOD SIGN. The doctor took my hand, looked me in the eyes, and told me I had a tumor. The Boy was going through the stress of his year-end concert, and I didn't want to stress him out further, so I called a friend, my Amazon beauty. She was and is the best person, caring but not dramatic in anyway. Very supportive but also realistic. I hope she knows I love her (I can't tell her, because she'd probably puke on my head, and that vomit would have 8" to fall before it even reached me). We love without using words, because that is too soft for us! I eventually told a few other close friends by the end of the week, but didn't tell The Boy until after his show.

Many appointments were then created. I had a consult that was thoroughly embarrassing, and I hope I don't have to go through something like that ever again. The man basically ridiculed me and asked why I was there since I OBVIOUSLY only had a fibroid. I did my best to explain that none of this was my idea, and that a very well-known radiological group said I had a tumor, so I was getting it checked out. He didn't even exam me--refused to have a looksy. He was supposed to do a needle aspiration as the least invasive way of seeing if it was benign or not, but he said I should just go back to the radiologist since he didn't think there was any reason for me to be in his office. Awesome. AWESOME.

Hey, worried you have a tumor, go get mocked by a doctor you've never met before!

In January of this year, I went back to the radiology group, and had a needle biopsy performed. To be honest, I never was really that worried about cancer, especially after the scoffing doctor; however, the whole process was very exhausting. The people were great and friendly, but it was still a lot of waiting around half-clothed. I at least brought a book, because I was made to wait on an operating table for almost an hour for the doctor to arrive. Reading while prepped is NOT comfortable. I had some rolled-up towels under my left shoulder and was covered in iodine, so had to read laying almost flat on my back with the book held over my face. My elbows were very pissed at me for quite some time after that stunt.

The doctor finally arrived, and he too was confused at why I was there. He wasn't as mean, but you could tell this was really just going to be an exercise for him in I-told-you-so. Usually when a doctor biopsies a tumor, s/he puts in this little bit of metal to mark where an area of the breast has been biopsied before; therefore, a technician will know during the next mammogram on ultrasound that this area has been looked at before. He didn't even bother doing that step. That is how confident he was that it was just another fibroid. At this point I'm about ready to yell it was HIS people who said I had a tumor. For fuck's sake.

The needle biopsy wasn't that bad. The area was numbed, and then a small slit was sliced in to the side of my chest. Then a teeny tiny tube was inserted to give the biopsy gun a path to follow to the tumor. I could see it all on a monitor, which was awesome and calming for me. I like to know how it all looks. The biopsy gun is much like an ear-piercing gun. It has that spring-loaded air-pressure sound, which was way more scary than it actually going in to me and the tumor. He did it three times, and I got to see bits of me in a vial. They looked like little white wavy tapeworms. Or slices of onion. He put bits of tape on me to hold the excision together. I was bundled off with an icepack in my bra and was told to go home and take it easy.

A few days later I get a call that I have a benign tumor (not a fibroid). That it was going to be up to me if I want it removed or not. Since it is right on top of my breast, near my actual breastplate, I don't really want to remove it. I don't want a dimple on my chest. However, I have noticed over the past few months that when I am lying down, I can actual see the bump (affectionately called "Myrtle Bulge").

The biopsy site took several weeks to heal. This is what it looked like a day or two later:



Today's mammogram (and subsequent ultrasound--I just can't escape without having to go through both) showed that the tumor, like most benign tumors, is growing. They want me back in a year for just an ultrasound (yeah, no awkward positions and boob squishing), but that I may want to start thinking about removing it if it keeps growing. We'll see. Right now it doesn't bother me other than being this lump that my hand will sometimes brush against, and I go, "Oh. My. God. What the fuck is that?" It feels like I have a rock in my chest. It does hurt when it gets hit or pushed on, and especially when this fat Siamese cat I live with decides he wants to kneed it flat.

Thus, I have a tumor and other lumpy bits floating around my tits.