For the past four nights I’ve been dreaming about people I knew earlier in my life, who I haven’t seen in years. One night it was my best friend, who now lives in
What started this nightly journey into my past, I think—or in any case what happened four days ago—was that I was unkindly reminded that I never did really get a satisfactory ending to that whole nightmare with my lady parts last year. And now, I guess, it’s about time to start revisiting it, and start the whole unpleasant process with the letter about the abnormal cells, and the colposcopy appointment, etc. And, not that I want to get into it now, but just in case anyone from Planned Parenthood comes across this, I should point out that:
- No one ever wants to come to your clinics, but
- People have to because they need medical treatment and either
- don’t know where else to go or
- can’t afford to see a private practitioner, and
- I think everyone can agree that the last thing anyone needs heaped upon them in addition to having to do this thing that is essentially
- stressful and
- Is having their appointment canceled on them without anyone mentioning that the appointment has been canceled, or
- Having a man tell us how “uncomfortable” a colposcopy is, or frankly
- Having to deal with a nurse who doesn’t know how to use the colposcopy equipment,
- All of which adds to the general unpleasantness of the trip to Planned Parenthood.
To sum up, Planned Parenthood sucks purple monkey ass. How much I appreciate it being available to a person is equaled only by how little I actually ever want to use its services again.
Anyway, the highlight of the trip down there (by which I mean “Planned Parenthood” and not the other “down there,” since the actual appointment was—unbeknownst to me—canceled [see Item D]) was being told by a large man in purple pajamas (see Item E) that I can probably look forward to another colposcopy this year, and another biopsy, and another magical trip through the wonderland that is my cervix. I had hoped to avoid all that by quitting smoking last year. Although, as I told the ladies at the colposcopy last year, I do not smoke through my vagina, as the colposcopy ladies told me, regardless of which orifice you use as your smoke-hole, the cervix likes to sop up toxins and then create a giant cancer on itself. Or whatever. I’m not currently licensed to practice medicine in this state, so I shouldn’t try to explain it.
So, I quit smoking, and now, until my next appointment (rescheduled for next month), I am going to eat nothing but fruit and vegetables* in an effort to turn this little cervix thing around. This is gonna be great, guys. I will have the best-looking cancerous cervix in three states after this.
Even more attractive than this! Think about it!
And I’d better be all right with that as the end goal because frankly, if I do have cancer, or if there’s any expensive medical treatment that needs to happen to prevent what I have from turning into cancer, I’m kind of shit out of luck, you know? With the being unemployed and all? And the no health insurance thingy?
Which is why I’m watching the health-care battle in the Senate with particular interest. And also why I’m pretty upset with how it appears to be turning out. Look, I know that a large segment of the population is firmly against socialism. This is why most people refuse to use the U.S. Postal System or drive on our government-funded system of highways. I know that most Republicans, if they were laid off, would choose not to collect unemployment. I know this. I’ve also heard things about how it’s your money (yours! yours! yours!) and you’re not going to let my lazy, Welfare-queening ass have any of it. That’s fine, really. I just kind of want to say that, from my perspective, it makes me a little sad to think that I’ll die** because some MBA-carrying diaperbag or other decided to save the company I work for a couple dollars, and current (and probably future) public policy neither prevents that kind of thing from happening nor provides a safety net for those affected.
And yes, I know that kind of thing happens all the time, and that makes me even sadder. Though the fact that it’s happening to me makes it especially poignant, I think.
*And bacon. And beer, goddammit.
**Not to be overly dramatic about it.