My Planned Parenthood experience
This post also appeared at Gonzo Times.
So, people are understandably pissed over Glenn Beck’s assertion that only hookers need Planned Parenthood. Now, the statement is (obviously) really fucked up for a lot of reasons. I don’t have the time or patience to unpack all of the shitty implications about sex workers from a man who claims libertarian cred when convenient. I’m one of those uppity bitches who thinks that sex workers are people, too. In a similar vein, do I really need to tell you that that using “hooker,” “ho,” “slut,” “whore,” as code for “fallen women” is beyond problematic?
My intention is not to defend Planned Parenthood while trashing sex workers; unfortunately, accusations of this kind are typically rebutted with some version of “but good girls go there, too!” (Thanks for feeding into the whole Madonna-Whore thing, y’all!) Rather, it’s just a quick anecdote discussing my only experience as a patient of Planned Parenthood.
A few years ago, I was in a blatantly rebound relationship with a younger guy I met in college through friends. After having a little bit of morning sex, I felt the familiar rubber band snap inside my girly bits. A broken condom was not what I wanted to deal with on that Saturday morning. I got dressed and announced that I would have to make a three block trip to the local Planned Parenthood.
I went to the clinic, told the security guard that I needed to get some Plan B, and he buzzed me in. (For the record, I think that he and all the clinic employees were totally amused by my blunt, upfront handling of the situation. The way I see it, I’m advertising that I just got some. Why would I be shy about that?) I remember waiting in the office while my partner was completely nervous. I probably should have told him to just stay home because he was driving me up a wall. He was entirely too nine-year-old-in-a-bank for my liking.
I went back into the clinical area and a nurse/nurse practitioner ran me through some standard questions. How long ago did you have sex? (No longer than an hour beforehand.) Why are you here for Plan B? (Condom broke.) Are you currently on any medications? (No.)
My memory is a little fuzzy, but IIRC, they asked about a dozen questions or so before handing me a pack of emergency contraception. Honestly, the biggest thing I remember is how out of whack I felt for the next few days. I had some mood swings (mainly anger/annoyance, though I may have gotten teary) and generally felt out of it, but I’m pretty thankful that I knew about emergency contraception and had it readily available to me.
I’m not saying that Planned Parenthood should take tax dollars. I would prefer that they did not have to rely on tax dollars for too many reasons to list; however, when politicians make yanking Planned Parenthood funding a priority over all other more harmful and wasteful spending, it’s hard to not get a little miffed. The drug war and defense budgets eat up way more tax money than Planned Parenthood does, and both the prison and military industrial complexes directly feed into the need for family planning clinics.
Removing Planned Parenthood funding without making systemic changes and making better funding cuts is asinine. As a Facebook friend once snarked, it reeks of only being against “big government” that benefits the poor, and well, I just can’t get behind that.
