Planned Parenthood and I: A Love Story
October 12th, 2006I told you, Dear Readers, that on Tuesday I would be taking a trip to Planned Parenthood, and I did. We’re talking about the Planned Parenthood on 11250 South Halsted, in Chicago, and you can find information on them here (for those of you wondering the when and wheres). That webpage, with information on their hours and location, is wrong. (Chicago)Bare with me. See, Tuesday, I check out the site, and it says that they close at four: “great!” I thought. “I get out of school at 3:10! I’m geographically close, and I can get there!” I wrangle up a ride and off we go to the Abortion Clinic, and guess what? It’s closed at 1:30. Nobody’s there but for two old women sitting at their desks (likely thinking about how much they’d like to have an abortion or better yet, watch one) and I knock/ring the bell. They look up, and that’s it. Just ignore me for a few minutes, and pretend we’re not there. We had to leave, empty-handed.
Now, see, my dear Readers, I was driven mad by this. Planned Parenthood is an International company with tons of means; you’re telling me they can’t afford to keep their damn website in check so that it doesn’t mislead me about working hours? Perhaps it has magical HTML that makes it legible to women but does its best to mislead men so as to protect the sanctity of a woman’s right to choose what hours she can show up to a “Reproductive Health Clinic”? I wrote them an email about it and they simply said, “We’ve been having some problems with the site [I see no technical problems: just updating problems, thanks, Misleaders — and yes, there’s a hell of a difference between being lazy and, I don’t know, being hacked] but we’re open [Wednesday] until 4:30, if you’d care to drop by.” They really said, “If you’d care to drop by.” Durr durr.
Yesterday, Wednesday, I decided to call them as soon as they opened, which was 8:15. I called at about eight sixteen, and nobody answered. Worse, a machine answers that tells me to call back during working hours! For an occasionally literal man like me — I think that certain things should always be literal, like, uh, “Meet me there!” and “We open at 8:15″ — that’s like saying, “Oh, you’ve paid the price I asked for? Well, we’re doubling it, sorry!” Don’t tell me to call back during working hours if I did call during working hours! Now, I couldn’t possibly sit around waiting to call back, because I had to get to class and go about my business. After awhile, though, I found some time (I made some time) and made a call to Planned Parenthood.
You’ve got to understand, though: I’m not buying contraceptives for me. I haven’t had sex in forever (last November, really, but who’s counting the months of…?)! The situation is, A friend of mine came to me with a problem and I’m here to help. My job is to get things done, you know? Be there for my friends. Help them through their troubles. Now, understand: my goal here was to get Morning After Pills, and so finally, when I call them, and get in touch with their emergency operators, I ask them about certain procedures. I ask, “My girlfriend [I lied about who was who to protect myself and friends] can’t make it with me to the clinic today; can I pick up her pills for her?” and they said, “No, she has to be here to be counseled and fill out paperwork.” Which of course puts a strain on my day, as I was going to pick them up for her because my friend can’t make it. But, what’s the point of that? “Counseling” re: emergency contraception?
Do they have to counsel you before you buy a condom, too? “Please, sir, careful! They may rip, which may or may not put pressure on your penis, and which may or may not lead to you ejaculating inside the vaginal orifice! That may or may not lead to pregnancy, and that may or may not lead to an abortion, which may or may not lead to a happy Doctor at this very clinic!” I mean, really. Is that necessary? What a bureaucratic waste. Counseling for a pill — though it’s not just the counseling that bothers me, but when I asked them how much time that’d take, they said, “Thirty minutes to an hour.” They can do it over the phone in three minutes — believe me, I had to sit through their stupid “Order Birth Control Over the Phone Line!” just to get through to someone who could talk to me about it because you’ve got to listen to the machine to talk to someone and you’ve got to make the solemn promise that you’ve considered all options! — but take half an hour-to-an-hour face to face?
One thing I found very notable, however, is that this is an organization called Planned Parenthood but there’s only focus on the Mother part of that equation. I’m no chauvenist, but I do believe that my penis + your vagina = baby. That might be a crude calculation (isn’t there semen and eggs involved in the equation, Algebra Teachers?) but it’s basically true, and while I understand that it’s her uterus, they’ve gotta understand that it’s uterus not uteryou. You know? I’ll bet that, if I were a woman, those two ladies at the front desk would’ve come over and let me in and said, “What d’you need babydoll? We’re here to pamper you up! We’ll suck out your fetus’ and have you lookin’ pretty for the prom, too!” (I kid the Rude and Misleading Clinicians. I’m sure they would first ask you to fill out a ton of bureaucratic paperwork and counsel you about the dangers of sex and pills (”careful not to choke on it!”) before they offered to abort your fetii.)
Fortunately or unfortunately (depending how you look at it), my friends who have their problem and I — we decided that, we’ll wait it out, although that decision was sort of made for us. We lost valuable time on Tuesday because their website lied to me, and then Wednesday the girl was incapable of going with me to the Clinic. Positively, however: she’s close to her menstrual cycle, and, hey. We’ll find out what’s what soon enough. Besides that, it’s getting late after the initial sexual contact (Saturday), and so there’s little that can be done but to wait it out. From there, my friends will have to decide what they’re going to do, if it turns out that she’s pregnant. I think I did everything I could, but a part of me feels bad. (Before anyone asks, I most certainly did make sure that my friends understood that I won’t a) do this again and b) that they should be ashamed to be in this situation. Don’t be so irresponsible in the future, I said.)
In spite of all the ragging I do of the organization, I’m happy that Planned Parenthood exists. I just have contempt at the moment because their bureaucratic nature and errors cost me precious hours. But, at least, they help other people. Just not me. Or men, overall. Or people that like to be informed rightly by organizations and their websites. I can’t say I enjoyed my time with Planned Parenthood — and by the way, that Clinic I went to? It’s closed on Sundays and Mondays. How’s that for nonsense? What’s the point of that? Stupid hours! People spend their weekends having sex; not dealing with the after-effects! Close for the weekend if you must, but don’t close on Mondays! — but, hey, I didn’t have to. And I’m sure that PP doesn’t care. They will one day when I run for office and one of them runs into this article and decides to call me a misogynist or Gay because I don’t like bureaucracy, but I’ll deal with that when we get there (note to the future: I’m not a misogynist or gay: I certainly believe in the right to choose and birth control. Just not bureaucracy at Halsted).
Related, sort of: my knee is doing eh. It’s torn up from the insides, and my MRI was an explosive mess. Literally. I mean that, as in, My knee felt like it was being burnt from the inside. Doctors explained to me that it was a mixture of gory circumstances that caused me pain in my left knee during an MRI that is supposed to be painless. I went to the Doctor last Thursday because they were supposed to tell me my MRI results and then tell me what we were going to do about it, but the Doctor called in sick and cancelled. Now that was infuriating, too: he’s a Doctor. He’s not supposed to get sick!
But really. Unless he was dying, or incapacited (which I very much doubt), I’m miffed, as my appointment was moved up by ten days (to Monday), and that’s more time for me to suffer. It aches while I sleep!
Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light