Further Reasons I'm Glad I Live Where I Do
Via Feministing, the Biting Beaver's truly upsetting account of her attempt to acquire a prescription for the Emergency Contraception Pill on a Saturday in rural Ohio. Notwithstanding that the ECP is essentially a higher dose of the hormones in the standard birth control pill, that it will be available throughout the US without prescription come January, and that every woman should be able to choose whether to assume the risk of a pregnancy, BB went through a ritual of shame that I find outrageous:
I was told by every urgent care I called and every emergency room that I was shit out of luck. I was asked my age. My marital status. How many children I had. If I had been raped and when I became uncomfortable with the questions I was told, "Well Ma'am, try to understand that you will be interviewed and the doctor has 'criteria' that you need to meet before he will prescribe it for you."
When I asked about what 'criteria' there was that I had to meet, the reply was, "Well, he's kind of old fashioned". I was told that I might be able to 'talk him into it' anyway and that it can't hurt to try (except for the fact that each and every time I try it I'll have to pay $100 co-pay).
I found that the more hospitals and clinics and doctors I called the more ashamed I became. Yep, you heard right. I was feeling ashamed at being such an unworthy dirty whore. Well, at least in the eyes of all these hospitals and doctors and clinics. I cried, then I sweated, then I cried some more, then I called some more.
Folks, the condom broke Friday night and I searched all weekend for someone who could prescribe me EC. It is now Monday and I have to report that I have been unable to find anyone who will write me a fucking prescription for EC. None of the hospitals in the surrounding counties would write it for me. I stopped my search at about 100 miles from my home because my telephone book wouldn't take me out any further than that.
I have been asked about my sexual practices. Whether I'm 'monogamous' or 'in a relationship' if I'm married, if I have kids, how many kids I have, if I was raped or 'traumatized' but there wasn’t' ONE question about my health. Not one. The few places that said that they had a doctor who would occasionally write prescriptions for EC told me that I had to ask for that doctor specifically and then they proceeded to tell me that I would be 'interviewed' to see if I meet that doctors 'criteria' and then they proceeded to ask me all the above questions before telling me that I should 'try anyway' and I 'might be able to talk him into it'.
Unwilling to go to the ER and be shamed and 'interviewed' for my 'criteria' before being told that I'm too slutty or too something or other I broke into a sobbing heap of anger and fear and I did the only thing I could think of doing. Dubhe and I went out to the local pet shop and played with the puppies for awhile before getting a bite to eat. Then I came home and drank a bottle of wine, smoked like a fiend and downed butter rum shots until I fell asleep.
Several years ago, I had a condom misuse experience-someone got a bit too close for comfort before I got the condom on him-and, unwilling to spend the rest of the month terrified that I might be pregnant, I betook myself to the local ER.
I didn't have to worry about a co-payment. I presented my health card, told the registration nurse what I needed and sat down to wait. In about ten minutes, a nurse practitioner introduced herself and asked me about my situation. She asked my age, when the encouter had taken place (the night before), what methods of contraception we had been using, and whether I thought I might need blood testing for STDs. She checked my blood pressure, while we were at it, and had me give her a urine sample for a pregnancy test.
She left me alone for a bit, while she did whatever with the urine, came back, told me I probably wasn't pregnant, and gave me two pills and two anti-nauseants, explained when to take them, asked me how I was planning to get home (on my bike), advised me to wait until I got home so that I could take the sleepy-making anti-nauseant if I needed it, made some notes on my chart, and sent me on my way.
That was that.
No morality clauses, no shaming, no need to defend my actions or my choices or my request. The NP assumed that I knew what I was doing, asked enough questions to be reasonably certain that the pill wasn't going to hurt me, told me how to take it, and sent me on my way. Her job was to make sure that I got the healthcare I needed, not to question my morals or choices.
And that's the way it should be.
I was told by every urgent care I called and every emergency room that I was shit out of luck. I was asked my age. My marital status. How many children I had. If I had been raped and when I became uncomfortable with the questions I was told, "Well Ma'am, try to understand that you will be interviewed and the doctor has 'criteria' that you need to meet before he will prescribe it for you."
When I asked about what 'criteria' there was that I had to meet, the reply was, "Well, he's kind of old fashioned". I was told that I might be able to 'talk him into it' anyway and that it can't hurt to try (except for the fact that each and every time I try it I'll have to pay $100 co-pay).
I found that the more hospitals and clinics and doctors I called the more ashamed I became. Yep, you heard right. I was feeling ashamed at being such an unworthy dirty whore. Well, at least in the eyes of all these hospitals and doctors and clinics. I cried, then I sweated, then I cried some more, then I called some more.
Folks, the condom broke Friday night and I searched all weekend for someone who could prescribe me EC. It is now Monday and I have to report that I have been unable to find anyone who will write me a fucking prescription for EC. None of the hospitals in the surrounding counties would write it for me. I stopped my search at about 100 miles from my home because my telephone book wouldn't take me out any further than that.
I have been asked about my sexual practices. Whether I'm 'monogamous' or 'in a relationship' if I'm married, if I have kids, how many kids I have, if I was raped or 'traumatized' but there wasn’t' ONE question about my health. Not one. The few places that said that they had a doctor who would occasionally write prescriptions for EC told me that I had to ask for that doctor specifically and then they proceeded to tell me that I would be 'interviewed' to see if I meet that doctors 'criteria' and then they proceeded to ask me all the above questions before telling me that I should 'try anyway' and I 'might be able to talk him into it'.
Unwilling to go to the ER and be shamed and 'interviewed' for my 'criteria' before being told that I'm too slutty or too something or other I broke into a sobbing heap of anger and fear and I did the only thing I could think of doing. Dubhe and I went out to the local pet shop and played with the puppies for awhile before getting a bite to eat. Then I came home and drank a bottle of wine, smoked like a fiend and downed butter rum shots until I fell asleep.
Several years ago, I had a condom misuse experience-someone got a bit too close for comfort before I got the condom on him-and, unwilling to spend the rest of the month terrified that I might be pregnant, I betook myself to the local ER.
I didn't have to worry about a co-payment. I presented my health card, told the registration nurse what I needed and sat down to wait. In about ten minutes, a nurse practitioner introduced herself and asked me about my situation. She asked my age, when the encouter had taken place (the night before), what methods of contraception we had been using, and whether I thought I might need blood testing for STDs. She checked my blood pressure, while we were at it, and had me give her a urine sample for a pregnancy test.
She left me alone for a bit, while she did whatever with the urine, came back, told me I probably wasn't pregnant, and gave me two pills and two anti-nauseants, explained when to take them, asked me how I was planning to get home (on my bike), advised me to wait until I got home so that I could take the sleepy-making anti-nauseant if I needed it, made some notes on my chart, and sent me on my way.
That was that.
No morality clauses, no shaming, no need to defend my actions or my choices or my request. The NP assumed that I knew what I was doing, asked enough questions to be reasonably certain that the pill wasn't going to hurt me, told me how to take it, and sent me on my way. Her job was to make sure that I got the healthcare I needed, not to question my morals or choices.
And that's the way it should be.