TMI at Planned Parenthood

Homeless couple…
“Hate you for knocking me up.”
“Cut your dick off for knocking me up.”
“You can’t read.”
“I like looking at the pictures.”
“I don’t have my I.D. only a copy of it, and do you need this? It says I can legally pick up my mail.”
“Uh, No.”
“Nine, nine, what’s our zip code?”
“I already have five kids.”

It’s too early for this shit, did she just say one of them died, sad and tragic for sure, but definitely not the kind of person who should be reproducing. I brought Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets with me, but I can’t bring myself to read it. Wrong atmosphere, wrong time. I’m too sleepy anyway. My eyes are starting to glaze over…

Ten now, still waiting. She’s here to take a pregnancy test, Oh my God!

“Had that Deprovera, but when it wore off…”

It’s not supposed to wear off, you’re SUPPOSED to come in every three months and get another shot, so it can do its job. So people like YOU, don’t get knocked up.

I hate filling out the questionnaires about my family and sexual history, every year. I did this last year, nothings changed. You know we have these machines now, called computers. You could keep my information there! Just an idea. I don’t remember when my last Pap Smear was. It happened here. You’re the ones who gave me my last Pap Smear, so wouldn’t you have the fucking information, because I DON’T remember. I don’t keep this information written down, and I certainly don’t remember when my last period began and ended. It certainly doesn’t really matter anyway, because you just have me make up dates when I tell you I don’t remember.

I want into one of those rooms, now! They don’t call it waiting room for nothing, it’s been an hour and a half since my appointed time and I was the second person to check in.

Ohhhhh, and you need to take wee-wee test. Great, just went, but I’ll drink a cup of water and give it a try. If you tell me I’m pregnant, I might just drop dead.

And it’s not Uterine Cancer my Mom died from, it’s Ovarian. The only reason I wrote Uterine on your inane questionnaire is because you told me I needed to take a urine test, Goddamn it. It was stuck in my brain, and now I’m stuck waiting forever, thinking about this mistake I need to correct when I talk to you; something uncomfortable that I don’t want to talk about, just makes a hard situation worse.

And noooooowww, I have to pee for real, but can’t go for fear of my name being called and them missing me.

Finally, in the little room, weighed and blood pressure taken. And YAY! I‘m talking to the nice doctor lady finally! “I’m turning thirty this year, if I decide I ever want kids, how long do I have before I dry up?”

“Depends, but thirty-five is when we start worrying about fertility.” Awesome!

Should have canceled my appointment this morning when I was home, warm and dry, before trudging through the rain, before I was spending my morning listening to a homeless lady discuss her sexual history.