The difference that an attitude can make

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of May, we’ve chosen to write about Women’s Reproductive Rights and Issues. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read the first installment, click here.

I’ve always imagined that it must be hard to work at a Planned Parenthood. I imagine that you want to be supportive of your patients and thankful, even, that some of the younger, teenage visitors have recognized you as a resource, and have taken that often terrifying step of coming in. And I imagine that you want to be cautious of seeming judgmental, while at the same time perhaps not condoning every situation that you see. I imagine that it might sometimes be hard to keep personal feelings in check.

The first time I went to Planned Parenthood was almost nine years ago so that I could start birth control. And that was when I met Mary.

She was my nurse, and one of the kindest women I’ve met. She could tell that I was nervous, and attempted to put me at ease.

She asked me about my boyfriend, who I’d told her was waiting in the lobby for me.

She smiled, she was gentle, and she didn’t judge me for my age, even though she was old enough to be my mother.

She made me feel free and comfortable to ask any questions that I might have. And did I ever. I left Planned Parenthood that day so much more relaxed than when I had gone in.

Fast forward a couple years later, when I had been off birth control for a few months, but, due to a blossoming relationship, wanted to go back on. Without going into too much detail, there had been some minor contact and, even though I knew I was all right, I just wanted to make sure before going back on the pill. So I scheduled another appointment and wasn’t nearly as nervous as the first time, after having Mary as my nurse.

I don’t remember the name of the woman who saw me this time. What I do remember is telling her my situation and her condescending tone when she asked, “How could you have let that happen?” I remember being shocked and shamed, and thinking that her reaction was uncalled for. I wasn’t asking for sympathy by any means – just a little understanding. And I was already there. I was taking care of myself.

After that appointment, I stopped going to Planned Parenthood. It was a combination of that particular attitude, and the lucky fact that my mom was supportive and willing to help me find a gynecologist.

But that experience made me so grateful for people like Mary, who are able to make a potentially scary experience a little less frightening, and who can put others at ease with a smile and some small talk.

And it made me recognize just how important the right attitude can be in such sensitive situations.

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Speaking up

When the Criminal Homicide and Abortion Amendments bill passed in Utah at the beginning of March, both Shine and Marie reached the end of their rope when it came to women’s rights and issues consistently being pushed backwards rather than moving forwards. They decided to have a day in which any blogger could write about women’s rights and issues and bring them to the forefront so that we could speak up and make all of our voices heard. Here is my story. Know it. Write it. Say it.

When I got the email from Marie a couple weeks ago, I knew I wanted participate somehow. I wanted to be able to lend my voice to the cause – even if I don’t usually get too issue-y here – whichever way I could. But even as I write this, I’m not sure what I want to say. Not because I don’t know where I stand, but because the issues facing women are such hot topics and so involved that I fear not doing them justice.

But I’ll try.

The issue of abortion is something that I’ve struggled with since high school. I grew up in a Christian household- I am a Christian now – and there’s still that part of me that wonders if I could ever do it, if it were necessary. But, even while I’m thinking about that, I realize that, regardless of my decision, I do have that option. And my hypothetical doctor and I are the only ones who would know, physically, what would be best for me. Which is why statements like this really grate at me:

According to [Rep. Wimmer's] Web site, as chairman of the Utah Family Action Council, “we are continually working to pass pro-life legislation which will weaken Roe v. Wade. Abortions should be reserved for extreme cases only.”

“Abortions should be reserved for extreme cases only.” Who makes that decision? Who decides what’s extreme and what’s dangerous? It should be the woman, whoever she decides to ask to be by her side, and her doctor. There’s no room for any politicians or lawmakers on that list. Not for something so personal, invasive, and potentially life changing.

There’s so much more that can be said on the issue of abortion, and even as I write this I’m thinking of 20 different directions that I want to take the post and it’s overwhelming.

But for right now it comes down to this: there has been a disconnect between what we, as women, need and what politicians think is best. And we need to open those lines of communication to make them listen, and make our voices heard.

Like I said, there’s no way that I did this topic justice, but it’s so important that I couldn’t not participate. Please go see Marie for more information and for links to all the other participants, who can say these things so much better than I can.

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Tell me what you want, what you really really want

I don’t usually laugh a whole lot when I read CNN. I mean, let’s face it, the news these days is often bleak. What’s positive is all relative. BUT, I saw something on the CNN Political Ticker last night that I couldn’t pass up:

“Reporters call Hillary Clinton, get phone sex line”

Seriously? Seriously? How does an accident like that happen? Apparently, “The White House says an aide merely mistyped the 800-dial in number,” but I’m skeptical. “Mistyped” or “was super bored at work and decided to have a little fun because they knew they could pass it off as a mistake” – who’s to say?

Imagine calling to find out about foreign policy, and instead you get an invitation to talk about your deepest, darkest, most taboo desires. I suppose, depending on the day/week/month you’ve been having, you may just think, screw the press call, these things happen for a reason, right? I actually wonder if journalists kept calling the wrong number, even after it was corrected.

Editor: Steve! What are you doing? That conference call’s been over for an hour! Why are you still on the phone?

Steve: Oh, uh, just, you know, tying up loose ends. [into the phone] Yeah, I’ll call back, baby. Just remember where we were. Yeah, yeah, I love it when you boss me around.

Editor: What did you just say?

Steve: Nothing! Just, um, you’re the boss – I’ll get off…off the phone now. Story’s on its way.

I predict an influx of journalists dialing in for the next Clinton conference call. After all, if it can happen once, it can happen again. And it has the potential to be more entertaining than a foreign policy briefing.

Just a thought.

Happy Friday!

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What a novel idea

I don’t usually get too political over here. Sure, I have my opinions, but I don’t claim to be a political guru, by any means. Last night, however, I watched Obama’s news conference focusing on the economy, and felt the urge to comment.

I can’t lie – for a little while, I was having bad flashbacks to my college econ classes, hearing him throw around terms like “gross domestic product” and “structural deficits” and “fiscal responsibility.” (Responsibility? That’s just crazy talk.) And I was really only partially tuned in at first, as I was finally sitting down to do my taxes (woo.freaking.hoo.). But then, during the questions on AIG and why it took so long to react, Obama said one of the best things I’ve heard from him since he’s taken office:

“It took us a couple of days [to react] because I like to know what I’m talking about before I speak.“

Why am I so struck by this comment? I mean, you should expect politicians to know what they’re talking about, right? Right…? Or maybe:

You know why someecards are funny? Because they’re usually true.

It’s been said before, but the bar was set so low that anything even moderately acceptable that Obama does, is a happy surprise. Even speaking coherently. (Granted, that sentiment has faded a bit in these past couple months.)

Ideally, we should be able to look to our leaders as role models. So, maybe this whole “knowing what you’re talking about before you speak” idea will eventually sweep the nation.

Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

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Through the eyes of a child

I wasn’t going to go yesterday. I thought I could be a part of history by watching the inaugural festivities from the warmth of my apartment, away from the crowds. And I suppose I could have been.

But it was So. Much. Better. to be there in person. Could I see the Capitol (or anything, really) from where I was? No, of course not. That’s what the giant TV screens were for. I hung out off to the side of the Washington Monument, marveling at the crowds I’d been warned about, but had hardly believed were possible.

Sure, there was a delay between the sound and picture, but so what? That didn’t stop me from getting goosebumps during the speeches – goosebumps that had nothing to do with the sub-freezing temperatures. Or from getting slightly teary-eyed, at the promise of the next four (at least) years.

But the best non-ceremony part of the day, was one particular little girl, sitting on her dad’s shoulders while watching history on the big screen. At one point, during a lull, she piped up in her high, tiny, five or six-year-old voice and chanted, “O-bam-a! O-bam-a! O-bam-a!“

When I was her age, the first Bush was in office and the Gulf War was going on. But that was the extent of my political knowledge. And there was NO way that I was picking up on any sort of excitement, especially not equal to that of what she was obviously feeling yesterday.

It’s been a long time, for nearly all of us, since we’ve felt the kind of energy and hope that inspires spontaneous cheers and chants. And that inspires people to travel across the country, and camp out overnight in order to catch even a glimpse of the proceedings.

Experiencing that excitement first hand yesterday made any frozen extremities more than worth it. If that little girl wasn’t complaining, really, why should I?

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Impromptu post-election musings

I didn’t intend to post on the election. I don’t know that I can add much to what’s already been said and felt – the pride, the (happy) tears, the elation. On a personal level, this is only the second presidential election I’ve been able to vote in and I was overwhelmed by the intensity and energy that existed in this campaign, right up until the very end (and even still, as people revel in their win). And even though I know that my vote was one of many, and that in the grand scheme of things it may not have made much of a difference, I still feel like it counted. Like Diddy said, “I felt like my vote was the vote that put him into office. It was down to one vote, and that was going to be my vote. And that may not be true, but that’s how much power it felt like I had.”*

But, to be honest, this morning, after the initial, oh-my-god-history-was-made-last-night feeling, I started thinking, Okay, what’s next? What now? And it’s not that I need instant gratification – I don’t. I can be patient (most of the time), and I’m curious to see how Obama follows through on his promises in the long run. But this election has been so long coming that it’s like finishing a marathon, being on a runner’s high, and wondering when you’ll race again.

So I’ve decided to think of these next two months as training. Obama is gearing up for his own personal ultra-marathon – a four year stint (at least) in the White House, with the entire world looking at him to, ultimately, play Mr. Fix-it. No pressure.

And we’re in training, too. We, who helped him get elected, will continue to play a role in this change we’re so eagerly anticipating. That’s what’s next. That’s what’s now. This January 20^th will be the sixth Inauguration Day in my lifetime, the third that I’ll actually be paying attention to, and the only one, thus far, that makes me so proud to have voted – and so excited to see what happens next.

*I know, I know – don’t judge me for quoting Diddy.

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Let’s talk about sex, baby

Raise your hand if you remember this book (or at least some variation of it):

That’s what I thought. It caters mostly to the ten-year-old crowd – right around the same time you probably saw “the movie.” You remember the one I’m talking about. It was that time in elementary school when the girls were shepherded off to the library to learn all about “Aunt Flo,” and the boys sat in the auditorium learning…well, I don’t know, exactly. I wasn’t there. I do know that at the end of the movies every kid was sent home with an information packet and a travel-size deodorant. Because kids get smelly.

And from that point on, health class was never quite the same. After learning about our own bodies, we eventually got into the good stuff. The Sex. Duh. I really wish I remembered that particular class explicitly, but I don’t. Lord knows why I wasn’t paying attention. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d heard about it, though. I had friends with older siblings – I knew what was up, more or less. But here’s the thing: even after these well-structured health classes at, what I can look back on now as, an appropriate age, I was still scared.

Yes, you read that right: I was scared of sex.

And, okay, yes, that should be fairly normal for a middle schooler (at least back in my day), but this fear lasted a little past middle school. It may have lasted into high school. And by “may have,” I mean it did. “I don’t ever want to have sex,” I’d say, “I just want to, one day, have a baby.” Some of my friends (especially the older ones) would look at me with eyes that said, One day you’ll understand. And one day, I did.

But that’s beside the point. This all came rushing back to me, recently, after, not only sex education being a campaign issue, but also seeing this headline the other week, England adopts compulsory sex education, and reading that “children as young as five years old will be taught some of the basics of anatomy and relationships.”

My first reaction was, “Oh.My.God.” But now I wonder: would I have been as scared of sex if I’d learned about it so early? Or just completely de-sensitized to it?

I really have no way of knowing, but five does seem a little young. Just a tad. Ten-year-olds today already know more than I did at that age (and possibly more than I did in middle school). If the trend continues, teaching sex ed younger and younger, my one-day kids may end up teaching me.

Talk about terrifying.

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“That one”

When it comes to politics, I’ve always considered myself able to see both sides of any argument. In a post-debate analysis, I’m usually able to give a fairly equal amount of pros and cons to each participant. That’s not to say I don’t have my own [strong] opinions on whatever went down, but in civil conversation, I prefer to be a little more moderate, and often end up playing devil’s advocate. But, frankly, McCain is not making that easy.

Unsurprisingly, I watched the town-hall Presidential debate last night. Also unsurprisingly, I didn’t find it nearly as entertaining as the Vice Presidential debate the other week. In fact, I found it a bit painful. I wasn’t able to watch the first debate, but received some minimal play-by-play:

• “[McCain] is being rude, interrupting Obama and being dismissive.”

Followed by:

• “I’m trying not to be biased but McCain is coming off as petulant.”

I didn’t want to believe it – not because I’m pro-McCain, but because these are grown gentlemen. Who wants to see them (or him, rather) acting like children? After watching some post-first-debate coverage, I had to conclude that the play-by-play was fairly accurate. I hoped for a better showing during this second one, but was ultimately disappointed.

I outwardly cringed when McCain uttered the phrase, “That one,” pointing at Obama. You are 72-years-old and you’re pointing fingers like a tattle-tale? Yeah, that’s who I want running my country. And, lest I forget any other cringe-worthy moments, Andrew Sullivan caught them all while live-blogging during the debate.

Listen, I know it’s important to watch the debates, stay informed, and get involved in politics. I know this. But, to be honest, McCain fights like a child and it’s just not worth my time. If I wanted that, I’d go back to being a nanny. At least when Biden and Palin were trading jabs it was somewhat amusing. (Although, not as amusing as this.)

27 days until the election and then these finger-pointing campaigns are over. It can’t come soon enough. And in the meantime, there’s one more debate to go. But if they keep fighting like children…that’s it, I’m telling Mom.

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