First off, let me say that I love your blog. It has given me many resources, and because of it, I have become even stronger in my pro-choice stance. You have spoken out against CPCs, and somehow, I ended up in one and foolishly decided to stay. I wanted to share my story.
My period was a week late. I chalked it up to me getting off birth control, but I was having all of my PMS symptoms. And I had those for two weeks, which never happened, even before birth control. So, I decided to go to Planned Parenthood, until I remembered that becuase I get free treatment, they wanted my mother’s paystub as proof of the income level I had claimed. Now, my mother and I are very close, but it would have been unreasonable of me to ask my mother to fax something by 9am the next morning. I thought about taking a home test, but I really wanted the counseling because while I am personally uncomfortable with abortion, I am even more uncomfortable with the idea of having a kid growing up in foster homes until he or she is 18. So, I looked online and found a free place that wasn’t a crisis pregnancy center. At 8:00 the next morning, I asked when they opened, and they said 9:00.
The first thing on the door was a Bible verse: Jeremiah 29:11. I cringed, but went past the daycare center and up the elevator. I was told that even though the center opens at 9:00, the nurses don’t come in until 10:00. So, I waited an hour. All that there were in the waiting room were parenting magazines, and since there was a slim chance of me keeping my pregnancy combined with the fact that it’s been ingrained in my mind since high school that this fetus was a human, I couldn’t read them. I browsed Tumblr and wrote about being in a CPC. I got lots of support.
An hour later, a woman took me into an examination room, and she asked me how I was feeling. I admitted I was nervous because the website I looked at didn’t link to their real website, and I didn’t know I was at a crisis pregnancy center. I also said I was nervous about being pregnant. She asked me why I was nervous, and I said that a CPC had taught us sex ed and took a very pro-life stance on things. I also mentioned they told us the fail rate of condoms was at 50%-60%, which isn’t true. I mentioned my disklike for misinformation, but she cut me off and explained she is an RN. She then asked me what I thought the success rate for condoms was. I said 96%-97% if they are used correctly, and she interrupted me again and said that “nobody really knows how to use them correctly. And it’s more accurate to say that 1 in 6 condoms fail when used properly.” She went on to tell me that sperm are too small to have a condom stop them, let alone HIV. Grinding my teeth, I had to hold back on telling her about the couple I personally knew (they recently broke up) — one who is HIV positive and the other negative. They’d been together for 15 years.
She went on to ask me if I was in a relationship with the father (why she assumed I was only sleeping with one man is a mystery to me, though it is true in my case), and I admitted we had an arrangement. When she asked me to clarify that for her, and I explained that once or twice a week, I’ll call him and he will come over, she turned bright red. She asked if we used condoms, and I said that we did, but that we had a malfunction. She said, “Breakage? Slipped off?” I said, “Well, neither. He had already come but was still pumping.” Again, she blushed and looked away before circling something that wasn’t “sperm might have spilled out while her booty call tried to give her one last orgasm.” I was confused as to why a woman who is so bashful about sex would be doing this job, and I felt like she thought I was very promiscuous.
Her nervousness made me more nervous, and I started wringing my hands and touching my face (it’s something I can’t control when I’m upset), and she asked me if I went to college. At this point, I thought she was trying to calm me down by making small talk; however, when I told her my school, she wrote it down in the “notes” section of her paper. I was taken aback by this, but the real shocker came when I told her I was into web design and she asked me if I would please look at their website and e-mail her about any improvements I could suggest. I wanted to say, “Excuse me? I’m here in the middle of a crisis and you want to ask me to look at your fucking website?” However, I just smiled and nodded.
We went through other questions, and we got to the adoption part. She said she could provide me with three companies for adoption, should I choose that. I nodded and replied that I have no intention in raising a child, should my results come back positive (at this point, I hadn’t even taken the test. I felt like the intake was taking forever, but I’m sure everyone who goes through this feels that way because they are nervous). I mentioned that I am an obese white girl with a family history of alcoholism and mental illness (and heart attacks, but I didn’t say that), while the father is from India (who suffers occasionally from high blood pressure and has gone to the hospital for it a few times, though I forgot to mention that). She smiled and said this wouldn’t be a problem at all, which I know is a big crock of lies. I asked if any of those agencies would help me find a gay or lesbian couple. I explained that I am queer and would prefer to give my child to a couple like that, should I find one I’m comfortable with. She told me that all the agencies are Christian ones, and that a child needs a mother and a father. She asked me if my “arrangement” was female or male, which confused me because up until that point, I didn’t think I could get pregnant from scissoring. Damn. I said he was a guy, and to that she asked if I was ever sexually abused. This question made me angry, so I went into graphic detail about how my first boyfriend was abusive and guilted me into doing sexual things I didn’t like. This is usually a pretty touchy subject to me, and I do admit that it was wrong for me to use that to make this woman uncomfortable.
The nurse, who by this point told me she is an RN three times, then asked me from a scale of 1 to 10, one being definitely one and ten being definitely, how seriously I was considering abortion. I said a firm 8. She asked if the father knew about my period being late, and I replied yes. She asked where he fell on the scale. I replied a 10. She looked absolutely appalled and asked how I was so sure. “This guy definitely isn’t looking for a relationship with me,” I explained. “He certainly isn’t looking for some extra responsibility, either. When I told him about it, he asked if I was considering abortion, and I admitted I was. He said he would help pay for half or more, depending on the help I need.”
Finally, the pregnancy test came. I peed in a cup, and she put my pee on a test strip. She tried to explain to me about the hormone that would be released in my body, but I told her I already understood how a pregnancy test works. We spent the entire three minutes of this time talking about pap smears, and about how when I went to Planned Parenthood, I was 3 months away from the required “X amount of years having sex or you are 21” thing. She was astounded that they didn’t give me the smear and said that it was because I don’t have health insurance. “Actually,” I replied, “I do have health insurance, but because I am below a certain income level, they said I should just not use it so I can get free service. The pills I use aren’t ones they can give away for free, so they are an expense. And the reason I didn’t get the pap smear was because I begged them not to. They said it would be against my better judgement, but they agreed. I won’t be allowed to get service there again if I don’t get one in November.” To that, she said that they have a person who does pap smears and that I could get an appointment for one. I asked if this person was a male, and she said he was.
Now, I like to think myself as a progressive dyke, but I don’t feel comfortable with male general doctors, let alone having one looking at my crotch. This has nothing to do with my first boyfriend. I just don’t want a guy down there unless I’m having sex with him.
She went on to talk about how an OB/GYN will put her fingers in me, and I explained that already happened. She tried to talk about it more, but t hen the timer went off. I wasn’t pregnant, much to my relief. I smiled and said, “Oh, thank God…” (I am a pretty religious person, and while I don’t personally believe God was destroying sperm on their way to my precious, fertile egg, I like to thank Him for the good things that happen to me). She frowned at me, probably for me using the Lord’s name in vain. The last thing she said to me was, “Well, you didn’t come back positive. Normally, I’d ask someone to abstain for two weeks and see if their period comes, but…” She didn’t finish her sentence. I replied, “Yeah. I’m going to go pick up my birth control (which I was waiting to take until I got my period) now.”
Lesson learned: Take a home pregnancy test and get counseling from a homeless man on the streets before going to a CPC. And also, any time you take a pregnancy test, your period will come the next day.
This story was sent to my inbox and it made me so happy I had to post it right away. Thanks for sharing and congrats on surviving with your sanity intact!
Love,
Rabble
http://rabbleprochoice.tumblr.com/post/788318055/a-queer-girls-experiance-at-a-cpc
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