Fear and Anger in a post-Roe America
CW: Brief discussion of sexual assault.
I was 19 when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. As I neared the summer after my first year of college, in a tiff with my dad about whether he should let my boyfriend stay the night and the paternal concerns surrounding that, I more or less blurted out that I wasn’t sure that I could even get pregnant. That at 19, I had never had a period. That I likely needed to see a doctor because this probably wasn’t a good sign. He agreed, and scheduled an appointment for the same day he had one coming up.
I remember explaining to the doctor they had me see, a nice older woman with a soft voice who seemed almost at odds with her officer ranking in the Air Force, my symptoms, my concerns. She took notes, asked me a few questions, made mention of my weight, my deeper voice, my sideburns. She had some ideas, but would need some blood tests to help narrow things down, as well as an ultrasound. “We can draw the blood tests today, get you referred for the ultrasound, and schedule a follow up in a couple weeks.”
19 vials of blood turned out to be what she ordered. I remember my dad also needing some blood work done, so we met up and walked over to the testing counter to get vial labels printed. He only needed a couple, and watched another printer drone on and on and on. “I’d hate to be that person,” he chuckled. “That person is me,” I replied, staring at the ever growing pile of labels. “Oh,” was all he could respond with at the time. Read the rest of this entry »
