Dear Mr. VP,
Last year, after your signed a new Indiana law limiting abortion access, people started calling you to talk about their bodies — periods, birth control, etc.
Since you’re clearly interested, and because we’ve grown so close over the last four months, it would feel disingenuous to not tell you about my OB/GYN appointment today.
Should our correspondence ever make it into the public eye, that’s my cue to my dad to stop reading this letter. Put it back on the shelf at the Library of Congress.
Anyway, I figured that if the AHCA passes in the Senate that free birth control handout might be over and I’d better get something long term and reliable while the getting is good. Fast forward to 3:15 today and me sitting in the midwife’s office with a drape over my legs awaiting a Paragard insertion.
“What’s a Paragard?” you might ask. Well, sir, it’s a piece of copper that hangs out in your uterus and prevents fertilized eggs from implanting, along with sometimes preventing fertilization in the first place. It’s 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and it’s sort of a set it and forget it kinda deal.
I have to tell you I was pretty nervous about this whole thing, which is silly because I’ve given birth and really, could the pain be anything like that? (Spoiler: no, the pain was nowhere near as awful as birth.)
Anyway, insertion requires some steps. I just stared at the lovely pictures of meadows on the ceiling above the table on which I was lying as my CNM inserted a speculum, swabbed my cervix with Betadine, numbed it, measured my uterus, finally inserted the IUD, and then trimmed the strings. It was uncomfortable at times, actually painful at others, and five hours later I have some cramps, but totally worth it for not having to worry about birth control for the rest of your vice presidency and, God forbid the worst case scenario, presidency.
As I was lying on the table, I was thinking about how many people think life begins at fertilization and how I’m surprised they haven’t gone after IUDs in a real and concerted way yet, since they don’t always prevent fertilization, which means I’m now, according to some folks, like a walking and talking baby killer.
Anyway, after I sat up and the CNM checked to make sure I wasn’t woozy or having any sort of immediate negative side effect, I took off and drove to Holyoke, where I got a first hand look at a place you’d like to throw people who make their own reproductive choices: