Como? Crabs?

First off, I’m not pregnant. Second, I don’t have crabs. Third, I also don’t have Chlamydia. Now that we have those three points established, I can begin retelling the adventure I had at Planned Parenthood this week. I have spent a lot of time at work reading Adverse Effects to contraceptives. Guess what? Some seriously awful things happen to people when they take medication. Granted, the more gruesome reports I read usually don’t involve healthy 21-year-old females developing massive blood clots and dying when they start birth control. My amazing ability to be irrational, dramatic, and paranoid, however, have kept me from rushing to the doctor’s for a prescription. It turns out I wouldn’t even have a doctor to rush to anyway because I am homeless. What does a homeless, poor college student do otherwise? Go to Planned Parenthood. Worst. Idea. Ever. Everything started off well enough. I told the smiling receptionist what I needed, sat in a comfortable chair, and started filling out some paperwork. Just as I was starting to feel comfortable about everything, a teenage girl came in, whispered something to the receptionist, and then started sobbing. Loudly. Guess where she decided to sit? Right next to me. Two seconds after she sat down, a lanky 18-year-old boy came in and requested an H.I.V test. I have never looked at a piece of paper with so much determination. There is a social rule somewhere that states you are not allowed to look at people when they are crying or are waiting for results on whether they have AIDS. There is, however, no rule against staring mouth agape at fourteen-year-old couples who come into Planned Parenthood asking if they do abortions. When they finally called my name, I almost cried with joy. The woman I met with walked me into a room, shut the door, and promptly asked me in her thick Hispanic accent if I need a test for crabs.

Me: “What? No! I just need birth control”

PP Woman: “You don’t have Chlamydia?”

Me: (tone of hysteria) “No.”

PP Woman: “We have emergency contraceptive you know. It isn’t an abortion, just a pill that kills sperm”

It took me ten more minutes to finally get her to realize I didn’t need to be tested for an STD, take the day after pill, have a pap smear, or get a years’ supply of condoms. Which than launched us into another conversation of joy

PP Woman: When did you last have sex?

Me: Never. I am a virgin

PP Woman: (Raises her eyebrows) Does your partner use condoms?

Me: No. We’ve never had sex.

PP Woman: Everything you tell me is confidential you know

Me: Okay. Here’s the thing. I realize you must see endless teenagers claiming their pregnancy is a result of immaculate conception. But I’m not lying. I just need a prescription for birth control.

PP Woman: Okay. Make sure your partner keeps wearing condoms.

I have never wanted to strangle myself more than in that moment. After the fun ordeal at PP, I drove to Provo and unleashed my overdramatic self on Sel. May I just say what a remarkable man that fellow is? He is much to patient with my outbursts of how my life is ending when one silly thing goes opposite of the way I feel it should. My mom is also a great fellow JWith the aid of my dear mother, Sel, Sel’s mother, and chocolate I managed to realize I just need to learn to speak Spanish so I will be able to better communicate with my friend at PP.