I remember the first time I ever went to Planned Parenthood. I was 16, living with my family in Denver, Colorado. A good friend asked if I’d come with her after school to see if she could get a prescription for the morning-after pill. While she and her long-term boyfriend tried to be incredibly careful about using condoms in addition to her taking birth control, the condom broke the night before. When she looked at her pill pack the next morning, she realized she had missed her last three pills.
I remember driving to the Planned Parenthood, filled with a range of emotions. My friend was doing what she needed to do to take care of her body and her future. While she had been careful to take precautions before having sex, even the best-laid plans can fail. She found herself in an unexpected scenario, and was finding a way to minimize the potential consequences.
At the same time, I was scared. I knew the Planned Parenthood clinic well, but only because we drove past it almost every day on our way to school. The brown, nondescript building sat on a busy corner, usually with protesters outside who would shame patients as they tried to access the health care they needed. If the protesters were outside when we arrived, what should I do? Would they yell at us, and call us names? Would they be able to tell that we were in high school, and criticize us for being young? Should I try to explain our situation to them? Should I tell them that the condom broke, and she didn’t mean to miss the pills? Should I try to explain that my friend’s mom would literally disown her and maybe kill her if she happened to become pregnant?
And what about once we got inside the clinic? Would they think we were too young and turn us away? Would they talk down to us, and lecture us on stuff we already knew? Would they call our parents?
As we pulled into the parking lot, several protesters lined the nearby sidewalk. One man shouted to us that we didn’t “have to do this” as we walked towards the door. I was furious. What don’t we have to do, sir? He didn’t even know why we were there, and in fact, we DID need to “do this.” I thought about what it must be like to have to walk by people yelling at you as you go to get your Pap smear, mammogram order, or STI screening. Or how hurtful and frustrating it must be to have someone who knows nothing about you or your situation instantaneously make the judgment that your decision is wrong.
In that moment, I knew that whatever the reason for going to a Planned Parenthood or any other health clinic, no patient should ever be yelled at, intimidated, or harassed. I knew that each and every patient’s situation and reason for coming to a clinic is unique, and that I would never understand people that would judge a patient for accessing health care services.
As we walked through the front door, we passed signs banning guns, and stating that we were being videotaped. We entered a small waiting area where a young woman sat behind bulletproof glass. It felt like everyone looked up as we walked in, making sure that we didn’t represent a threat to their safety. It felt so surreal, and despicable, and tragic that patients had to encounter these types of things in order to see their doctor.
Yet after these initial security measures, my fears about what may happen inside the clinic could not have been more unfounded. The young woman at the registration desk greeted us with a warm smile, reassuring us instantly that we were in good hands. We spoke with a nurse who asked my friend questions without judgment, and reassured us in regards to confidentiality. She spoke to us as adults, while still ensuring we had a clear understanding of the instructions and gave us the opportunity to ask questions. As we left the room, I remember thinking that she must have thought we were older than we were. Now, I realize she had my friend’s chart in front of her the whole time, and instead was simply treating us with respect and dignity regardless of our age.
As we left the clinic, the protesters were silent. One seemed to purposefully turn their back to us as we walked to our car. But I felt emboldened. We had come to a health care clinic to receive care, and we had accomplished our goal. And more than that, we had found that our encounter at Planned Parenthood was not scary, but was instead more welcoming, kind, non-judgmental, and respectful than any other health care encounter we had experienced as teens.
My friends and I would return to Planned Parenthood many more times. Some of us would go for birth control, others for annual exams, others to volunteer as patient escorts, and others for termination services. This summer, I will return to Planned Parenthood for the first time as an employee. As an obstetrician/gynecologist and proud provider of the full spectrum of women’s health care services, I look forward to helping to further the mission of this amazing organization. Thank you, Planned Parenthood, for helping women receive the health care they need and deserve.
