equality for all vaginas

there's a cat in my way. like, right here, between the laptop and myself. i'm reaching over gingerfatcat so i can type. this is hard to do.

i had a long day at work...going to be an even longer day tomorrow. yay for the extra money though, i suppose. i had a lot of thoughts in my head today. right, like when don't i?

i kept thinking ahead to an upcoming appointment i have, one that i am dreading. don't read any further if you don't want to read about vajayjay's (and not v's in a sexy way...really, more clinical.) i'm going to talk about the annual choncha exam.

yep. that's right.

there was a time when i didn't dread these appointments. didn't really care. then two years ago (by choice) i became a single, divorced mother. i work hard at my job. i have no health insurance. i pay out of my pocket, all expenses. there are appointments at the dentist and physicians i need to make, but i cannot afford to. when it comes to my woman's health issues though, i have to go. but i can no longer go to a REAL gynecologist. because i am uninsured and cannot pay those fees. so i go to a clinic. this will be my third year going to a clinic. those who have never been might say, "well, all is well then. you have free healthcare at the clinic. you don't have to pay for a thing..." they would be right... sort of. but it's limited care. and not equal care. really. it's small. dingy. not private. you sign in--anyone after you can read your name that you have been there. you give them confidential information, which isn't really confidential at all, seeing as you are in the middle of a room where anyone within earshot can hear your name, address, and how many pregnancies you've had and when the start of your last period was. does that make you uncomfortable? it does me. when you go back to the exam room, it is poorly lit and there are strange posters on the ceiling. put your feet up. wait, what? in those? the metal stirrups on the exam table aren't padded or have the clinical-looking mitt things on them. you know the ones with some pharmaceutical jargon stamped on them? noooo. there are actual oven mitts on the stirrups. the exam table itself is not up-to-date. scoot all the way down. no, further. further. until my spine is bruised. just relax. right. i remind the nurse that my cervix is um, slightly abnormal, you remember, right? it's in the charts. didn't they write that down. you'll have to use a different instrument. oh, it'll be fine. but it's not. it's painful every time i've had it done there. because they don't have the correct instruments. and it takes a very long time. and i am cramping. and the tears are flowing down my cheeks. and my tailbone is bruised. and i am looking at this stupid poster on the ceiling, one meant to calm. but it only enrages me.

i understand that this clinic does not have the funding needed to make important updates. i also understand that not much is being done about it. and i also am quite aware that it really isn't that bad there--i shudder to think of other clinics in this country, in areas more stricken with poverty. what must those places be like?

last year, my pap was done incorrectly. i had to return for a second one. i worry that they might be missing something. when i was younger, i had an abnormal pap with pre-cancerous cells. i had a good doctor who in turn sent me to an excellent gynecologist. and i have seen several excellent gynecologists/obstetricians since and received great care.

i don't get that kind of care at a clinic. because they don't have the means.

it isn't fair for uninsured women. what can be done about it?

we need a change. not tomorrow. but right now.

and don't get me wrong, i APPLAUD the women who work at the clinic. they are doing their very best. i can only imagine some of the situations they know of, women and children who have come in...can only imagine. but these wonderful women need SUPPORT. how will we do this?

and don't even tell me that not everyone in America deserves basic healthcare. let me tell you, everyone does. and with that care should come dignity and privacy, kindness and knowledge.

i have been on both sides of the fence. i hope that one day soon i will have a job that will provide me stability and affordable health insurance. but what about those who will not get that opportunity?

whiney me no want to go to workey. and get some sort of fashion sense. please.

is tomorrow Friday really? what happens to my days? i am so rundown this week. my body is still so tired and sore. the flu/tonsillitis combination really is no fun at all. i feel out of sorts too. i would like to sleep for about 48 hours straight. if only.

i took the kids to the movie store today so they could get some free rentals. i had a thought while observing people, as i often do. ... okay, first of all, i was NOT as pretty as a picture. i am aware of this. i probably scared the guy behind the counter. me sick without makeup = ugh. gross. so, i'm not really judging here, per se. but... ENOUGH! ladies, wtf? why are SO MANY females these days wearing these awful jeans that don't really fit. they wear them not even pulled up over their hips. so in the front, their gut is hanging over. and the rearview, MY GOD! listen momma, it looks like you shit in your pants and it's just sagging down the back of your jeans. it is so UNATTRACTIVE. how does one think this is a good look? because i observed two women in there looking like this, and i see more women wearing their jeans like this every day, every time i go out. i. don't. get. it.

voluptuous

why i love my body:

i was born into this body. it's mine.

i love every freckle, mole, sunspot...every crease, wrinkle, laugh line, scowl line, crow's foot, discoloration, scar. hey, i made those scars. granted, i'm no athlete or daredevil. sure, sure, those scars mostly came from curling irons, flat irons, razors.

ah, but the ones on my legs tell you of a little kindergartener who had short legs; she tripped and stumbled up those steps at Belle Union school...then in first grade she kicked her legs to deal with her sensory difficulties and the nauseau that ensued. kicked her legs and hit them daily on her desk. then there's the leg scars from a few summers ago when the chiggers about ate me alive.

this year i went and added to the list of scars by falling on my kneecap. lord, sweet jesus. bahhhh! ouch is an understatement.

i have stretch marks, white and purple. spider veins. babies. weight gains. weight losses. standing working retail.

i have curves, lots of them. perhaps i am voluptuous. yeah, i like that.

everything about my body is beautiful to me. it's a storybook. so many chapters!

when i am d
o
w
n,
i should just remember I AM LIFE, I HAVE LIFE, I HAVE GIVEN LIFE. holy crap. smile me.

when i was a little girl ( a trip down my memory lane)

i was not a "typical" child, not that i can recall. if mom were still alive, i would ask her. she would say that i was perfect. of course. :)

i was strange, and awkward, and lived inside my head.

my mom taught my brother and me how to spell when we were young. the first word we both learned was a long and complicated word. i won't tell you what it was--that would take its "specialness" away. but she made spelling fun. we loved it.
now i am in my thirties, and i cannot remember how to spell much these days. i hate using spell-check, but it is a necessary evil at times.

also, if you are wondering, no, i do not use capital letters when at a keyboard. sorry. i just can't do it. it's not me at all. when i do insert a capital letter it is because i have deemed that word to be Important. see? :)

anyway when i was a child i preferred to play alone. i had a dollhouse. i made furniture for it. i installed the carpet, wallpaper, even landscaped a yard for it. i was, like, six or seven. this dollhouse was one of my escapes. i would play at that house all day and into the night. i wrote stories about the family that lived there.

writing was another of my escapes. i soon came up with the idea of using 3x5 notecards for my stories. i had different cards for each character in the story, cards for their homes, cards for their schools, etc. i collected magazines and cut out any pictures i liked and glued them to the cards so i could better visualize what i was going for. i was 8 or 9 by then. this was a passion (or obsession) of mine. but it made me happy.

my kids are both quite creative and talented in different areas. i don't have much money, but i know you don't need a lot of money to encourage a child to pursue their interests. scissors, paper, glue, magazines, fabric, buttons, scotch tape (oh, that damn tape! noah has it everywhere), well, we have all that, and i will gladly keep my kids in supply!

another one of my escapes was singing. i sang all the time. i still do. i know i sang better as a child and best as a teenager. now it's all gone gone gone. no tone. really, my singing now is no good. but i still love it. i sing all the time. when i was little i would go outside on our sidewalk (it was raised up a bit from ground level...had a small drain pipe going under it), and that sidewalk was MY Broadway. i was Judy Garland belting out Somewhere Over the Rainbow. i was in a production of Cats! i sang and danced. my brother applauded. he thought i was smashing. well, he was my Superman in those days. i told him he could fly, and he believed me. i believed in him. still do.

i remember my dreams for the future. i was going to be an interior decorator, a fashion designer, be on Broadway occasionally, and also be a struggling artist and take up residence in Greenwich Village.

i love the little girl i used to be. i cherish her. she was a quiet girl. a funny girl. she loved to make people laugh. huh, i still do like to make people laugh.

i'm stuck at home (sooo sick), so i might as well blog.

hello. yeah, i'm blogging. i write all the time anyway. so, hey, i'll write some stuff and maybe make a few dollars. $$ woot! i will tell you how it is. i will tell you what i am actually thinking. i may use bad language. oh, shit, who am i kidding? i WILL use bad language. "do it yourself kinda girl" is an inside joke of sorts i have with someone very dear to me. hehe. i will tell you this: i am a strong person, stubborn even. but i do not like to do everything myself. which is funny (not really), because i am a single mom. i HAVE to do most everything myself. so...every day is a "put my big girl panties on" kind of day for me. i'm a woman. i'm a mom. so that means JUST DO IT! GET IT DONE! DO IT MYSELF OR IT WON'T GET DONE! i am sick this weekend. and that blows. i'm trying to sleep, but every 10 minutes or less, i hear, "mom!! watch me do this!" "mom! i hurt my leg!" "mom! i fell asleep while i was picking up my room. so i wanted to tell you i need a nap." "mom! there's chocolate milk all over the floor. it needs cleaned up!" this morning i got up, removed my beanie from my cold head. yeah, i slept in my hat because my ears ache. i thought to myself,"i need a shower. but, nah, what's the point? i'm not done chilling/sweating, chilling/sweating." THEN i got a whiff. of me. grossssss. i took a shower, then dressed up as the abominable snowman. THEN i ate my chocolate ice cream. the good kind. it was sooo good. numbed my painful throat. but then i had some phlegm caught in my throat and started coughing. oh, that hurt! and i almost threw up my ice cream. my only meal! no! i didn't. thank goodness. like what you've read so far? if so, stay tuned. there will be more, my friends. i have so much to say.