F
or the millionth
time, he did not
deliver me.
My
dad
is
a
second-
generation obstetrician and
gynecologist,
meaning
he
spends his days delivering
babies, talking to women
about
their
problems
(whether
health-related
or
not) and making sure their
reproductive systems are in
check. His father, my abuelo,
did the same until he retired
just last year.
As I’m sure you can imagine,
having a father who knows
more about periods than I
do has more or less shaped
the way I grew up. When
I was little, all that meant
was snickering alongside my
siblings when we overheard
Dad on a work call (“What
does ‘discharge’ mean?”). In
middle school, when I got my
period before my friends, it
meant that I had more than
just my mother to support me
— as awkward as it was to ask
my dad if he’d seen any pads
lying around the house.
Now, as a college student,
the implications of having a
gynecologist father resonate
with me more than ever
before. Through the simple
act of going to work every
day, my dad has shown
me that sexuality is a key
component of human health,
one
that
deserves
a
far
brighter spotlight than the
one America has given it.
Last
October,
a
report
from the Centers for Disease
Control
and
Prevention
showed
that
rates
of
chlamydia,
gonorrhea
and
syphilis in the U.S. are higher
than ever before. Meanwhile,
our
means
of
prevention
are
growing
ever-more
innovative by the day. What,
then, is causing the spike in
STDs?
Nobody talks.
It’s the 21st century, and
it’s still considered taboo
to discuss sexual relations
in any way, shape or form,
even
in
the
context
of
health care. According to
Planned
Parenthood,
half
of all American teens felt
uncomfortable
talking
to
their parents about sex in
2012. Cringey as they may
be, those conversations could
mean the difference between
preventing and contracting
lifelong health complications.
Not only that, but our
current educational system
is not equipped to show
students why sex must be
spoken of. Though higher-
income areas may be capable
of tackling this issue to some
extent both in and out of the
classroom,
communities
of
lower socioeconomic status
may not have the means to
provide their citizens with
adequate resources, whether
educational
or
medical.
Consequently,
lower-income
areas
often
find
STDs,
unplanned pregnancies and
other dire, yet preventable,
issues added to their infinite
list of problems to solve. In
short, we can’t understand
what we don’t shamelessly
discuss.
Then there’s the ongoing
tension
surrounding
the
crimson
wave.
Girls
still
get periods, and yet, most
still can’t openly reach for
a tampon without feeling
the eyes of everyone in
the room boring into their
uteruses (maybe that’s not
quite how it happens, but
it’s still uncomfortable, all
right?). Menstruation is a
human function that has
existed since the beginning
of time — even longer than
the
“National
Treasure”
franchise. It is preparation
for those who intend to
bring life into the world — a
reminder of all the wonder
of which the female body is
capable. Why is the phrase,
“She’s
probably
on
her
period,” an insult used to
degrade anyone who’s in a
bad mood? When I’m crying
over a real, significant issue,
why is the first response
of nearly everyone I know
to ask me if I’m PMSing?
Why is menstruation the
longstanding excuse for all of
women’s weaker moments?
Nobody talks.
I’ve
grown
up
in
a
household where the body
is spoken about openly to
some degree, whether I
like it or not. Let me clear
this up: I don’t talk about
boys with my dad, but if I
have a question regarding
the well-being of my body,
I ask. Asking your father
about your vagina is not
always the most exciting
thing to do, but I’ve learned
to speak of these matters
the way I would a broken
leg. Health is health, after
all, no matter the part of
the body.
Sure,
it’s
strange
to
think that my dad took
care of my high school
science
teacher,
or
that
he’s probably delivered one
of you (Beaumont Royal
Oak, anyone?). But he is
also the one who showed
me what to do if I contract
a
yeast
infection,
who
encouraged me to discuss
birth control. I still get
texts from girlfriends at
home
thanking
me
for
his
secret
cramp-zapping
strategies
(two
Tylenol
Extra Strength, one Aleve).
It’s my dad I have to thank
for feeling comfortable and
safe in my own skin.
But
no,
he
won’t
be
delivering my children.
2B
Managaing Editor:
Lara Moehlman
Deputy Editors:
Yoshiko Iwai
Brian Kuang
Photo Editor:
Alexis Rankin
Editor in Chief:
Emma Kinery
Managing Editor:
Rebecca Lerner
Copy Editors:
Danielle Jackson
Taylor Grandinetti
Wednesday, March 8, 2017 // The Statement
In Excess: My Dad, the Gynecologist
ILLUSTRATION BY MICHELLE PHILLIPS
BY TESS GARCIA, SENIOR ARTS EDITOR
statement
THE MICHIGAN DAILY | MARCH 8, 2017