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

