Letters to the Editor
Published Letters: 36 Editor's Choice: 6
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what choice really means
[Read the article: Holy "Handmaid's Tale," Batman!]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]I have a disease caused by an immulogical disorder. It is a tricky little illness. There are a variety of treatments, but none are 100% effective. The human immune system is an amazingly adaptive system. It is not unusual for a treatment that was doing wonderfully to suddenly stop having any effect at all, my busy little immune system building a path around it.
Already, as a female, there are many treatments for this disease that are simply not available to me. Because of the long term effects these medicines can have on a body physicians simply refuse to perscribe them to women who are of child bearing age.
There are a few drugs that fall into what some might see as a grey area. While a woman is taking them, she has a increaced chance of fetal miscarriage or deformity. However, these drugs do not sit in the body, storing themselves in fatty tissue. Once a woman stops taking them, she is "undamaged" goods in the baby making department.
On more than one occassion I have been offered an opportunity to take the 2nd class of these drugs, because my doctors felt they could be very beneficial. However my doctor made me "promise" that I would not get pregnant, and if I did so, would terminate it, before they would agree to perscribe the drugs I needed. It was an easy promise to make. I'm adult. I know how to set priorities. I have thoroughly researched my illness, and I am clear as to what my limited options are. I am able to use 99.9% reliable birth control.
Admittedly, this was just a verbal promise made by me to a physician that I had worked with for many years. If I had come after the same doctor in a few years with a lawsuit, they would be completly screwed. I considered myself fortunate at the time that I had a good working relationship with my doctor. He too understood that getting this disease under control was the most important issue in my life, and he was willing to take a chance.
I'm glad he did, because it was, up until then, the most effective treatment I had ever had. It was also the first treatment that did not require me to visit my doctor's office 3 or more times a month, making it signicantly cheaper, to me and to my insurance, than any other treatment available to me.
Reports like this one from the CDC significantly increase the number of times women will be refused treatments they need, or not even told about the existance of a treatment that could be remarkably beneficial. Why? Because of the possible future damage caused by incorrect application of a drug to a theoretical fetus which does not exist, nor are there plans for it to ever exist.
This kind of politically motivated science makes me crazy, because it's not theoretical to me. If the only access to a physician available to me is one who has absorbed the CDC report thoroughly, then I don't get the treatments I need...I NEED...not want...not wish...not convenient...I NEED them to remain a productive member of society.
This assumes that women are cattle. That women have no capacity to weigh pros and cons, to make judgements about what would be best for the health of themselves and their families. Choice is not about abortion. Let me say that again. CHOICE IS NOT ABOUT ABORTION. It's about allowing a non-pregnant woman access to medication that might save her life.
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Love means never having to say Excuse Me?
[Read the article: Must I always be haunted by the loss of my one true love?]
[Read more letters about this article: Here]Really Cary, you doubt that our lover swam the Golden Gate bridge drunk in the middle of the night? What was your first clue? The icy water? The unforgiving currents? The sharks? The fact that most people who do attempt the swim do so with a retinue of boats following them for safety?
Pish I say! Have you never been in love? Once, I loved so fiercely, so deeply, that I promised him I would swim the English Channel, then race to Paris so that I could meet him atop the Tour Eiffel on New Year's Day. I fulfilled my promise, dragging myself from the freezing water, I paid a farmer onze francs to give me a lift to Paris in the back of his cheese van. When I got to Paris, I raced to the top of the Tower, desperate to see my love.
Alas, he was not there. I waited. Oh, so long I waited. From my high perch, I passed the time watching some ambulanciers extricate some poor pedestrian from underneath an autobus and carry them away. When the gardes finally shooed me from the tower, I wandered bereft to a nearby cafe where I drowned my sorrows in vin rouge.
Shorty after that, I was diagnosed with cholera, contracted while swimming after another love down the Nile. When I died, no one I really cared about came to the funeral.
But I'd do it all again in a minute!!! For love is the triumph of hope over experience!! And reality!! And sharks!!