Texas State Senator Wendy Davis had an abortion 17 years ago, she revealed in a memoir being published next week. In her book Forgetting To Be Afraid, Davis shares that in 1997, she and her husband terminated a second-trimester pregnancy after they learned the fetus, a daughter, had serious brain abnormalities. Keep reading »
Melissa Mark-Viverito made an unusual admission for a politician on Sunday night: New York City’s City Council Speaker announced to her followers on Twitter that she has high risk HPV.
Mark-Viverito shared how the common STI she has can potentially lead to cervical cancer and that she is having a biopsy on Tuesday. She tweeted: Keep reading »
What does a woman’s past sexual experience have to do with her teaching skills? Just about everything! That’s why the education department in Sao Paolo, Brazil gets all up in the ladybusiness of potential female employees. According to women’s rights activists in Brazil, as cited by The Washington Post, women are required to prove their virginity via a doctor’s note or undergo a gynecological exam to test for cancer. At the direction of the Health Ministry, the education department says they want to ensure that female hires won’t be taking any longterm leaves due to health matters, because the cervix is the only place on a woman’s body where she can get sick. Stay on top of it, Sao Paolo! We wouldn’t anyone with carnal knowledge teaching our children.[Washington Post] [Image of gynecologist’s office via Shutterstock]
I had my first yeast infection at the age of 17. I’d been to a summer music festival in my kicky “boho” jeans and home-made Beastie Boys tank, sweat a lot in the pit, and awoke the next morning to find a discharge the consistency of cottage cheese tumbling from within my vagina.
My reaction was a mixture of mild concern (“I guess that’s the ‘cottage cheese discharge’ I’ve read about in Everywoman, huh …”) and, perhaps more alarmingly, a sense of abject fascination at the Cronenbergian nature of the human body (“…COOL!!”).
My mother’s reaction was altogether a more reasonable one, which was to whisk me off to the chemist to pick up what was then the best defense: six days’ worth of Clotrimazole antifungal vaginal pessaries (weird squishy single-dose egg-shaped things/creams/applicators/wipes/tablets). I would spend the next week with the telltale “sand in the pants” sensation that anyone who has run a course of six-day pessaries will be intimately familiar with.
That was in 2001, and it was my first step on a tortuous journey towards self-acceptance: acceptance, that is, of the fact I am one of those members of the population doomed to a lifetime shared with a colony of angry yeasts. Keep reading »