when i was younger and stupid and in the (glass) closet i was dating the son of a pharmacologist. this man had made millions developing medications. he was fond of me and privately told me i was too funny and smart to be dating boys.
he also said that it was incredibly unlikely that sexism will ever be resolved in the medical field. that the majority of medications i will ever take - even some of which are “for women” - will not be clinically tested on my body.
the problem, he said, was in getting any human clinical trial approved. to test on a body with a uterus - any body, even elderly patients or those who have been sterilized - was often nigh-impossible, because the concern was that the test patient may, at any point, become pregnant. once/if the patient became pregnant, the study would not be about “the effects of New Medication on the body.” instead, the trial would fail - the results would be “the effects of New Medication on a developing fetus/pregnant patient.”
it was massively easier, he said, to just test without accounting for a uterus. that’s how he phrased it - accounting for a uterus.
at the time, i remember him talking about the ethical implications of testing on a developing fetus; how such testing could theoretically bankrupt a company if a lawsuit was filed. he talked about informed consent and about how long it took for any legislation to be passed about this - that in 1993; the year i was born, it finally became illegal to outright exclude women and minorities from clinical trials.
i remember him shrugging. “that’s not to say it doesn’t happen,” he said. my ears were ringing.
i was thinking about how every time i have been rushed to the ER, the first thing they have asked me is if i am pregnant. when i broke my wrist at 16 years old - despite never having had sex - they made me wait three hours for the test to come back negative before they gave me pain meds. the possibility of a child haunts my health.
how many people have died on the table because they were waiting for the pregnancy test before treatment. how many people have died on the table because they were pregnant, and the only thing we care about is the fetus.
it is hard to explain to other people, but it feels like some kind of strange ghost. our entire lives, we are supposed to “save” our bodies for our future partners. but really we are just saving the body for the future child, aren’t we? that hovering future-almost that cartwheels around in a miasma. you can’t get your tubes tied, what if you change your mind? think of the child you must have, eventually.
who cares about you and your actual safety. think about what you could be carrying.
I think the greatest burden in my life is ever since I was a small child I have read “quay” as “kway” and I must remind myself that it is “key” and each time I am betrayed by this anew
tbh the current default state of operating systems & internet browsers looks fucking indistinguishable from when i gave the family desktop one billion viruses downloading Free Neopoints Hack in 2005
not to be a millennial but back in my day getting blasted in the eyeballs by ads on your desktop the instant you turn on your computer used to mean something was extremely wrong
I remember one time I got INSANELY high off of edibles while playing Among Us, and it quickly became apparent to the other players online. I forget how honestly but literally anything “sus” I did was ignored by everyone because I was so fucking high. I tested this theory by standing in front of a body and the person that actually reported it didn’t even mention me. The funniest part was when I was trying to do wires, I kept fucking up over and over again, so I was just standing in front of wires for actual minutes trying to figure it out. A small crowd of players gathered around me to watch and would get mad every time someone reported a body or emergency meeting because “she’s never going to get her tasks done if you keep interrupting them.” I don’t think anyone cared about winning at that point, they just wanted to see the high crew mate succeed in her tasks.
Netflix has a lot of nerve crying and screaming and throwing up and having a tantrum about how password sharing is killing their business and making them hemorrhage money and how they’re just struggling to stay afloat, then turning around and spending 72 billion dollars trying to become a monopoly by buying fucking Warner Bros
getting lost in boston is fun because I turned around on a street corner three times and some guy yelled “hey stupid! the bus is that way!” very helpful interaction and accurate insult, 10/10 no notes
one time I walked around a building a couple times looking for a bathroom and this guy went “this bitch thinks she’s on a merrygoround, where the fuck are you tryna go? bathroom? one floor down to the right behind the door that says bathroom.”
My very first time in Boston. I was absolutely miserable, trying to drag my giant suitcase up a lengthy set of stairs in the pouring rain. This guy who had already reached the top looked back at me with the most pure expression of disgust I’ve ever seen in anyone’s eyes, marched back down the stairs, grabbed my suitcase, carried it to the top, left it there for me, and walked away without ever saying a word. I think about him often.
For the people in the notes going “why is Boston like this”: a) the insults are a way to show you have no ulterior motives when helping someone (and don’t need to be thanked or repaid), and b) Boston was settled by the Irish
About an hour ago, I was in Walmart looking for my conditioner because today is wash day for my hair. As I’m looking for my product, this older white lady approaches me and she says, “Excuse me, miss. Please don’t be offended by this.” And usually when white people tell me not to be offended, 9 times out of 10, whatever they are about to say is going to be offensive af.
Anyway, she follows it up with, “My husband and I just recently won our custody battle with our foster daughter and she means the world to us. She’s a beautiful African American girl and her hair looks a lot like yours. But I’m afraid because I don’t know what to do with her hair. It’s a lot different from mines and our other children and we are at a total loss. I’ve tried looking up the YouTube videos and my husband went to the braiding shops so they can teach him how to properly braid her hair, but he’s still pretty new and it will be a while before he gets used to it. Do you have any tips you can give me? If you don’t have the time, it’s okay, really! I just needed a little advice because I want her to look beautiful.”
Y’all. swear I almost started crying on aisle 6. So for the last 30 minutes, I spent my time talking to her and what products to use and how to properly detangle and comb her hair with the proper tools and what not to do with natural hair. And I showed her a bunch of easier to follow natural hair tutorials on YouTube and saved them for her. (I also had to create a YouTube account for her so she could save it for later.) but omfg, she was so sweet, and I could tell that she listened to every single thing I had to say and she took little notes on her little notepad.
And what really filled my heart was the fact that her husband actually taking classes from African braiding shops. And she showed me a picture of him wearing a little sweater vest and loafers in a little shop surrounded by beautiful black women showing him how to braid black hair and even the lady he’s braiding on is guiding his hands. And omfg. Bless these old white people and their black daughter who I know have new loving parents because they are willing to step out of their comfort zone just to make her feel and look beautiful.
I really hope our paths cross again one day, Mrs Cicilia. 💖💕
