How a Complimentary Planned Parenthood Service Saved Me from Cancer

      It’s three days before Christmas in 2016, and I’m lying on the examination table at my gynecologist's office with my legs spread apart. The nurse shows me a large needle and warns, “This might hurt a bit.” It does hurt—quite a lot—as the needle goes into my cervix, the lower section of my uterus, to numb the area. At 30 years old, I’m preparing for a Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure (LEEP) to eliminate precancerous cells from my cervix.

      Four months earlier, I started experiencing unusual gynecological symptoms: abnormal spotting and burning pelvic pain that extended down my legs. The pain made it clear I needed to consult a doctor. However, after quitting my part-time job a few months prior, I found myself without health insurance. Though I qualified for Medicaid, I hadn’t applied yet, and even after applying, I was informed that it could take weeks or even months to secure an appointment with a gynecologist.

      Needing prompt medical attention, I chose to visit my local Planned Parenthood for a pap smear. With past experiences in avoiding teen pregnancy and having a solid high school sex education program, I was familiar with their reproductive health services. However, while my previous visits were for pregnancy and STI testing, this time was different—it was for something potentially serious. Even though I was unemployed and uninsured, I managed to book an appointment and was seen within a week, qualifying for free care under Title X, a contentious federal family planning program still targeted by conservatives.

      At my appointment, I described my symptoms, and the doctor conducted a pelvic exam and pap smear, screening for STIs and cervical cancer. When I inquired about how soon I would receive the results, the doctor informed me it could take one to two weeks but reassured me, “If you don’t hear from us, it means your results are normal.” So, I waited.

      Receiving my test results

      In mid-September, I received a call from an unknown number, and my heart raced with worry. What if it’s Planned Parenthood delivering my test results? What if something is seriously wrong? The waiting was torturous, compounded by the discomfort of my symptoms. I just wanted it all to be over.

      When I answered the phone, my heart sank to hear a woman from Planned Parenthood. “You have cervical dysplasia,” she stated. “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means you have precancerous cells on your cervix. You need to see a gynecologist urgently to prevent it from developing into cancer.” My heart nearly stopped at the mention of cancer. I couldn’t believe I was facing such a significant medical diagnosis at such a young age. While several family members have battled cancer, none had been diagnosed under the age of 30.

      To be honest, I was shaken. Fortunately, my only obligation for the day was to sit in the bleachers and pretend to cheer at a wrestling match (I was working as a background actor for a Netflix show). But I struggled to focus on anything else. I couldn’t stop thinking about that call. I must not have been cheering convincingly, as eventually, one of the assistant directors moved me to the back of the bleachers. If only she had understood—or cared—about what I was going through. But with all of us working 14-hour days, my personal struggles were likely the least of her concerns.

      “I was only 30, but suddenly I felt mortal.”

      During dinner break, I called my then-boyfriend and now-husband to share the news. I could barely get a few words out before I burst into tears. “I’m so scared, Justin,” I sobbed. “What if I get cancer?” He reassured me logically, “Then we’ll figure it out together.” Feeling slightly better, I gathered myself to finish the night without too much distress, though enjoyment felt elusive. I was merely going through the motions, counting the minutes until I could return home and escape into sleep.

      The following morning, I was still in a daze and ended up calling out sick for the last day of filming—the first and only instance I have ever done that. Film and TV shoots have significant downtime, and most of that time would likely have been spent crying between takes and worrying endlessly. Instead, I decided to apply for Medicaid and began my journey with a potentially life-altering diagnosis.

      Living with a “Stage 0” diagnosis

      It took over a month to finally see a gynecologist, which, in hindsight, wasn’t too bad, but my anxiety made it feel unbearable. I became a nervous wreck that month, exhibiting mood swings, pain, and crying spells while snapping at friends and family more than usual.

      I didn't think things could worsen, but my first gynecologist appointment proved me wrong. After nearly an hour of waiting, the doctor barged in and immediately started discussing