[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 159 (2013), Part 1]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page 930]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]


                 ``SOMETHING INSIDE'' BY MADDIE GREENE

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                            HON. MARK POCAN

                              of wisconsin

                    in the house of representatives

                        Monday, February 4, 2013

  Mr. POCAN. Mr. Speaker, I would like to submit the following by 
Maddie Greene:

                            Something Inside

                           (By Maddie Greene)


 Planned Parenthood of Wisconsin Presents Our Lives--Our Stories--Our 
            Celebration: The 40th Anniversary of Roe v. Wade

       On a sunny, slightly chilly weekend in May of 2000 I was 
     preparing for final exams. Despite the stress of impending 
     tests, it was a beautiful spring.
       I woke up early Saturday morning with severe stomach pain. 
     This was a type of pain with which I was entirely unfamiliar. 
     It came in waves, dull but intense. It would recede for a 
     time then return so strong I could barely stand. Pressing my 
     fingers against my lower belly, I determined that the lowest 
     right-hand region was swollen, hot, and hard to the touch. So 
     did I jump out of bed and call the hospital? Oh, heavens, no. 
     Now, a blister--that's a tragedy worth swooning over. A 
     swollen stomach? Eh, I'll ignore that.
       That evening, I went to study with a friend. We made jokes 
     about appendix trouble. I laughed--then rushed home and read 
     up on appendicitis. My symptoms weren't quite right. With so 
     much else to worry about, my attitude was this: ``It will get 
     worse, or it will get better. I'll adjust to either option as 
     needed.''
       It got better. I went on about my week as usual. However, 
     by happy chance, I had a routine annual gynecologist 
     appointment scheduled for that Thursday at Planned 
     Parenthood. That appointment was going to change my life.
       Thursday morning, May 11, 2000, I took a final exam. A few 
     hours later I was at my appointment at the old Mifflin Street 
     Planned Parenthood a few blocks from my dorm. I mentioned the 
     pain of the previous weekend, expecting little to come of it.
       The R.N. conducting my examination was named Elizabeth. She 
     was lovely. One element of my routine checkup involved 
     Elizabeth pressing her fingertips into my lower belly. A few 
     painful presses into the exam, her lips tightened. Then she 
     smiled and said in a bright, cheerful voice, ``Well, you're 
     pregnant.'' I'm pretty sure I gave a witty and decimating 
     retort, probably something like ``No, I'm not.'' She gauged 
     me at about three months pregnant based on the firm swelling. 
     Mind you, the math didn't work out. I couldn't be pregnant. 
     But when a nurse thinks you're having a baby, you entertain 
     the notion. I took a pregnancy test.
       Sitting in that exam room awaiting the results of my test 
     constituted the longest five minutes of my life up to that 
     point. When Elizabeth came back she was frowning again. 
     ``Well, you're not pregnant,'' she informed me, and I punched 
     the air triumphantly. She let me have my little celebration 
     but she didn't smile with me. Instead, she said pointedly 
     ``But if you're not pregnant, then I don't know what that 
     thing is inside you.''
       This disturbed me greatly.
       Elizabeth sent me home to relax. ``Take the day off work,'' 
     she said. ``Think about your next step.'' She promised to be 
     in touch. I went back to my dorm and called my parents in 
     tears. ``Mom? Dad? I'm not pregnant! . . . But something's 
     wrong.'' They came to Madison and took me out to lunch. When 
     I got back there was a message on the answering machine from 
     Elizabeth asking what I'd decided. Well, I hadn't decided 
     anything yet. That evening she called again and finally 
     revealed the depth of her concern. She said, ``Maddie, I 
     didn't want to scare you too badly earlier. You needed time 
     to cope. But I want to stress to you the: importance of 
     contacting someone NOW. Please find a doctor and have that 
     checked out.''
       So I did. And it was cancer. Just after my final exams I 
     started treatment for a volleyball-sized malignant tumor that 
     used to be my right ovary.
       As a college student I was covered under my family's health 
     insurance. But I was at school far from home--and I wanted 
     some agency over my health and my life. For a busy student 
     struggling through full-time coursework and a part-time job, 
     Planned Parenthood was the best option for monitoring my 
     reproductive health privately and affordably.
       Without Elizabeth, without the convenience and 
     affordability of that Planned Parenthood on Mifflin St, maybe 
     I'd be dead. Who knows? I know that they wouldn't have caught 
     my cancer until I could no longer avoid the symptoms. Maybe 
     until that fast-growing malignancy had done what it was 
     trying to do.
       Planned Parenthood didn't just do what I asked, they did 
     what I needed. They identified that I was very sick and they 
     gently, kindly, but insistently urged me toward seeking 
     specialized care.
       Today I'm healthy, cancer-free, and grateful that Planned 
     Parenthood was available to me and that its kind, smart R.N. 
     Elizabeth caught my cancer.


     

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