Senators, please get OUT of my uterus so my friend Brynn, who is almost finished with nursing school, can get in there STAT. My body doesn’t need to produce a child just because it can. Focus on other ways to ruin the country, and let Brynn and the internet give me Life of a Showgirl takes while deciding if I inhaled enough Drano to warrant an urgent-care run.
Can you jerks do all that? No. So leave me, the internet, and Brynn to our work.
I am a grown woman, and I reserve the right to feel anything, google it for several hours, send Brynn a text that says “lol help,” and receive the gold standard of compassionate medical advice. Brynn just took a final on this sort of patient care. Missouri Governor Mike Kehoe has never taken a final because he did not go to college.
And no, I’m not suggesting that WebMD or the AI computer monsters understand my body and the state of public health better than a human being. All I’m saying is that I have an excellent resource that provides me with less judgmental care than I’ve ever received in a healthcare facility, and I use the internet to supplement it.
Listen, Brynn was made for this—how many of your goons can say that? West Virginia Senator Jim Justice was a seven-time national champion corn grower, which is where his reproductive knowledge starts and stops. Brynn, on the other hand, was there for me when I broke one of my ribs at basketball practice sophomore year, and she’ll be there for me as I compensate for the broken education system that did not teach me what happens to my own body during the many phases of a woman’s life.
When I visit a doctor, I get an attitude from the receptionist and am charged four hundred dollars to come back next week. When I visit Brynn or Reddit, I get a diagnosis, a care plan, and some candid takes on the future of The Bear. I’ve never met a doctor who’s on time or can confirm that it’s okay for me to actively root against Carmy and Claire.
Recently, a pregnant friend was suffering from something called mastitis. I had no clue what that was. Thankfully, Brynn explained to me that her “boob had the flu,” and the internet showed me seventy-nine pictures of milk ducts. Do you think any of the current voters on the future of my reproductive care could ever contribute to such a useful definition of a health issue? Me neither. Until they do, get out of my uterus, and let Brynn work.
And I sure as hell don’t need Tim Sheehy’s plagiarizing-his-memoir ass calling me “indoctrinated.” I just need my camera roll and Brynn to remain open to texts that say “hey can i send u something gross?” after I have ruled out big stuff via a Google image search. Find me one GOP politician with the wherewithal, intelligence, and storage space to address my health concerns as soon as they happen, and they might have my vote.
No, I don’t know specifically what kind of nurse she is, but I do know that Brynn is the most helpful healthcare worker I have encountered in my twenty-five years of internet solution-seeking. So let her run point for my body, GOP, while you all stay in your ignorant, plagiarizing, and prize-corn-growing lanes.
