https://thetableunderground.com/the-table-underground/2025/9/22/a-career-transforming-womens-health-care-w-dr-mitch-levine

The truths presented above will curl your toes!

And, here’s his obituary:

https://www.legacy.com/legacy/mitchell-levine

May you Rest In Power, Mitch.

https://youtube.com/shorts/rqKr_CqzJCo?si=09yOxD0li-r2Y2re

Thirty minutes, in less than an hour:

And a youtube video by Monday.

And I'm going to use it as a chance to get down and dirty about how fucked up AmeriKKKan attitudes towards ALL WOMEN are.

And how you white girls DEFINITELY continue to collude with your oppressors!

And where it this all comes from; with respect to the patriarchal colonized mind.

Start here:

https://youtube.com/shorts/e1SeIiMkSYE?is=cJwSrDZVApYfL65A

I NEVER READ A SINGLE ONE OF THESE BOOKS NOR DID I WATCH THE MOVIE.

“Homework” Assignment:

What books, films and other media shaped YOUR life with respect to healthy love attachments? To mother, father, and sexual lover relationships?

Tonight we're going to talk about it.

💥LIVESTREAM HERE AT 7 PM (EDT)

that is - 5UTC)💥

Like this (16 minutes):

https://youtu.be/RSgZm3dYUkI?is=P6ez9iFnfwOLvXhQ

A deeply moving interview with an intersex individual in the psychiatric system.

Speaking as an Activated Mystic (to another gendered female people, and to our male allies in this rotten to the core" patriarchal system), listen carefully!

I clearly (in my heart) heard Lizzie reach out twice to that minimally connected, minimally-melanated, EXTRACTION ORIENTED psychiatrist for some grief support and for clarification on the death of her big sister in a hospital...

Most people commenting on the video found the psychiatrist to be way more connected than they had expected “for the times”. Yet he missed both times on hearing her request for that healing relationship.

Lizzie requested reciprocity. Rather than that, she tolerated this emotionally dissection in an interview "for the medical record".

We all deserve better.

Now is the time to advocate for self and for others living under the oppression of this white supremacy culture; especially within our healthcare system.

❤️‍🔥SUPPORT MY PANAMA-BOUND ADVENTURE ❤️‍🔥

my request? that you patronize me at five dollars a month

for a year

as I get myself centered

Over there:

https://www.patreon.com/DoctorO/posts/every-subscriber-159702085

Exodusters and Afrofuturist everywhere!

That would be because it has disappeared my drafts in the past. Unfortunately, I must still be a little woozy from the general anesthesia I had yesterday because I forgot that fact. I just spent the last 90 minutes crafting the next part of what I want to share in a personalized medical adventure.

Let's sum it up.

This is a three faceted journey for me. I bring my mind, my emotional body and my spirit with me anytime I am diving deeper into systems designed to help me maintain a healthy body and to heal it.

I decided to have my hernia repaired as an act of medical reparations towards the complexity of my Black woman's reproductive health journey. Twice babies “had been ortimely ripped from my womb” in the language of Shakespeare. I had C-sections for babies who did not want to come out at 40 weeks. Odd thing was, my mother shared that myself and my two brothers two years apart and younger than me “were all late”. 

That was over 40 years ago. In reviewing how patriarchal forces have either ignored or taken an avaricious interest in women’s wombs (especially BLACK women's wombs), there's a lot of bad blood in that line of business. Back in the days when I was birthing my babies, there were many barriers to me having an emotionally safe and healthy environment for birthing either of my two children. Institutional racism was a large part of that. I was the only Black resident in my 12 person family medicine program. I did two months of internal medicine, at a VA hospital while I was eight and nine months pregnant. I committed myself to Superwoman-like behaviors, so as not to burden my internal medicine team with my pregnancy. Perhaps I should not have been surprised to find out that the (white male) internal medicine team leader was giving me TWO ADMISSIONS for every one that he gave my (white male)  internal medicine resident (actually confessing that was because I was “so efficient in my write-ups” as I waddled into those final months of my pregnancy.

I began my maternity leave, four days before my due date. I had a midwife. I had a home birth plan. What I did not have was any real understanding of the amount of resentment that I was carrying and emotional damage that I had experienced in that first year of my residency training, trying to do it all. 

I was one emotionally sick puppy as I look back. I had little true understanding of the many issues connected to real health and happiness. There was no way I could have felt safe, held and supported, as my last days of my pregnancy rolled into preeclampsia. I crossed the threshold of the hospital where I had myself been in scrubs doing the patient care, but I was now in the role of patient. A Black patient, lying in a bed in a high risk room for complicated pregnancies.  Three weeks past my due date, with half of my six weeks of maternity leave already dribbled away, I was surgically delivered of my beautiful 8 lbs. 9 oz. daughter. 

Who was so fair complexioned (my husband was a white man) that the white nurses stressed me to the max by making me repeat my numbers on my patient identification tag multiple times each time they brought her to me. 

All the surgical manipulation of organs and abdominal walls left me with a weakness there. The weakness got worse after my second cesarean birth. Then an actual rupture occurred, at the small incisional scar from a tubal ligation that I had about eight years after my last pregnancy.

All of those were iatrogenic. “Medically induced”.

So fixing that rupture is very symbolic for me. As I age, the expectation was that it would possibly stay the same, possibly worsen. I know, as I leave the US, that I want to age with my best possible body and that I am unlikely to ever be a better surgical candidate than I am right now

That is how I got here.

Tomorrow, I'm going “Mystic” in a conversation; on Where I’ve Gone.

LIVE STREAM FRIDAY 7:00 TO 7:30 PM EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME -5 UTC

Last night I went--for a second time--to a once a week 8 PM Recovery group for BLACK survivors of sexual abuse... 8 pm is usually too late for my farmer sensibilities. But I'm not going anywhere for a couple of days, so my schedule is more…SCRAMBLED.

Wow oh WOW, is the patriarchy all scrambled into THAT mess.

"Fathers, uncles, and brothers oh my!

Difficult to say, but I'm really feeling blessed:

--that my perpetrator (when I was a seven-year-old) was a stranger.

-- and, that I did not identify my mother as grooming me (to take her place? or to keep her lover close to her?) as sexual abuse until after she had died.

HER LOVER'S part, I could see. Yes, that was sexual abuse when he hit on me at age 14, and “I rebuffed his advances"

Now, isn't that the "train them into patriarchy" bodice ripper starting point?

Isn't one version of that story simply that I was too young? That he would wait to court me officially at age 18 or 21? Isn't that a mother-daughter NIGHTMARE unspoken (but everywhere dreamed in our rape culture)?

But I could not see HER PART ON SETTING THAT ENTIRE THING UP OVER A 6 TO 9 MONTH PERIOD.

As I lie in my prepared “Especially for a Solitaire” space, I let myself learn from every aspect of the experience:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HDynZ0-OZMB-UJJq-Xqx71TduWD8qw_2/view

(I recorded this five minute part above, because I don't want the little AI lady--who does such a good narration-- to attempt this section)

The photos of MY healing space I feel comfortable sharing, below--

Then, skip my Operation Day today, and check in, later in the week.

But this day has been profound; and I offer a three minute summary because I needed to GET REAL about what I have gone through:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1NZSG_c0M4lq9TRy2MUWPcrRMaCttzfP7/

More this week, as I unpack it all and END WITH A LIVESTEAM, FRIDAY 8/14 7 pm to 7:30 (-5UTC)

I am the “vigilant” type. That means I want to know the details of what will be happening. The other two types are “avoidant” or “denying”.

What I can see about myself– from that deep self-awareness place of being a woman in tune with my conscious healing– is that I also have A Part that Copes From Inside A Place Of Denying.

Here she is, in a form that allows me to view her with compassion:

She is always “FINE”.

F ucked up

I  nsecure

N eurotic and

E motional

She is about six years old.

She has a Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde personality that tries to take over the control of my psyche when the Going Gets Tough. And the going has gotten tough, as we spiral into these last 24 hours before a deeper dive into a broken medical system that scares me.

It ought to scare anyone going for anything surgical in this system.  I remind myself that I am doing this voluntarily. I let my little girl self tell me all the things that have scared her over the past week:

It scares me; when I see myself mis-gendered as “legally male” and when I can't change that data without a human within the DHMC web authorizing the change..

It scares me; when I spent two months obtaining an accurate reading for a misread abdominal CT scan.

It scares me; when I see a quote of an estimated $52,000-$62,000 for laparoscopic same-day surgery.

It scares me; when the person I trusted to transport me 90 minutes away at 4:30 in the morning to the surgery gets hit with mysterious fatigue 3 days out/ “needed an urgent care visit Saturday/ then “slept for 36 hours” (meaning crickets on an update since the 10 a.m. Saturday pre-urgent care text message) but states “they’ll soldier on and stay committed to transporting me”. NO WAY. I DESERVE BETTER AND WENT FOR my (vigilance in the house) PLAN B.

It scares me; when– in cleaning my bathroom in preparation for Tuesday my shower gets stuck in the on position and will not turn off at 2 PM on Sunday afternoon, necessitating a phone call to MAINTENANCE. They were able to turn it off by 6 p.m (thank GOD I don't pay for utilities), but they will need to come in Monday morning to fix the problem.

So in good internal family systems language and style I took that little Lala onto my lap, and I have offered her some reassurance.

Everything we have anticipated that we will need preop/inter-op/and post-op is SET.

Now I invite her into my world of wishes and desires. That's where the postop treats and rewards for having endured will be. Having danced through the fears and the shadows and vulnerabilities, I expect rewards.

I am feeling a little isolated. I am recognizing that that's my natural fallback when stressed; and generally feeling like I've done a good job getting to The Day Before.

I wanted to be here:

https://youtu.be/oHRNrgDIJfo

Instead, I’m more like here:

https://youtu.be/2vjPBrBU-TM

But, I'm aiming for one more pre-op essay (out at 7 PM?) on Monday night. 

Let's see where I land, after the bathroom shower has been fixed..

 “Aren't you worried that you'll get sick?”

 “What will you do in another country if you need hospital care?”

After spending over 30 days in Panama in two separate visits over the last two years, I have no hesitation about leaving our broken “managed KKKare system”.

And I will be moving forward as an intrepid adventurer, continuing to model a self advocacy relationship within our broken system. I will be comparing and contrasting it to what I got in PANAMA.

And what I expect to get, when I return there this October.

I realize that I am starting off ahead of the curve at age 69. I take no medications for any chronic illnesses, and I have no official medical diagnoses that would count as a pre-existing condition.

If you follow me through Substack or at one of my YouTube channels, you will  remember that I spent the first three weeks of 2026 in Panama exploring the topic of medical tourism:

https://youtube.com/shorts/yldG18Ep7BI

During that time, I scheduled a visit with a lovely Afro Panamanian physician. Not only did he listen to what I said, he spent 45 minutes with me. I went to Panama with a list of screening blood tests, and the intention to pay out-of-pocket for those tests. The bloodwork series itself would have caused me over $300 here in the US. In PANAMA, my total bill was cost me $175!  

That included the 45 minute visit with my new doctor and a follow up visit to discuss my test results.

Now, I invite you on my personal adventure of comparing and contrasting the care that I received –as a visitor to another country– with the lack of KKKare that I am experiencing under a (poorly) managed care system where I have been paying through the nose for NOTHING..

How “inadequately managed" you might ask?

VERY VERY BADLY. I am now going to walk you through my bureaucratic nightmare, as I strategized the scheduling of minimally invasive surgery when I first got back from PANAMA in early February. My goal was to have the surgery completed before I return to PANAMA in October.

The trials and tribulations of scheduling, a minimally invasive laparoscopic surgical repair of an abdominal hernia

I was able to schedule a March 6 CT scan; mainly because I am already being followed by urology at The Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center (DMHC) in Lebanon, New Hampshire, I have yearly visits there, for another health issue. Imagine my surprise when that CT scan reported that I had a “normal abdominal wall”.  I have a golf ball sized hernia that I can see and feel!

This is where everything started to go off the rails.

The DHMC (poorly) managed KKKare system would not authorize a second look by a radiologist without approval from another MD. “Me the patient”--reporting on my own body– didn’t count for anything. The expectation was that I would use an MD (in their poorly managed KKKare system) to get that authorization.

Instead, I zipped on over to a community health clinic 15 minutes away from me, where I saw a general physician. He wrote a letter documenting the hernia he felt protruding from my belly. I sent that information to my DHMC urologist, with a request that he approve a SECOND LOOK AT THE RESULTS from March 6th. The urologist authorized that “second look” at the CT scan.

Guess what? There IS an abdominal hernia there in my abdominal wall! It was officially reported out on March 27.

Because I have a traditional MEDICARE plan, I was able to book a visit with a general surgeon at DMHC by myself/ for MYSELF.

I saw her for a surgical consultation on June 23.

I am scheduled for same-day surgery next week, August 11.

My follow up visit with that surgeon is scheduled for September 22. 

If I had contracted for my ongoing medical care with either of the two big managed-care plans available in my region**, I would not have been able to do much of any of this.

And, I would still be waiting for the follow up visit (telemedicine or in person) to discuss the results of my March 6th CT scan.

I was offered a telemedicine visit for late August. I accepted an in person visit in September. I booked that face-to-face visit with my urologist for September 22.

Booking it, for the same day as my one month postop visit after my actual laparoscopic surgery feels like a terribly mischievous way to model how broken this system really is.

But seriously, I am aghast at how hard I had to work to make the system move for me! And this was not even an urgent or life-threatening medical problem.

So ends this first MEDICARE CHRONICLE

In future essays, I will be:

– describing the difference between MEDICARE managed care plans, Medicare advantage and traditional Medicare

– sharing from my heart, the experience of being “the patient under the knife”: in the prep/ in the actual surgery/ and in the post op recovery

– describing what's happening in our Community Health Center model of care

– explaining why I will continue to describe “managed KKKare” with those 3 “K”s

– and sharing how I dodged the bullet of $1400 of financial responsibility for this upcoming surgery through the guidance of guardian angels

**THE BIG BOYS, in my managed care environment:

University of Vermont Medical Center is one hour north of where I live:

https://www.uvmhealth.org/

And Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center is 90 minutes south of where I live (across state lines in New Hampshire):

https://www.dartmouth-hitchcock.org/

I like the video 🎶:

https://youtube.com/shorts/MRcNOw6Ukgc?si=7rhfQxgjG3yBQBXN

😘

For me, it represents the ultimate symbol of the bait and switch. I was a progressive young, gifted, and Black American who drank the Kool-Aid

I am walking my 70th year on this earth journey. My people– the lines I consciously trace and claim– were privileged to land here–on Turtle Island. 

I said “privileged”, because one thing women of the African diaspora rarely speak of out loud is our cutting rituals.

Which did not continue beyond the middle passage. Not for us. Not literally. I name out loud my worldview as a womanist; where patriarchy is an even deeper wound to humanity than is white supremacy.

My people of that African bloodline have been here for at least 150 years. 150 years of traumas and dramas of enslaved Africans, free-born post reconstruction farmers in rural Georgia and Maryland, great migration aspirants to better lives in The North are all on the high side. The privileged side.

And on the low side of the American dream? 150 years of sensual deprivation in New England Yankee Puritan culture with all of its rigidity. Southern antebellum horror stories for enslaved Black people. The hypocrisy of a melting pot that doesn't want you.  And a peculiar fascination with (and repulsion at) The Black Female Body. If that was not enough to keep every Black  American descended from enslaved people in weekly therapy for the rest of their lives, I’ll describe a particular flavor of  internalized oppression as it runs through my family legacy stories. 

Colorism.

My truth: five generations out of enslavement, an unspoken but deeply entrenched message was of assimilation for Americans of African descent. And that meant “getting to white, anyway you could. As quickly as you possibly could.” Through education and perfecting skill at the king's English). I was the third generation to have college ambitions. On both sides of my family, grandparents at least started college in the 1920s. At least, men did. On one side, a granddaddy started at Morehouse and had to drop out to come home and take over the Georgia farm when his father died. He intended to be a minister, but he ended up a deacon in his church, post great migration resettling in 1940s Illinois. On the other side, my granddad completed college in Columbus, Ohio and became a federal worker in the 1920s for the US post office. I have a great granddaddy who was a Pullman Porter but he died on Christmas Eve while working and that was  among The Things We Don’t Talk About.

Then there were the things we only talk about “amongst ourselves”

– that my daddy was light skinned enough to go to Howard (not Morehouse).

– that his grandma (the woman who raised him) was deeply unhappy with the skin tone of the woman he brought home, my Mama.

– my daddy’s reaction to my dark chocolate-colored football player of a boyfriend in my junior year as if he was white and I had brought a Black boy home. – that my next boyfriend–the white Jewish kid with the isro– was better accepted.

– that I heard my daddy tell his second wife's daughter (the one that wore long wigs, glued in hair weaves and pancake foundation 2 shades lighter than her face) that she was beautiful. That was something I never heard him say about/to  “au natural and nappy” me.

All this is emotional baggage that is deeply intertwined with the history of these currently “un-tied” states of AmeriKKKa. The blood of enslaved Africans still represents for 74% of my “My Heritage” reported out genetic composition. Those English genes imply to me coerced rather than consensual sexual “HER-stories”. The “1%  Finnish” reported out, reveals the painful reality that women (even the white ones) have been bought and sold as raped and pillaged property around the world almost as much as the more melanated folk descended from Africans.

Almost.

Let’s not go for winning the Victim Olympics right now. Suffice to say that as I represent for the fifth generation out from enslaved Africans brought here to America, there are two generations beyond me that are legacies from my actual womb.

My offspring. Both of them.

And, my offspring’s offspring. A grandson, now 13 and a granddaughter now 10.

How can I even speak of my own decisions to marry outside my race in these times without guilt? Guilt, not shame. I am not ashamed of my life choices; I did the best I could along the way, with the coping skills and strategies that I had. But I do feel guilty. What kind of a life did I expect my  (now middle-aged adult) biracial children to inherit?

I never imagined U.S. race relations sliding backwards. SILLY ME; I had studied enough Black American history to know about The Reconstruction Period and beyond. As I confess I suffered from a very naive belief that AmeriKKKa was moving forwards in a linear way towards more justice. 

As I said, I drank the kool-aid. What kind of life did I expect my “light-skinned” bi-racial offspring to have?

Certainly, one far different than what I have gifted them. In my narrative, my mixed marriage product of a daughter–who married a mixed marriage product of a WASP Daughter of the American Revolution plus assimilated Jewish combination (that was considered “mixed” in the 1970s)--has strategically chosen to completely sever her life from mine as we move into four and a half years of “no contact”. She lives in a white world.

My “what ARE you? Latin-X? Arab? Swarthy Greek?” son is now 38. He has had more years of living in institutions and under chemical restraint with state mandated psychiatric meds then he has with more mind freedom. All of his disasters, began either at age 3, or age 11 or age 14 (depending on which particular trauma you want to begin with, to warrant an adverse childhood experience score of 8). He lives as a controlled BIPOC (black indigenous or person of color) who would very likely be dead were he not his more minimally melanated self regarding the POLICE encounters (plural!) that he has had.

On June 14– witnessing the White House become the white trash house– I finalized some internal spiritual place of ambivalence about what I'm witnessing to let grief burst through.

She still says it best 58 years later:

https://youtu.be/KwOyconXiGM?is=XjPdPliY4A5qdff6

no essays.

Just a quiet deep breath in then an exhale into a weekend before a full moon on Sunday

Good nite, ya'll.... that's the view out my little window of my tiny studio tonight

✨ 🤩✨

https://drive.google.com/file/d/18cuoc_LfjlNtuu36fGKPJBH54x8aw8nt/view

I am scarred, but not ruined by events in the DMV on June 14, 2026.

Flag Day.

The day the People’s House transformed forever in my mind and my broken heart into The WHITE TRASH House. 

Ya’ll earned it, white folks.

Images of strange little motorbikes, flipping in arcs across a big steel cage, forever etched into my mind and my heart in the backyard of The WHITE TRASH House. President Comanche from Idiocracy has nothing on our current Grifter In Chief.

I am scarred, but not ruined.

Ya’ll trashy white folks defecated in the Capitol building, marched around inside it, with a confederate flag, while threatening to hang the vice president of the United States. Then in January 2025, our Sadist in Chief demanded that the most sycophantic amongst you all sit in the very same chamber and witness his coronation.

Michelle Obama will forever rise above all of this. She did not attend.

She certainly does not look ruined. 

She does not even look scarred**.

I do feel scarred. Despite all my years in therapy, beyond the spiritual awareness and self-enhancement workshops that I have taken, the events in the DMV on June 14, 2026, affected me.

They damaged my heart. The armor I have placed around it, that armor that I have been working tirelessly to disassemble? For now, I will leave the scaffolding up around the dismantling process. I will take a deep breath. I will simply sit still, and FEEL IT ALL.

—---------------------------------------------

HOT OFF THE PRESSES: the level of lying at the fascist federal level ratcheted up on May 1. There are new “agreements” at Google, on what it will and will not tell you when you ask it a simple search question.

Simply put, Google is no longer a search engine and does not even try to pretend to be.

That is something we girls need to pay attention to.

All of us. Black, white and other.

I'll have a live stream at 7 PM Thursday, June 18 and share what I can gather on the topic.

Because we really are in a fight; not simply for a lifestyle, but for our actual LIVES.

** (shout out to Michelle; she’s my 10 year younger shared birthday Capricorn cousin)!

Last night, my anxieties over “how bad could it get with Trumpocalypse Now” were assuaged.

There were no drone attacks (staged by my own government to look as if Iran was the perpetrator).

There were no assassination attempts (staged by my own government to frame The Minority of the Moment as a target for hatred)

The weather cooperated well enough for none of the thousands of idiots in attendance at that spectacle on the White House lawn to be struck by lightning (deserved, or not)

There was only a pitifully sad, old man. Falling asleep at his own celebration. So narcissistic, that he had to have the championship medal placed around his wattle of a neck by the winner.

And the winner such a dumbass sycophant that his final tribute to the Orange Menance was to make a DISRESPECTFUL joke about Michelle Obama.

The 2006 movie”Idiocracy” was not a satire. It was a premonitory documentary:

https://youtu.be/6lai9QhBibk?is=Wv6kWk5ccPzK5kEq

That is El Mondo Malo. Plain and simple; direct and to the point.

BUT RIGHT UP THE ROAD A BIT, IN THE PEOPLES REPUBLIC OF NEW YORK CITY, EL MUNDO BUENO WAS UNFOLDING…

https://youtu.be/w2evFr6WWus?is=mz0tiebRGKdYGAZR

“We ain't gonna let nobody turn us around

We gonna STAY UNITED and stand our ground

The Powers that be can't keep us down

We're gonna rise up and turn the world around

The people are ready to follow our lead

We're going to end the violence, the hatred and greed…

We're going to rise up

Rise up

Rise up.”

Dance it, when nobody is watching.

Sing it in the shower.

Grow your whole voice and join the transformation.

www.opeyemiparham.com

Upgrade to a $5/mo a month paid membership with me here:

www.patreon.com/doctorO

I am an adult child from a dysfunctional family.

That's a term used in 12 step recovery rooms to describe a person who has been raised in a family whose parenting skills and style left something to be desired. There was no alcohol. In my home, I was raised by a mother who was an overeater (and consequently dead way before her 60th birthday), and a father, who was a workaholic and rarely around.

Frankly, it is my belief that anyone raised here in the United States of America since we “industrialized” our hospital birth practices post World War II likely suffers from traumatic and dysfunctional parenting. The things a hospital birth did to our mothers…

Now superimpose my traumatic or chaotic 1960 childhood over the current state of the union. Add a POTUS with every sign or symptom of malignant narcissistic personality disorder, and frontotemporal dementia that I remember being listed in the DSM 4 from back in my medical days. Mix in an 80th birthday bash any rational human being would be worried about, happening tomorrow under a steel cage on the White House lawn with extreme weather conditions predicted…

And suddenly, I can't keep myself in the present; I find myself emotionally triggered back to traumatic childhood memories powerfully and unexpectedly.

When my passive-aggressive and often absent daddy was home for the weekend, that was not good. When things did not go his way, or when he was quietly fuming about one disappointment or another, he would take it out on his offspring.

That included me. Mine was mainly emotional abuse. And, an occasional episode of gaslight level confusing “tickling” where he wouldn't stop until I was laughing, crying and peeing in my pants.

My middle brother’s abuse was mainly physical (whippings with belts, smacks across the face), with a hint of sadism as a favorite kitten or newly rescued puppy would get disappeared to an animal shelter.

My baby brother, skillfully avoided both types of abuse. He was sensitive enough to develop asthma attacks, strategically shifting the tension of Daddy Home For The Weekend off of us kids, and onto the drama of a half day at the emergency room.

“That was then”, I say to myself as my pulse begin, begins to race, and my breathing gets fast.

This is NOW.

It is unfortunate that a rational look at the drama unfolding for Sunday includes biblical possibilities of thunder, lightning, hail, and many mosquitoes.

Possibly a whole lot of death.

I pray that the predicted weather pattern ends up affecting the event the way my brother’s asthma attack did. I pray that the weather totally diffuses the drama, shifting the focus for a while.

But The Nation’s Daddy still does not know what to do with his intense frustration and sadistic tendencies if he doesn't have an outlet.

Heaven help us all, on what comes next.

I have been so proud of enthusiastically sharing new (but long overdue) information on women's reproductive health science, through all the places and spaces where I have any social commentary influence.

I am a healing artist and an artist healing now. I remind everyone out there that I am an trained allopathic MD and was a biochemistry major in college 45 years ago.

Scientific information on the biology of my female private parts has started to get interesting. It offers more than a challenge to any patriarchal thinking about masculine superiority. I took it upon myself to be a truth-telling Spreader of The Word, and posted this 30 min of live-streamed commentary to YOUTUBE:

https://youtu.be/5_ahxZeE_1o

…for you to enjoy over a cup of tea.

The Amazing Factoids

– people assigned female at birth and enculturated as women have brain cells in our ovaries. Men do not have brain cells in their testicles.

– there was no information in allopathic medical textbooks regarding the nerve supply to the clitoris until the 2000s:

“The journey began in the 1990s, when Dr. O'Connell, working as a urologist in Australia, noticed glaring inaccuracies in the understanding of female sexual health. Her curiosity led to a landmark study published in 1998. The study truly revolutionized understanding of the form and function of the clitoris. Using careful dissection and the fresh, advanced imaging techniques of  MRI scans, O'Connell exposed that gynecology and sexology were grossly mistaken about the clitoris: the small button – the visible  glans –  is just the literal tip of the iceberg.”

https://myfirmtech.com/blogs/news/honoring-helen-oconnell-for-womens-history-month

The tip of the iceberg!

Most women did not even know this image:

Is a life-size replica of what your clitoris actually looks like.

I have focused my more recent live streams on these exciting little factoids with 20 minutes of the most juicy and entertaining parts of this story. I perused the internet and found that if I searched “clitoral ART”, some amazing images popped up. 

I created a three minute slideshow of those images:

https://youtu.be/nVefU4Upvmw

ART images I remind you; not “split wet beavers”; yet YouTube still put my content under an 18+ advisory.

AND…

An online community that is near and dear to me removed my post of the clitoral slideshow. Apparently an 18+ warning was still too triggering for a community that has sexual abuse survivors.

AND…

Another member (in another community) challenged the relevance of the image I posted of a 3-D model of your clitoris in a business themed group. I responded that my business was “educating GIRLS and making sure reproductive rights are in the hands of the people with the WOMBS.”

AND…

On top of all this, Google just switched up on all of us and is no longer a search engine, even in the broadest sense of what that means. I tried to do an Internet search for specific information that I had read a year or two earlier. Not only was it impossible for me to track what I was looking for without using AI; I HAD TO ARGUE WITH THE AI QUERY TWICE BEFORE IT ACCURATELY GAVE ME THE INFORMATION I WANTED (ON THE THIRD TRY).

What was I looking for? I wanted to reference Jessica Pinn and her personal trauma:

https://jessicapin.com/

Cliff notes: she foolishly underwent plastic surgery to even up the lips of her vulva (called a vulvaplasty) and was left with nerve damage to her clitoris.

Using Perplexity (a US AI that has a smaller carbon footprint than most), it argued with me that I must  mean Dr. Helen O'Connell. I argued back and said no I can't remember the name of this individual but she is a white woman in AmeriKKKa, not an Australian urologist. It was finally able to give me the name I wanted, when I described in detail as much as I could remember from the time stamp of the news story, I was searching and a description of the content.

And guess where I had listened to this particular news story that burned itself into my memory?

It was a short piece of schtick for the daily show (Shtick is a Yiddish word meaning "piece" or "theatre play", and it can refer to a comic theme or gimmick, a persona, or a talent).

AND… in order to find that six minute video and share it with you? I put in the search line, “jessica pinn daily show interview"

NOTHING

I tried DuckDuckGo and got no response to my search either. And this is after I know what (and whom) I am looking for.

I eventually found a link to a Huffington post article, discussing that daily show interview, and was able to find the video link. It breaks my heart how all of this is being ridiculed, minimized and sexualized:

https://youtu.be/gjHEg6TCpi4

Just as I took this screenshot of what popped up when I was trying to read the Huffington post story I actually was exposed to a short graphic of a man and a woman having sex doggy style. I have no idea what it was advertising as I quickly scrolled away.

THIS. 

All because sex SELLS, but sexual ignorance is actually much more profitable to the patriarchy.

AND MY SLIDESHOW IS UPSETTING AND TOO GRAPHIC TO BE SHARED WITH THE VERY PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE CLITS. Not until they're 18.

I have walked you through my early June adventure, and my own personal reality check on who and what continues to grab American women by our pussies and hold us captive through ignorance and shame.

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www.patreon.com/doctorO

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