Since the Missouri Department of Health is so interested, let’s talk about our periods.

Put aside your spreadsheet and pull up a chair, Dr. Randy Williams. As the Kansas City Star first reported, investigators for the state health department you lead filtered through the private data of women who came to the one remaining abortion provider in Missouri. These investigators analyzed patients’ self-reported menstrual cycle dates, along with abortion procedure dates, on a hunt to find medical complications, which are rare.

It looks like the state was trying to build a political case to shut down the lone Planned Parenthood clinic -- but that’s probably just our lady hormones acting up.

However, once the rest of the country learned about how patients’ medical data was being used by your investigators, even plenty of non-menstruating people were horrified. Did these women consent to turning their menstrual cycle information over to the state to be used for political purposes? It seems counter-intuitive that women seeking an abortion would want their private medical information used in an attempt to shut down the only place in the state that they can get one.

But Randy knows best, right?

Of course, the department denies that you ever asked for or even had possession of this information, which was emailed around with an “erroneous” subject line of “Director’s Request.” And we’re sure it has nothing to do with the state’s Republican lawmakers’ personal crusade to deny women the right to make their own health care decisions. You have to admit that our legislature pays special attention to men’s opinions and beliefs about whether women they’ve never met should be forced to carry a fetus and give birth after they’ve been raped. We can see how that might lead you to think your speculum can slide into any lady’s private data, Randy, but hold up one bloody minute.

If the state is so deeply concerned about our reproductive health, why did your department try earlier this year to force doctors to perform an additional, medically unnecessary vaginal exam three days before an abortion? Doctors already perform a pelvic exam just before a procedure. This seemed like another weirdly invasive call by your department. Unsurprisingly, it led to another national outcry.

Eventually, you backed down from that new requirement, but we can’t help but notice a strange pattern here: You’re awfully interested in what’s happening with our vaginas. So, we’re going to save you and your department from creating another Aunt Flo registry.

Here’s what women can tell you about tracking our periods: Our cycles can be irregular. We don’t always exactly recall the first day of our last cycle. We trust our doctors far more than government bureaucrats to advise us on our medical options and risks. We see through politicians’ lip service about being “pro-life” when they won’t act to lower the state’s sky-high rate of gun deaths or the high maternal mortality rate.

Hypocrisy leaves the nastiest stain.

Perhaps state officials miscalculated how some women are going to respond to these extreme measures to control, track and regulate our bodies.

Women in suburban areas in Missouri may not be so keen on having a governmental cycle tracker. Earlier this week, voters in a traditionally Republican St. Louis suburb flipped the 99th District state House seat in a massive swing. In 2018, the Republican candidate won this seat by 6 percentage points.

Democrat Trish Gunby beat her opponent on Tuesday by 8 percentage points.

Track those numbers, Randy.

When Jill’s husband of nearly 25 years threw her out of the house, she had two belongings: her car and her dog.

She knew a shelter wouldn’t take her 65-pound yellow lab mix. But she was willing to sleep in the car with Scarlett rather than leave her behind with her abuser. They ended up couch-surfing among relatives and friends for a year.

Finally, they moved into an apartment through Lydia’s House, an organization that provides transitional housing for survivors of domestic abuse. (I am using Jill’s first name due to concerns for her safety.)

The years of living in an abusive situation had taken a toll on both of them. When Jill’s husband went into one of his rages, Scarlett would go outside and hide, refusing to come back for hours. Scarlett started throwing up and developed inflammatory bowel disease.

“She’s very scared of loud, harsh words,” Jill said. Even if she hears people arguing on a TV show, she will leave the room and hide.

“She absorbed everything in that house,” Jill said. “I left as much for her as I did for me.”

Only about 10% of domestic violence shelters in the country allow pets, according to a study by the nonprofit RedRover. And nearly half of victims report delaying leaving their abuser for fear of harm to their animals. More than 70% of women entering shelters say their batterer had either injured, maimed, killed or threatened family pets for revenge or control.

Purina has donated services and money to make four apartments at a St. Louis-area Lydia’s House pet-friendly. They’ve also added a dog park near the complex.

Their work has helped Jill and Scarlett recover and heal together. Jill is 61 years old and disabled. She said the desire to protect Scarlett helped her get through her worst days.

“I don’t know that I could have done everything I did just for me. I was responsible for another life,” she said. “I knew I had to be brave.”

Her dog’s emotional connection to people goes beyond their bond.

Jill has seen Scarlett’s deep emotional intuition in action with strangers. During support group meetings, Scarlett seeks out a woman to sit in front of. It always ends up being the woman who had something traumatic happen to her that week or the one who breaks down in tears while sharing her story.

Scarlett just knows.

A few years ago, they were walking in a park in Arkansas. A young man in his late 20s was sitting alone on a bench. Scarlett kept pulling toward him and wanting to go near him. This was unusual for her: She doesn’t seek out attention from strangers.

But she was determined to get close to this man.

Jill finally took her over to him.

Scarlett put her paws up on his lap, laid her body across him and leaned up against his chest.

The man buried his face in her back and began to sob.

He was a veteran and had a service dog to help him cope with PTSD. His 4-year-old dog had had a heart attack and died a few days earlier, on Christmas Eve.

“She stood there with her front half on his lap and let him cry all over her,” Jill said.

That’s just what Scarlett does.

Jill got her when she was a 3-month-old puppy, and she will be 10 years old in January.

“She’s the Clark to my Lewis,” she says.

They are best friends and survivors.

Demetrice Phillips is telling an auditorium filled with students about a sensitive disagreement he has with his wife.

Whenever news breaks about another police officer-involved shooting anywhere in the country, she wants him to talk to their two young boys about what to do if they are ever stopped by the police. They are African American children, and she worries about their safety.

Phillips isn’t ready to have that talk with his sons, ages 8 and 3.

He’s a professor of business administration at Bristol Community College in Massachusetts, where he’s sharing this story as part of a panel.

He’s also a cop.

He says his day-to-day experiences with his fellow officers are so different than what he sees in the news. “They are fathers, husbands, just like me. We’re not looking to harm anybody,” he said.

He understands his wife’s fears, and is well aware of the controversial incidents involving police officers. But he’s not ready to go there with his children.

This was part of an emotional and difficult conversation, which I was invited to moderate, about race, identity and the assumptions we have about other people. Previously, I guided the same kind of discussion at John A. Logan College in Carterville, Illinois.

Both times, I was struck by the diversity of perspectives leading the discussion. A white woman talked about her response in incidents when her partner, a woman of color, is mistreated in front of her. A white mother talked about how she feels when she sees her biracial child ostracized. An African American woman shared her experience with a high school classmate who went off on her, using the n-word multiple times. She says she “read her like filth” in return. The principal refused to punish the classmate for her verbal attack and racist slurs because she had reacted to them. A middle-aged white man, a veteran, talked about having vastly different political views than most of his peers and family members. An immigrant learning English described the reaction one of her fellow students had when she scored the highest on a math exam.

“How is that possible when you can’t even speak English?” the classmate asked.

Each person revealed complex, often painful experiences, based on the assumptions and alienation that most Americans are reluctant to discuss. It makes sense that these conversations were hosted by community colleges, which by their missions, admit any and all people who want a higher education. They are set up to be inherently diverse, and the statistics bear this out.

About 8.7 million undergraduates were enrolled in public two-year colleges in 2016-17. In fall 2017, 44 percent of Hispanic undergraduates were enrolled at community colleges, compared with 35 percent of black students and 31 percent of white students. Overall, 34 percent of undergraduates were enrolled at community colleges, according to the Community College Research Center at Teachers College, Columbia University.

Maria Cormier, a senior research associate at CCRC, said that some level of tension is bound to surface when people coming from so many different backgrounds and walks of life come together to learn. The students themselves tend to have more life experience and complex lives outside of school.

“It’s fair to say community colleges increasingly realized that, in the face of low completion rates, there needs to be some acknowledgment of the challenges facing their students,” she said. This includes addressing issues like food and housing insecurity, and improving the environment around diversity and inclusion.

Martha Parham, senior vice president for public relations at the American Association of Community Colleges, said equity is directly tied to student success.

“That’s a big part of our agenda,” she said.

Sharing personal experiences helps advance that understanding, and community colleges can lead the way for other higher education institutions to foster those connections.

Phillips told the audience about taking his children to birthday parties and athletic events and encountering other parents’ assumptions.

Once, he dropped his eldest daughter off at a birthday party and came back a short time later. A white mother of another guest met him at the front door and said, “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

He explained that he was the father of a guest, and her demeanor changed.

“Before I was a police officer, I’m a black male,” he said. “It’s kind of a weird world I live in.”

We experience it in different ways, but we all live in this weird world together.