If you do not want to hear about my birth control stop reading.
I’m not kidding.
I’ll put a picture in here so you don’t accidentally read while you’re clicking away.
If you read it anyway, I will not listen to any ‘ew’ related comments.
Ok, so – right before my 25th birthday, I got an IUD. Despite the excellent safety record of birth control pills, I felt sort of icky when I realized I was closing in on ten years of what is essentially hormone therapy.
This is the story of me getting my IUD.
I was working as a pastry chef at the time and didn’t have health insurance. Being the responsible woman that I was, though, I was still going in for a yearly gynecological exam. When I told the Planned Parenthood (thank you, Planned Parenthood, for being there for me when I was uninsured) doctor that I wanted to get off of hormones, she laid my options out for me. There were more localized hormone solutions (like the patch, which I had an allergic reaction to), shots, barrier methods (which I never tried but come on, could a diaphragm sound more like a pain in the ass?), and the IUD.
She told me that IUDs weren’t usually for women who hadn’t had children, but she didn’t tell me why and she said I’d be fine.
You know why it’s better for women who have had kids?
Because things get… ahem … stretched out when you have kids. Cervical type things. And those things get stretched out with the help of natural physiological responses. It’s not pleasant then, so I’ve heard, but you get a baby afterwards.
If those things aren’t stretched out, an IUD has to fit through a much smaller space before ending up where it belongs.
It hurt so much. SO much. When they inserted it I held the hand of the nurse and I yelled cuss words at the ceiling. When she looked like she was going to laugh, I seriously considered punching her.
Once it was in, though, I mostly loved it. I recommend it all the time.
I’ve had it for five years (it’s supposed to be good for up to ten), and it’s starting to hurt. I’m assuming that isn’t good.
I’m getting it taken out on Friday and going back to the pill.
I’m now accepting suggestions for curse words to yell at the ceiling, and any compelling ways to avoid punching any nurses.
Oh, and sympathy. I’m accepting pre-emptive sympathy.