The doctor points to a tray full of dangerous-looking objects. They’re all really long and narrow and make it seem more like she’s trying to serve me as a shawarma than install a prophylactic. The uterus is in a galaxy far, far away. Her explanation of the procedure calms me until she points at a long needle and uses words like “numbing agent” and “dilate,” and then I want to die.
I put my feet in the human horseshoes, put the heat pack over my stomach and imagine Westley from The Princess Bride in the life-sucking machine. The doctor pulls out a huge tube a’lube. Let’s get this party started.
Before getting an IUD, I had never entered the fray of birth-control options because the “documented side effects” already sounded so bad. “Documented side effects” are like soft-core porn. It’s the porn that confronts us in public settings — on American Apparel billboards and in movies like Don Jon. Even if it’s mildly uncomfortable to notice in public settings on a daily basis, we’ve all sort of accepted it as reality and moved on.
But we all know that hard-core porn is out there, and a lot of us would prefer not to see it, even knowing that a solid contingent of people watch it on a regular basis. Which is to say: extreme side effects happen, and a smaller subset of people get fucked by them. But they go unmentioned by doctors because they’re “rare.” If the normal side effects are already that bad, imagine how bad the severe side effects are. Even men get it now.
Honestly, the IUD is something of a modern medicinal miracle. Insertion is a one-time outpatient procedure and covers you for 5–10 years (depending on the IUD). They’re meant for women with one naked Twister partner, because getting an STI is especially dangerous when it’s all sealed up in there. Risk of pelvic infection is mostly from insertion. If you have an infection or it perforates (the horror), you’ll know because you’ll be in horrible pain. Most of us are familiar with OB-GYNs spelunking in the lady cave.
But here’s what they don’t tell you about the insertion procedure and the aftermath.
Back in the OB-GYN’s room, the mother of all speculum enters. Then comes a behemoth Q-tip with a blue head that will disinfect the offending regions. The Q-tip quickly evacuates for dear life, and a cervix clamp approaches my lady garden. It feels like a bear trap on the part of my body I avoid having touched by anything (this includes penises). Then comes the uteruler, which is like getting shot with a staple gun, but from the inside. The doctor informs me that my uterus is of normal length. Awesome! Can they take it out now, please?
A flute with arms makes a slow descent, and I feel another vicious pinch. I yelp, “HELLO, THERE.” I never knew where my uterus was located, but now I suspect I will never forget. I’m taking deep yogic breaths, and I finally understand why the IUD is recommended for women who have already given birth, because the only thing that would dwarf this feeling is actually pushing out a human head. (Note: the real reason is because the FDA used mothers in their studies and therefore couldn’t technically advise pre-spawn women to use it.)
Then the OB-GYN congratulates me for being “a trooper” and thanks me for being so impenetrably (hah) optimistic the entire time. When I stand up it, looks like a crime scene. But apparently that’s normal. The procedure took only about five minutes. “Wow, it sucked, but it’s done!” I think. But that’s just false.
Here are some of my “normal” side effects: Every day since insertion, I’ve had cramps, ranging from not distracting to completely debilitating. Imagine PMS but with a Michael Phelps level of persistence and brute strength. These can last up to six months. I’ve also had my period every day. I actively wonder if I can cauterize my vagina shut, except that that would be counterproductive to sex, which is the reason why I got the IUD in the first place.
Here are some of my “normal” side effects: Every day since insertion I’ve had cramps, ranging from not distracting to completely debilitating. Imagine PMS but with a Michael Phelps level of persistence and brute strength. These can last up to six months.
The following are listed as “abnormal” side effects or not listed at all: bloodthirsty migraines, grumpiness and bouts of depression (despite the hormones being “trace amounts”). Also, the female reproductive system is next-door neighbors with the digestive system. My uterus is raging like Hitler trying to militarize the Rhineland. In cruder words, it feels like I constantly have to take a shit. Imagine trying to go about your day-to-day tasks while feeling like someone shoved a cork up your ass. To everyone who has Crohn’s disease, I am so sorry. Adding insult to incontinence, the subject is taboo—and not in a sexy way. The butt is the least glamorous of misfiring body parts (unless you’re into that). I have answered an unparalleled number of emails while on the toilet. You’re welcome for that mental image.
Despite all that, I’m still in support of this satanic plastic “T” because it allows me to exert control over my body’s natural inclination to procreate. The 99%–99.9% range of effectiveness is like a sweet, sweet insurance policy for activities in flagrante delicto. And doctors will readily cite these benefits, but the resulting emotional intimacy is what has really sold me. There’s nothing like saying, “I love you,” with your eyes while wrapping your partner’s joystick in latex. For the next five years, I won’t have to do that.
Despite all that, I’m still in support of this satanic plastic “T” because it allows me to exert control over my body’s natural inclination to procreate.
So if you’ve decided to invest in birth control that outlasts the election cycle, here’s some advice to make it go more smoothly: pick a doctor who does this procedure on a daily basis, specifically with the IUD you’ve chosen, because insertion method varies by product. Take 800 mg of Ibuprofen beforehand to prevent insane cramping afterward. Bring a heating pad. Do the yogic-breathing thing. Make sure you have the rest of the day off, and don’t try to drive yourself home. And then smile, because soon you’re getting laid.
