Monday, September 28, 2009
my new voodoo doll
Normally, I shy away from anything remotely related to the lady bits on this blog, mainly because my mother reads it nightly. But since she was sitting in my car with my sleeping baby, reading my latest Guilty Pleasure Murder Book while I was having my new Copper Bajingo Voodoo Buddy inserted, I guess that cat's out of the bag.
I will admit that birth control has been my albatross for quite some time.
To put it simply, there is no ideal solution.
The Pill: On it for 11 years. Quit it. Realized I wasn't actually a crazy person with a stinky husband*. It was all in the hormones. The hateful, crazy-making hormones. And I don't want that anymore.
Barrier methods: GROSS.
Permanent options: Too permanent. Dr. Krog and I reserve the right to hit 42 and decide that we're bored and pop off another beautiful child with a ridiculous name.
Natural Family Planning: I can't even remember to eat lunch, much less promise to lay quietly in bed upon waking, stick a thermometer up my bajingo, and religiously record the temperature. And I *like* lunch.
Yes, friends, I'm just too freakin' fertile. So I decided to get the ParaGard IUD, which is a small, T-shaped device made of plastic and copper that hangs out in the uterus and defends desperate mothers from further rugrats. Out of 100 women on ParaGard, only .6 will get pregnant in a given year. And I'm more than .6 of a woman, so I must be safe.
Plus, it appeals to my mysterious side, because they don't actually know how it works.
Seriously. I've read the literature. I'm staring at the package insert right now.
It says: La nociones sobre como funciona el ParaGard incluyen el blah el blah el blah.
Oops. Wrong side of the leaflet.
I meant to say: Ideas about how ParaGard works include blah blah blah.
So it's like Voodoo Atlantis, but in my uterus.
Oh, and I'm a big sissy about anything involving the hoo-ha, so I tell you now that it hurt like a mothertrucker going in. Here's a play-by-play:
OB: Okay, here we go.
OB: Okay, the speculum is in.
Me: YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE?
OB: Yes, that was just the speculum, like for a regular exam.
OB: Okay, here we go.
OB: That was just a little anesthetic for your cervix.
Me: So that didn't actually do anything? Like, you're not IN THERE yet?
OB: Nope. Now relax.
Me: OH MOTHER LOVER SUGAR HONEY SMACK!
OB: Okay, I measured the depth of your uterus....
Me: THAT WASN'T IT?
OB: No. Just relax. Put your legs down. Relax. Now I'm going to insert it.
Me: OH SWEET BABY JESUS ARGH CRAPSTICKS WHAT THE FREAK?
OB: Okay, it's in now.
Me: Oh, thank god.
OB: Now I just have to trim the strings.
Me: Wait, you have to AAAARGH THIS IS HELL.
OB: Okay, now we're done. You might feel some cramping.
Me: OH GOD, OH GOD, IT'S LIKE HAVING A BABY THAT NEVER COMES OUT.
OB: Yeah. Some women don't even feel it.
Me: They are on drugs. Or they are liars. Or I'm just a gigantic sissy.
If everything turns out well, thanks to my copper voodoo doll, I won't have to think about birth control until 2019. And I like that.
I like that a lot.
*Dr. Krog smells awesome. But when I'm on the Pill, the hormones make his pheromones smell yucky to me, as per this interesting article. Which means that we're a perfect match. Our genes must totally rock.