EXTRA URGENT WARNING:
Guys keep reading this and getting all grossed out.
DON'T READ IT.
I promise there's no hidden naked sexy pillow fight.
But if you like that sort of thing, my book comes out next year. HEY-O!
1. If you are an EDITOR reading one of my books, this is an unusual post. Most of them are about cupcakes, kangaroodles, adventures, and randomness. But this is a topic about which I feel strongly, so I want to spread the word. Instead, you might like my review of Labyrinth.
2. If you are a BOY, you are NOT WELCOME to read this post, even if you are artistic and gentle and sensitive to a woman's needs. You don't want to hear it. It includes horrible descriptions of ladybits gone wrong. It's for girls only. FOR GIRLS ONLY. So go read this post about boobies instead.
3. If you are a BOY EDITOR, all I can say is ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE, and please read this post instead. It's about Robinson Crusoe, who was also a boy. So there's that.
Okay. We good? We good.
Now where were we girls? Ah, yes.
BIRTH CONTROL SUCKS THE HAIRY BIRD.
Remember this post? How hopeful I was? I thought that little copper voodoo doll was going to solve all of my problems, or at least the ones that involve rabid fertility and my inability to keep track of more than two moving targets at once.
I had it removed today due to horrible, wretched side effects.
It went like this:
Nurse Practitioner: Hi! Please meet my intern!
me: Are you sure you want her here for this?
NP: Yes, she's training to be an OB/GYN. It's part of the landscape!
me: Yes, but I'm a huge sissy. And also a screamer.
intern: (looks frightened, tries to smile, fails)
NP: So here's the speculum.
me: AAAAAAAAH WHY WON'T YOU PEOPLE EVER GIVE ME VALIUM AAAAAH!
NP: Okay, can you please relax? Put your knees down?
me: MY KNEES ARE DOWN YOU PUT YOUR KNEES DOWN SHUT UP.
NP: Okay, so here go the pincers, and I'm just going to grab the...
me: YOU'RE DONE, RIGHT? WHY DID YOU STOP TALKING? THAT'S NOT GOOD.
NP: I need to get something else.
me: DID YOU LOSE THE GIANT TWEEZER IN ME?
NP: No, I just need to get some... um... smaller utensils.
me: I KNEW IT. I'M A FREAK.
NP: No, you're just... a little tense.
me: OH GOD OH GOD GET IT OUT.
Which is all well and good and funny, but she did eventually get it out, and I made her show it to me, because I wanted PROOF that it was gone.
Want to hear the entire, horrid story?
I think I'm going to tell it, even though it's very embarrassing to discuss such things with strangers, mainly because if I had read this sort of thing when I was looking for viable, non-hormonal, reversible birth control options, I would never have tried the Paragard copper IUD.
Getting it in was rough, again, see this post.
The first six trips to visit Aunt Flo at the Crimson Cabana, if you get my drift, were hellish. Messy. Like, Romero film messy. Lay in bed for three days on a tarp messy. And so, so painful that I used up my leftover painkillers from childbirth, because plopping out an 8-pounder was actually less painful.
Then it got easier. But I could always feel it poking me. And something just didn't feel right.
And then something very bad happened, something that the Nurse Practitioner smiled nicely about today when I told her but probably didn't believe. I'm pretty sure that twice, I had a chemical pregnancy followed by a miscarriage, and it was utterly horrible.
I had all the same early pregnancy signs I had with both kids-- clear skin, melasma, gain 5 pounds, bloating, only wanting to eat macaroni. My ticket to ride the Scarlet Express was over a week late. And then it was Romero time again, along with horrible, stabbing pains in my back and legs, followed by a day of uncontrollable, desolate crying. Crying like the world was ending, like I had lost something I needed desperately.
And I'm not much of the crying type, and there was nothing wrong, and I never, ever want to feel that way again.
That's why I had my Paragard removed.
In the brochure, they say that they're not quite sure how it works, only that it keeps an egg from implanting. But they don't mention how very real a possibility it is that a fertilized egg might want to implant and might just take your body through the entire hellish hormone cycle of a lost pregnancy. Twice.
I hear the Mirena is better, thanks to the hormones. But I'm not trying an IUD again in the foreseeable future.
That's why I spent my my morning ruining an intern's career path and my afternoon thumb-wrestling a NuvaRing.
But that's a story for another time, and that other time is NEVER, because it's just too weird.
I take it back. Want to hear about the Nuvaring?
Let's just say that within 24 hours of wrestling Satan's jelly bracelet into place, I was in another room, screaming into a pillow, crying uncontrollably, and pretty sure I was a horrible mother, a suckass writer, and a hopeless failure at life.
So what did we learn today, kids?
1. Hormones, dey are bitchez.
2. Don't insert a Nuvaring unless you own a winch and some calipers, because DAMN.
3. Birth control is a lot harder AFTER having kids than it was for the 10 years before that.
4. I have no f*cking clue what to do now.
So that's my story. I honestly don't know what the next step is, but I'm so emotionally and hormonally wounded right now that I'm not sure it matters.
But I do know one thing.
Tomorrow is sure to be a better day.