In anticipation of moving to the other side of the world, there have of course been numerous things I have had to prepare and account for. One important thing brought to my attention, was the notion of contraception. Apparently, organising ones contraception in Australia comes at an extortionate cost.
As a bit of birth-control-background, following my previous relationship, I decided to ditch the daily pill-sized reminder that I was now receiving slim-to-none regular action, and, after enduring a year without periods.. I have forever feared the idea of going on the pill again. Paired with the fact that I was the devil incarnate for the initial 3 months of consuming my daily dose, it just didn't seem like a feasible option going forward.
In reflection of the above, I did a bit of investigating within my friendship + sister-circle to see how my fellow comrades were evading the olllld oven bun. This yielded the following options + feedback:
- The implant – some sort of sim-card which is injected in to your arm, makes many people psychotic + gain profound amounts of weight. I even heard a story of a friend of a friend who was “too scared to leave her own house” after it was put in. Fantastic.
- ‘Withdrawal’ – pull out and pray all the way – not recommended as a form of birth control by any doctor, anywhere – 50% of the time, it works every time.
- The IUD (coil) – a small contraption inserted into your uterus; lasts for 5 years and has no side effects. It can be removed at any time and you can become pregnant again from that point: JOB. DONE.
Turning obese, psychotic or regressing to the acne-ridden teenage phase, felt far from preferable and, given that so many of my friends had the IUD and raved about how ‘easy’ and ‘trouble free’ it was, I decided to take the leap and book myself in for a ‘fitting’.
To set the scene of this trauma – I had booked my appointment for just a short time prior to the train I had scheduled to take me back to my family home outside of London. I had arranged a leisurely pre-appointment lunch with a couple of friends and then nonchalantly sauntered to the hospital afterwards; ready for what, in my mind, was going to be an easy breezy, pain-free procedure.
BOY. WAS. I. WRONG.
When I arrived I was ushered into a room with a doctor, who, whilst lovely, went from 0 to 100 on the scare mongering scale in the first 3 minutes. Through her thick Russian accent, I could just about make out 3 recurring phrases:
‘risk of perforated vomb’
‘vill be lots of blood’
Before I knew it I was lying on a bed, legs akimbo whilst the Doctor asked me if I was ready to be ‘anaesthetised’. I won’t give you the gruesome details, but what I will say, is I was neither ready nor prepared for what I experienced next.
I walked home a shell of my former self, hobbling in the rain and reminiscing over every sexual encounter I had experienced over the past year wondering if it really was worth it. Not only that, but I then had to rush to Euston station for my 2-hour train home, avec 2 monster sized bags of moving out crap– one of which split on the platform – Kill. Me. Now.
For the next 8 hours, I had, what can only be described as cramps and contractions; I felt like I was giving birth. A notion that didn’t go unnoticed by the lady sat on the table opposite me on the train whilst I winced and breathed heavily on her face, clutching ibuprofen in one hand and a hot water bottle in the other, held in a vice grip against my vajine (Yes- she did move seats). I then proceeded to text every friend in my phone book who had recommended the coil to ask them why they had LIED and if they were SADISTS.
Now one day later, I can confirm that the hot water bottle has not moved from its spot down south and, given that my step-father is positively mortified by any and all things to do with the female reproductive system, I have feigned a ‘tummy ache’. To which I was shot back ‘do you think you need a poo.’ I have no words.
So ladies, whilst my fellow coil sisters assure me that the pain will subside in the next 24 hours, they clearly cannot be trusted. Be aware, it ain’t no walk in the park. One can only hope my wining, dining & dating down under will make the juice worth the squeeze….. 🍋