Brooke Kushwaha

When I first scheduled my appointment at Planned Parenthood back in June, I had no idea Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy would announce his retirement.  I had no idea this decision would put Roe v. Wade back into contention (as Kennedy was the tie-breaking vote that could keep the decision from being overturned), and I had no idea President Trump would nominate Brett Kavanaugh to the bench, potentially putting American reproductive rights on the chopping block.  Very bad news all around, but a very good time to get an IUD.

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If you’re sexually active or think you might become sexually active, the next few months are a ripe moment to think about long-term birth control, especially as society crumbles around us.  The IUD (intrauterine device) is a hormone implant that lodges in your uterine wall and can last up to six years, depending on the type you get. If you’re sensitive to outside hormones, the copper IUD can last up to twelve years, but might have uncomfortable side effects, including a longer and heavier period.  As someone who wants long-lasting protection but is afraid to commit, I chose the mid-range IUD, the Liletta, which lasts four years (but you can choose to remove any IUD at any time if you change your mind).

If you have a regular gynecologist, it’s easiest to make your appointment with them.  Some insurances even cover IUDs in full, but otherwise they can cost about $150-$250. Considering their 99%+ contraceptive rate and long-term effectiveness, I’d say they’re well worth the investment.  They’re also the most low-maintenance form of birth control — no need to set an alarm every day! Unlike the pill, IUDs require very little attention once they’re inserted. Their location inside the uterus itself (unlike the arm implant) means that the hormones are already where they need to be, and are less likely to circulate throughout your body and cause adverse side effects.

Because I was out of town for the summer and away from my normal doctor, I decided to get my new IUD at the nearby Planned Parenthood (PP).  PP is a great resource for all sexual health needs; several of my friends have had positive experiences there. I figured anything President Trump was desperately trying  to defund must be worth supporting, so I called to make an appointment (they also allow walk-ins, and generally seem pretty accommodating). I always try to schedule my appointment around my period, because that’s when your uterine walls are softer and more open to the implantation.  It’s not a requirement, but it’s less painful that way.

The first waiting room (yes, there are multiple, I’ll get to that later) is pretty standard doctor’s appointment stuff.  If you’re a first-time Planned Parenthood patient, you fill out a few forms with your medical information and history, and then you wait for the nurse to call you in.  Because I had gotten an IUD before, I knew the actual procedure wouldn’t take more than ten minutes. However, I ended up waiting about an hour for my forms to process and the nurse to take me in.  This waiting time is entirely dependent on your particular office, the time of day, how long it takes to contact your insurance, etc.  As a general rule of thumb, leave about a two-hour window after your scheduled time so you don’t have to rush back to work or class immediately after your procedure.

Before getting an IUD, you usually have to take a pregnancy test just to ensure no complications will arise from the implantation.  It’s as simple as peeing into a cup, and as a bonus Planned Parenthood will screen you for various STDs using the same urine sample.  While the tests were being screened, I sat in the second waiting room.  The other women in the center were all of varying ages — many of them already had kids, whom they brought into the appointment.

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I have to warn you now: It’s going to hurt.

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Finally, I ended up in the stirrups.  I have to warn you now: It’s going to hurt.  I’ve never been a fan of the speculum to begin with, and I don’t think anyone would disagree with me on that.  A cold, metal tool used to pry your vagina open should at least come with a waiver.  The saving grace of the operation is its brevity — you feel some uncomfortable cramping, but it only lasts for a few seconds at a time.   Once the implant is in place, you may feel crampy for a few hours, but it’s not much worse than a period.  Aftercare is easiest of all: about once a month just use your fingers to make sure the small plastic strings that connect to the device are still in place.  You shouldn’t ever feel the device itself, and the strings even soften over time so during intercourse your partner shouldn’t notice them.  When my doctor warned me that my partner might feel the strings at first, I was still in so much pain I snapped back, 'I don’t care!'— and  I still stand by it. If your partner has the gall to complain about some tiny strings after you went through ten minutes of uterine torture to get them, you might as well dump them then and there.

And that’s that!  You have nothing to worry about for the next three to five years.  Well, immediately call your doctor if anything seems to be off, like if your cramping lasts longer than a few days, or feels especially severe.  But in general, you’ll have one less thing to worry about!  Obviously, continue using condoms to prevent STDs and get tested regularly, but an accidental bun in the oven is now no longer part of the equation.  Celebrate with a heating pad and some rest! (Wait two to three days before celebrating with your partner, wink wink).  You’ve conquered one of the burdens of womanhood today.

Brooke Kushwaha is a rising junior at Wesleyan University.  Her writing can be found on The Wesleyan Argus and on the satire website, The Wesleyan Groundhog.

 

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