the end (of high prices)

In some ways, that wasn’t so bad.

In others, it felt like someone was hammering my uterus like a steel drum.

We got to the doctor’s office right on time, and had to wait almost half an hour. I passed the time looking for Waldo, finding him on every page. Ed read a magazine and did his best to look inconspicuous amongst all the pregnant women. Eventually my name was called, and I was whisked away into a small orange room and told to strip from the waist down and to cover myself with the paper blanket for the sake of modesty and style. I did as I was told, and got as comfortable as I could with my ass hanging off the end of a steel table.

Before long, the doctor arrived with the enormous scary box. She was a different doctor than the last time, meaning once again I’d be displaying my inner privates to a total stranger. We joked a bit about the size of the box – I opened it last night because it was like Christmas and I couldn’t wait to see what Santa brought me to shove up myself – and got down to work.

A quick internal exam to determine that I do in fact have a uterus, and then the cold speculum of joy. It had to be adjusted twice – my cervix ran away – and then she applied some sort of industrial cleaner to my insides. It sounded like she was stirring a cup of coffee, and it was mildly amusing.

Then she told me to take a deep breath.

It hurt. I squeaked and bit my lip, and I began to have second thoughts about the whole damn thing. I couldn’t very well do much about it though, as she was wrist-deep in my garden. I took several more deep breaths, and the pain subsided a little. I thought we were done, but then she said some scary words: “okay, now the IUD is going in!”

Shit. A shove, and pain. This hurt a lot – I squeaked some more and grabbed the sides of the steel table for comfort and a potential weapon. All my insides ached very badly, like the worst cramps I’d never had. My uterus protested, trying very hard to expel this foreign object now sleeping all up in my business, but it stayed. She stripped off her gloves and said we were all done, and that I could go. I think I said something witty – I was trying very hard to keep breathing – and she left, giving me time to collect myself and my pants.

I sat up. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad – sure, there were cramps and a general discomfort in my regions, but other than that I was okay. I hopped off the table, proud of my vagina’s abilities.

Then I simultaneously almost threw up, passed out, and pooped.

I came very, very close to completely passing out. The entire world was fuzzy and bright; everything sounded tinny and far away. I don’t know how I managed to dress myself, but I did and wandered out into the lobby to find Ed surrounded by very pregnant women. I clutched at walls for support, and grunted when he asked how I was. Words weren’t coming, but that was okay. I had more to worry about, such as how the hell was I going to make it to the car parked half a block away? I could barely walk. The months of vertigo I experienced late last year were nothing compared to this. It was by far the worst part of the whole experience, and completely unexpected. I’d never been that dizzy and feeling like I was seconds away from a face plant – everything around me was wrong and wobbly. I gripped Ed’s hand in a kitten-like death grip and weakly made my way to the car.

I remember asking for the back seat and literally collapsing into the safety of the Mazdabator. I lost a shoe, but Ed grabbed it for me. He poured me into the car and we drove home.

Cramps schamps. Yes, I hurt, but my entire body was dizzy and my eyes wouldn’t focus. All I wanted to do was go inside and crawl into bed. With Ed’s help I did exactly that, and whispered out commands: I needed a drink and a MacBook and an assortment of cats. Ed brought these things to me, and hung out on the bed as I flopped around in distress.

Then I fell asleep.

I’m awake now, and feeling much better. My uterus is mildly cramping, and most of the unexpected vertigo is gone. Sasha is on my knee purring, and Ed brought me a McChicken and some Diet Coke. I am fully IUD’d and will be 99.9% baby-free for the next 5 years, after which I will be able to get my tubes tied unless they up the never say never age again. In two or three days I should be able to resume having teh sex, and in 6 weeks I will return to a random doctor for a vaginal inspection.

All is good.

Team No Babies for the win!

7 thoughts on “the end (of high prices)

  1. UGH. How graphically awful, but I gotta say this: remember, that would be a LOT worse if you were actually in labour/giving birth to an 8-odd lb bundle with a head about oh, say, 14″ around! In that light, this seems like an excellent choice!

    But not very cool of them to not make sure you’re not woozy before they let you go. Boo!

    Hope your girlie bits feel better very, very soon. :)

    Also, that pic of Sasha with the IUD box is hilarious; the one with the Macbook is *scary*.

  2. Oh babydoll. Oh kitten. I am sorry. I passed out, too. I did more than squeak. I spent the next two hours passing out. It hurt fucking bad.

    Booze helps more than drugs. Also, don’t spend days worrying that you’re expelling it. Go in and get a fast ultrasound (no penetration required) and they will tell you right where it is.

    And, you know, throw a cockpunch Ed’s way whenever you think it might make you feel better. He owes you a snippy-snip in five years, counting down from today.

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