It’s ironic, at least in the “10,000 spoons” sense (which is to say, not ironic at all), that of all the contraceptives I’ve tried, the one I am happiest with also hurt like a b*tch.
The go-to clinic for birth control in Nelson, where I grew up, seemed to default to the depo provera injection for teenage girls’ first contraceptive – perhaps because it lasts 12 weeks, and is therefore less vulnerable to human error than the pill or condoms.
But one of the known side effects of the depo is its impact on mood, and after I’d been on it for four or five years, I wanted to know which, of my intermittent bouts of teenage melancholy, had to do with the injection, and which didn’t.
Photo: Unknown
Also, I’d stopped having periods altogether, and I missed the monthly reminder, no matter how inconvenient or painful, that all was well. Today, covered in spots and bloated like a watermelon, I rue my naivety – but there’s some comfort to be had in a period you could set your calendar to.
But even after six months on the pill, my period still hadn’t returned, which seemed to baffle the staff at my university’s student health service, who prescribed me a different pill each time I ran out. In 18 months, I tried Normin, Levlen and Ava 20.
It wasn’t until after I’d graduated and started going to a dedicated sexual health service that I was told that this was to be expected, given that the depo can remain in your system for up to 18 months after you stop getting it.
Even though I didn’t get periods, the pill worked fine, in that I didn’t get pregnant. Result!
But when my relationship dissolved at the end of last year, I got slack about taking it. There didn’t seem to be any point when I was spending 40 hours a week at work, and about the same amount of time watching the Sex & The City box set.
I was also curious to see what life would be like without any form of hormonal contraception. By December, I’d stopped taking the pill altogether.
Sure enough, my periods started up again in March, and were all that I’d hoped for: as regular as the tides, over and done with within three days, with little to no cramps.
After I locked down my new boyfriend (TIP: a kiss-blowing emoji, a ‘cool dude’ sunglasses emoji, and three lightning bolt emoji, sent about 3am, with no context or prior discussion. Trust me), I was faced with a decision: go back on the pill, or shop for something new.
On paper, it sounded great: non-hormonal, at least 99 per cent effective, and once it’s in, it lasts for five years. I booked in for a consultation.
In person, it looked like a bobby pin. That was going to be shoved through my cervix.
The nurse told me that, with my short, light periods and lacklustre experience with other contraceptives, I was an “ideal” candidate for the copper IUD, which is free aside from the $20-odd consultation fee. She suggested I might like to take a couple of painkillers and the afternoon off work on the day of the fitting.
Did it hurt?
First, a caveat. Or several caveats: different people have different thresholds for pain; I’ve never broken a bone, or been hospitalised, so I have little to compare it to; I was slow to pop a couple of Neurofen, so those might not have kicked in.
But in short: yes, it did.
Quite a bit, actually.
Take the usual discomfort and awkwardness of a smear, and add the sensation of the nurse using your cervix as a dartboard, while another medical professional (or receptionist, or friendly well-wisher; I didn’t think to ask at the time) holds your white-knuckled hand and tries to make conversation and maintain eye contact in a not-entirely-successful attempt to soothe.
On the plus side, it was over and done with <10 minutes, and I don’t have to go through it for another five years.
I spent the rest of the day in bed with as bad cramps I’d ever felt, mewling for my flatmate to furnish me with painkillers. The next morning, I was fine. I went back six weeks later for a check-up, and all was well; there’s no reason I should have to go back before 2018.
As I’d been warned, my periods since then have been longer, heavier and more painful, but I don’t feel the actual device at all. Some women can feel the removal threads, like fishing wire, hanging down from their cervix, but I wouldn’t know it was there at all if it weren’t for the occasional twinge of a cramp – which is nothing that a painkiller doesn’t sort.
For the grief hormonal contraception has given me over the years, I’ll put up with ten minutes of pain – if not happily, but with a grim resolution to not have babies #NOBABIES