Balloons!!!!!!


Earlier this week, I joined the IUD club. Yay I’m child-free for 12 years, or until I chose to get it removed. I chose the paragard (the copper one) for three reasons: I get migraines, my periods are generally pretty light, and I usually have issues with even low doses of birth control. It acts by making the uterus an “inhospitable” place for sperm. For whatever reason, I visualize this by imagining a barren desert with the occasional hawk cry. If you put your ear up close, it sounds like an old western movie in there.

If you’re curious about what it’s like to get an IUD, this is how it went down:

I took 600 mg of ibuprofin before going in, on my gyno’s advice. I also scheduled the insertion a few days after the end of my period. This was a happy coincidence. This is when the cervix is supposed to be more dilated, which makes things easier. Before the insertion, the nurse asked me to pee in a cup to make sure I wasn’t pregnant. I peed (all over my hands... I need to practice my aim), and the test was negative. Good old Condoms. I won’t miss you.

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When it came time for the insertion, my Gyno explained every step. First, she palpated my vagina to determine the position of my uterus. “There will be three cramps,” she said, ominously. Cramp one, she inserted a metal clamp in my vagina to dilate my cervix. Cramp two, she measured the depth of my uterus to determine where to place the IUD. Cramp three, she inserted the IUD.

I’m not going to lie, cramp two hurt like a bitch. Cramp one wasn’t bad and the actual insertion was painless. The entire process took less than five minutes. I was clothed and out the door minutes after the insertion.

I felt ok leaving, but later that day I started to get really tired, so much so that I went home from work early and slept for a few hours. (See gif for re-enactment). I had mild cramping, too. Nothing bad. When I woke up from my nap, I had a celebratory burger with a fellow member of the IUD club.

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Since the insertion, I’ve had constant bleeding. It’s light - I barely need a pad, but (this is gross) the toilet is a total blood bath every time I pee.

The thing has little tails that extend out of the cervix, which helps to remove it when it comes time. They’re also convenient to check to see if it’s in place. There’s a risk of expulsion, and also a very minor risk of migration. Gyno told me that if I can’t feel the tails on my own in a month, make an appointment to make sure it’s still in place. I sincerely hope I can feel those tails.

Cheers! I hope you’re all enjoying the day. I’m going to get a margarita and some mexican food, and continue to celebrate my newly hostile uterus.