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Navigating Birth Control Choices: A Cautionary Chronicle
Let’s be real for a second: trying for years to have a baby can be a rollercoaster. I’ve shared my fair share of stories about the emotional toll of infertility, but today, let’s focus on one silver lining—no more fretting over birth control. Honestly, the freedom from that worry is a breath of fresh air.
Switching gears from desperately trying to conceive to avoiding pregnancy can be a bit of a mind-bender. It takes some adjustment. I’d heard about diaphragms, mostly from vintage films, and when my midwife suggested getting fitted for one, I thought, “Why not? Sounds retro!” But looking back, I probably should have thought twice.
Let me confess something a bit silly. I constantly worry that I’ll be the person who gets something stuck and ends up in the ER, facing a doctor in a coal miner’s hat (why I think that, I don’t know). I know my body isn’t a black hole, but let’s just say some stories I heard in my twenties about things disappearing up there left a lasting impression.
For example, one friend had some cramping and found out she’d left a tampon in for months! She went on with her life completely unaware. Then there are countless tales from college about boyfriends scrambling to find a condom that slipped off during the heat of the moment. These anecdotes, combined with my own anxiety, made me uneasy about inserting things “down there.” Spoiler alert: diaphragms need to be inserted pretty far up.
So, back to my midwife. When she suggested the diaphragm, I thought, “Okay!” I have this annoying habit of playing it cool even when I’m not comfortable. When she asked if her assistant and a nursing student could observe the fitting, I stupidly said, “Sure!” I should’ve said, “No way!” But who am I to deny them an educational experience, right? I assumed this fitting would be like my other appointments, where I just lay back and chat. I had no idea I’d be the main act.
The diaphragm looks somewhat like a larger, rolled-up balloon with stiff edges. She showed me how to pinch it in half and—whoosh—it disappeared inside me. I barely felt it. But then panic set in. Wait, I have to get this thing out? I thought I was in a doctor’s office, not a magic show.
She said, “Just stand up and put your leg on this stool. Now reach in and hook your finger around the edge.”
Okay, I tried. But I had three pairs of eyes on me, and one of them was taking notes! My brain went wild: “Patient is sweating. Is that a paper curtain slipping? She looks confused.”
I couldn’t find it, and my panic escalated. The midwife noticed my distress and told me to lie back down. She found it instantly—only to pop it back in. No! I wanted it OUT! This was starting to feel like a bad episode of a medical drama.
We went through this charade three more times. After 45 minutes, I thought, “There’s no way I’m using this as birth control.” I imagined it getting lost inside me forever, which I know isn’t physically possible.
Every couple of weeks, I get a reminder from the pharmacy about picking it up. But no thanks.
If you’re curious about other options for home insemination, check out this insightful post or explore this authority on the subject. For more fantastic resources, this link has you covered.
In summary, transitioning from trying to conceive to navigating birth control can be a wild ride. My experience with the diaphragm was a mix of panic and awkwardness, but it’s a reminder to trust your instincts about what feels right for you.