Fool Me Once

by Sarah Carter

Image credit: Alan Cheung on Unsplash

“That hurts! No, seriously, that hurts!!” 

Way more than I thought it would.

It feels like pressure and pain, localized in a vulnerable spot inside.

I look away, feeling tears stream down my face.

It hurts so much. I’m not prepared for how intense it is.

“Do you want us to stop?”

I don’t know, I don’t really know what an acceptable threshold of pain is.

I don’t really know what the other options are if we do stop. Just keep breathing.

Despite getting through my first IUD insertion, the memory of it is so intense that 8 years later, when my doctor calls me about the IUD needing to be reinserted, I physically recoil.

I tell them as much. I explain how much pain and how unexpectedly scary the experience was.

If they couldn't help me manage the pain, there's no way I could stomach that again.

They offer me a one-two punch combination to help with local pain and any anxiety.

I booked an appointment to get the old IUD removed and a new one inserted.

The nurse who’s helping me is great.

We end up talking about all sorts of things, including another medical situation I’ve been going through that year.

She gives me this tiny paper cup with two pills in it. It’s bizarre to me to think that they just have these pills in the back somewhere or downstairs in the pharmacy. Just a little at-home cocktail.

Additionally, I am given a shot in the right glute. It stings when the needle is going in, but otherwise it’s pretty painless. 

Then we wait.

I hang out in the room by myself, then they prepare it for the procedure.

I am relaxed, I feel taken care of. 

I see the new IUD they will put in. I touch the small T bar that will sit inside me for the better part of a decade.

The tools are long and intimidating, but in this setting, I feel nonchalant.

The pills are starting to work, and I am relaxing.

My mind and my muscles are at ease.

I mention how grateful I am to have advocated for myself and that this team was receptive.

They know that IUD insertion can be painful for some women, and easing any pain was their priority.

We take a moment to recognize that, with the new administration coming in, there are many unknowns about the resources young women will have access to in the future. Who knows if I’ll be able to have this kind of conversation in 8 years, when my IUD is set to be taken out for the last time.

I change into a thin hospital gown, and the doctor comes in.

He asks me to put my feet in the stirrups. He asks me to cough, and I feel a bit of a release.

They explain that they’ve already removed the old IUD.

In a word, I am impressed.

Unexpectedly, he starts a familiar struggle.

It seems unique to my anatomy.

There’s a shelf deep in the vaginal canal en route to the uterus that can be tough to bypass, particularly for women who have not had kids. I fall into this camp.

The roughness of getting through this part makes me uneasy,

Ultimately, I am glad to have the medicine coursing through me and am able to maintain a better baseline.

Afterwards, standing, I immediately feel wobbly.

This is why they didn’t want me driving myself home.

The nurse and I connect once more, and she wheels me downstairs and outside to my partner, Michael. She gives me a hug and tells me that tomorrow I’ll be so grateful for her, for the magic she has worked. She’s right, together we have managed to rewrite the experience. At home, I put something mindless on TV, sleeping soundly into the night.

***

Sarah Carter

Sarah Carter was born and raised on the Southside of Chicago and has been living in Northern California since 2014. Sarah’s writing invites you to join her as she pushes the envelope of pleasure and meets pain with graceful acceptance. She explores themes including embodied living, music appreciation, gut health, and citizen science. Her work has been published in Between The Tides and Pink Disco.