A post about my vagina. But alas, no porn.

So I'm getting metal springs shoved up my hoo-ha.

Or, to be more appropriately circumspect about about it, later this week, I'll be taking advantage of a relatively new permanent birth control procedure wherein "an Essure trained doctor inserts small flexible micro-inserts™ through the body’s natural pathways (vagina, cervix, and uterus) and into [the] fallopian tubes."

Whatever.  The point is, I'm getting the female equivalent of a vasectomy -- the pathway between my baby-incubator and my little baby-making seeds will forever be sealed off.  And I couldn't be more thrilled.

When I went in for my consultation, they took one look at my birthdate on my chart and asked me over and over again: "You sure? I mean, really, really sure?  You do understand doing this means no more babies?"

Yes. 

"Ever."

Yes.

*eyebrow raise*

Yeeeeesss!  I do know how to read, y'know.  I may still be under 30, but my brain is still pretty darn tootin' good, thankyouveddymuch.

And while doing the preliminary exam they asked about sexual partners and somewhere in the conversation found out I was newly separated. Apparently that throws up red flags for medical personnel who deal with vaginas: "What if you meet someone else and..."

"Let me stop you right there.  I've thought about it, don't worry.  I've already done the childbirth and mama thing and I love my kid to pieces.  No problem there.  I'm SURE."

"Okay, well, we have to ask."

Uh-huh.  Because clearly, meeting a hot, potentially partner-worthy sperm carrier someday carries with it the inherent danger of suddenly changing a woman's life goals.

Seriously? 

Methinks the problem with THAT anxiety about my reproductive goals -- or any other woman's, for that matter -- is much bigger than my teeny weeny vageeny.

I didn't know Essure existed until a few months ago when I went in for my annual pap.  I've been on birth control pills for forever, and hate them with a passion.  Hormones, hello?! But I've also tried the patch and the shot, and while I like them, hate the sticky residue on my skin (not to mention the visual reminder every time I get naked), and for the shot, was horrible about remembering to go in every three months.

So when I told my midwife I didn't want any more babies, she asked if I'd considered "more permanent options."

"Like what?" 

No, no.  Let me revise.  I said, "like what?!"  With my chin up in the air, ready to do battle and everything.  Because when you're talking about doing stuff with my body, I get a little defensive.  It's fortress QueenAlpo over here, yo.

"Well, the IUD."

Oh lawdy.  So I regaled her with THAT old story about the time years ago when I tried to get an IUD -- first visit they didn't have any IUDs left and needed to order them.  Second visit, they forgot I was coming FOR the IUD and had to send an emergency courier out somewhere to get one 'cause they felt bad about me coming twice.  And then I don't remember, I got sick or I waited too long, so I left.  Third visit, they finally had the damn thing and showed it to me.  That thing is like the size of a quarter. Sheesh.  And all this time I'd been envisioning giant braces and brackets to shove up in me.

Then I get on the table and spread my legs, breath deeply, relax, that whole thing you're supposed to do when you have a strange woman coming at you with cold sterile tools and latex gloves.  I am a champ at that, let me tell you.  It is an acquired skill of which I am proud, yes, oh, yes.  Anybody can shove their hands up in me without me even wincing.

Wait, I promised no porn. Ahem. Never mind.

So anyway, lady's fiddling down there, and I feel lots of pressure, pushing, fingers prodding, and I'm pretty sure at one point I felt a *sproing*.

And then she looks at me and says hesitantly, "Um... you're too small."

And that's how I found out that it doesn't matter if you've shoved a gazillion babies out your wazoo or if you're six feet fall.  It IS possible for women to have small vaginas and small cervixes and small uteruses.  So I went home, me and my tiny uterus, a third time sans IUD and destined for a lifetime of freakin' pills.

Until a few months ago.  And once that midwife explained to me what Essure was, I screamed, "SIGN ME UP!"

Anyway, so....

So I know the topic of birth control, or more specifically, asking a woman what birth control she uses, is kindasorta taboo (why?!).  But I'll tell you right now... I am so looking forward to the next time someone asks me about babies, and I can say:

"Oh, I'm good, thanks.  I had them shove metal springs up my hoo-ha."

Comments

[MB]

When we went for the mandatory vasectomy consult it went down like this:

Male Doctor to husband: "What if in 10 years you want to upgrade your spouse to a younger model?"

Wife: "Why do you think HE's the one getting sterilized?

(I still have my IUD in my giant uterus. Can't be too careful.)

[DC]

Hey Alpo
Glad you're back, missed your blog entries.
-DC

[Celtic_Maenad]

So I was pointed here by M.R. Sellars' twitter stream & was browsing about your blog. Hello!

I love this post, and when I was 25 (and child-free, happily so) I started asking my docs about permanent measures of birth control. Every doctor I've gone to (and I've tried many) has said they will not do surgery or permanent sterilization on me. The shot flattened my desire for *life* not just my desire for sex. Low-doses of estrogen/estradiol/progesterone DO. NOT. work for me. So naturally I'm hesitant that the IUD would do anything, and if it doesn't that's some serious money I'm out, plus another procedure to take it out. 10 years later, docs are a bit more willing, and I'm thinking about the Essure method, but my being willingly child-free seems to irritate the fuck out of ob-gyns.

What I'm trying to say here, is thank you for this post and well, I'm glad they don't just give the child-free a hard time. >_<

[tubal reversal]

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