I went this morning to get my Paragard IUD removed because a few weeks ago I stumbled across this I-Hate-Paragard website where all these ladies were bashing Paragard because they said that since having the IUD, they've had the worst acne of their lives, not to mention extreme hair-loss. And then I actively searched and found other websites that said the same... and I was like HOLY CRAP this is so happening to me! I must call my doc this second and demand to have this murderous parasite removed from my delicate loins.
And that is exactly what I did.
My appointment was set for this morning. While in the parking lot before going in, I wrote an obnoxious post on the Abandoning Pretense Facebook page about how when you're a SAHM, a trip to the gyno feels
like a mini-vaca. You know, because you get to be alone, kind of, for like a whole two hours? Hardy-har!
And then this happened:
As I'm splayed out like a defeathered chicken in that most humiliating of positions which all women must endure on an annual basis, Doc tells me the removal should be a snap, just a little tug, I'll barely feel it. But I never believe them when they say it won't hurt because 1) pretty sure they're lying, and 2) I'm a huge sissy and have zero pain-tolerance. Just knock me the fuck out please, mkay?
So I'm gripping the exam table in agony and Doc says: "Hm. That's... interesting."
WTF, doc. Isn't it in Bedside Manner 101 that you are never EVER supposed to say: "Hm. That's interesting."? My faith is shaken, Doc. My faith is shaken.
"WHAT is interesting?" I say, making the meanest face I can from behind my paper blanket that covers jack squat.
"Well I've never had that happen before!"
Did this doctor learn nothing in Bedside Manner 101?!
"WHAT HAPPENED!?!" I shriek.
"It... broke. Well that is just so weird! That's never happened in my life! You're special! ... uh... but not a good kind of special."
You should read my blog, Doc.
Yes the damn IUD broke inside of me and half of it is still stuck in there.
Doc proceeds to calmly, pleasantly explain that he could either "dig around in there" and make me really "uncomfortable" (too late, doc), or that we could just ring up the surgery guys (those surgery guys! Love them!) and get me set up to "put me under" so that he can "get in there and poke around" with his microscope doohicky thingamajigger.
I sweatily inform him that he's gonna have to knock me out if he's planning on doing any more "digging."
So they're putting me under this Friday to get in there and get this thing out of me.
I'm very proud of myself for not having a nervous breakdown in the doctor's office, you guys. Very, very proud. When they finally left me alone to get dressed, I took some time to angrily slam my fists into the paper blanket that was draped over my knees and hiss over and over, "I'm not going to fucking cry right now!" And I put such an effort into not crying that I got a cramp in my throat. Bravo, Kristen. Way to not cry.
I really wanted to save my tears for Hubs and have a nice dramatic moment on the phone with him; he's so accommodating when he feels sorry for me.
But I never did cry. I went and got my pre-surgery bloodwork done like a good girl, and paid my $150 copay for a stupid surgery (a procedure, really - hopefully they won't have to actually cut me) that was only made necessary by what my husband is calling a "catastrophic design flaw." He's an engineer; that's how he talks.
Either that or the universe is mad at me for saying ugly things about motherhood.
Could you guys do me a favor and pray that this thing is not embedded in my uterus? Apparently that happens sometimes. Thanks.
Anything horrible ever happen to your lady-parts? LET THE COMMISERATING BEGIN!