Ok, so I went along to my local family planning clinic, like a good girl, even though we’re not having sex it’s better to be safe incase – sorry for when we do. I previously had a ‘Gynefix’ – a fine string onto which were threaded small love-bead sized bit of copper. This is attached – yes attached to the inside of the womb and prevents pregnancy unless displaced. I remember holding the nurses hand when they inserted it, it was a big ouch. They no longer supply Gynefix at my local FPC which is
the Margaret Pyke clinic on Charlotte Street, all the staff are sweet and helpful, the atmosphere is hushed, no mobile phones, no standing at the reception desk unless invited, a TV. I got to watch Fern Britten leaving whatever it was she used to present. So first you go in for a chat, and to book a fitting appointment.
An IUD cannot be fitted if you have had sex up to 5 weeks before, this includes having sex with a condom. Abstinence is really the only method, this wasn’t going to be a problem for me. There was some conversation of mojos, (her terminology not mine) sexy underwear and it being very common after a baby. ‘Try not to build it up to a big thing’, I was advised. Lavinia had made an outing on Father’s Day, but that was long enough ago to book me in on a cancellation for the following week. I was advised to take painkillers and eat breakfast before turning up.
I got The GR primed to babysit, put Erbie down for a nap and dashed to the centre - a day early. The appointment was the following day, by which time The GR and I had had a massive falling out ‘and there’s no point you going for that appointment either’ Erbie had woken up with a temperature of 39degrees and had been whisked to the doctors surgery on Soho Square all before 9am.
By 9.45am everyone had calmed down and Erbie was napping I dashed off again, arrived 5 minutes late and then had to wait 40 minutes as the were running behind schedule anyway. Ho hum.
A lovely nurse took my blood pressure and details and I sat in anticipation waiting for a free room. No breakfast and a couple of paracetamol stuck in my throat. Erbie wakes at 11am, and I’m still waiting, eventually the room is free I’m ushered in by a kindly female doctor of about 50 and a whipper young assistant of about 20 who she is training to insert IUD’s - whoopy.
I’ve opted for the regular copper IUD ‘T Safe’ which looks like a dolls house french corkscrew and can last upto 10 years, ‘so I need never worry about contraception again’ I was joyfully informed. Ye gads menopause awaits.
Squeamish?
Look away now.
As my one sexual encounter had been less that 6 weeks previously I had to do a pregnancy test anyway, negative of course.
Up on the bed, blue tissue paper provided for some vanity, off with your pants and in with the duck. Thankfully they had been considerate enough to put a picture of the ceiling, always cheering don’t you think.
I remember when we had a scare during my pregnancy and I had to go back for a scan at the hospital Constable’s picture of Salisbury Cathedral was on the ceiling, it was a good omen and he was fine.
I wanted to ask the older doctor if she’d could tell her patients age bracket by their pubic hair topiary, if all the young girls had Brazilians and the older ladies were more modest, but I was preoccupied with the 'yes, hold it like that’, ‘you’ll feel a slight pinch’, ‘do tell me if it’s uncomfortable’ X centimetres – that’s very average dear. The T Safe’s little arms are folded down it’s popped into the neck of your cervix and then they ping back out and hey presto, Bob is no longer your uncle.
As to how they work. Would you want to make a nest in there? Well then.
I just had a thought, how do they get it back out again?
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