** disclaimer: lots of swear words, so if you don’t like it you can get the fuck out**
One of the reasons why I would like to spend weeks in Indonesia is because I want to see a Gynaecologist. I have been waiting for about three months to get a coil inserted, but I haven’t got one until today. And I am tired of taking pills. It has changed my mood, changed my body, and I just found out today that I have gained at least 8 kgs. I know that waiting is not an option for me, I just want to get this over with and move on to the better part of my life.
So I saw a Gynaecologist today. Told him that I want to get a coil inserted. I have done my homework, done my research. I know the pro and cons, and I know the possible pain and also possible side effects. I know almost everything I need to know before I see the doctor. And I bloody know that that bloody thing can be installed inside my fuckin womb any time of the day. ANY FUCKING TIME.
and this is the link: https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn/birth-control/iud
This so called Gynaecologist is my mum’s doctor. It is said that he is one of the best in my hometown. Maybe. Maybe it is because he is one of the oldest, so he has got more experience in his hand. But now you have a clue that he’s probably not the best for me.
He is a guy.
He is old.
Old guy doesn’t know what a woman my age needs, and wants. I WANT a copper coil to be stuck in my womb, because I NEED to make sure I am not going to get pregnant. And he doesn’t understand it. He kept mentioning that I am not 30, and that I might want to have a child first before going ahead with the idea of contraception. Why the fuck I am seeing him for a bloody IUD if I want to have a fucking child?
I am fumed now. So pardon my language.
He kept asking about my husband and whether he wants a child or not. Why the fuck everybody asks about his decision? This is my fucking womb and I make the fucking decision. Can’t his bloody brain process that fucking little information? Of course not. My womb, my decision. My womb, my decision. It will be my decision if I would like to let a life sucking parasites growing inside me for a nine fucking months or not. Not people around me. Especially not men.
I started to realised that the lights in the end of the tunnel might be the train coming towards me when the doctor told me that he could only do it when I am having period. I know my request to him to make me infertile is futile because I know he is lying. I CAN get the coil inserted any times of the month. Any fucking time. It might be a little bit painful, but I knew it already.
He also emphasised on how painful it could be when it is inserted to someone who has not yet have a child. I knew it too. Like I said, I have done my homework. Afterall, talking about pain… giving birth to babies is more painful than any coil insertion, I suppose?
I asked about a more permanent solution — fertilisation. And he just rejected the idea outright. Maybe the light in the end of the tunnel is really a train.
I went home with horrible feeling. I had some much hope. I have never had any thought of self harming until the day the doctor sent me home without any assurance on when I could get the coil done for me. I thought of stabbing myself in the stomach to damage the womb permanently, or the ovary, or whatever, so that the doctor would have to take it away from me. I don’t want it. I want it go away.
So… What am I going to do now?
I am not going to take more pills. And, I am going to find a way to get myself impregnable. One way or another. And if there’s any one of you have anything against this decision, I have a knock knock game for you.
Me: Knock! Knock!
You: Who’s there?
You: Nona who?
Me: Nona your business you motherfucker…