A Valentines Date to Remember
It was me who made the first move.
I reached out to an acquaintance who had some experience with facilitating awkward first meetings. I sought their advice - “Am I ready yet?” “You are ready, if you decide that you are. In any case, you can always say 'No’ at any point before, during or even after your date.”
“Is it OK to feel nervous?”
“Honestly, I would be surprised if you were not nervous”, they laughed, “Girl, you are doing this for no one but you. We are here to help. Trust me - it will be totally worth it.` With that assurance, I mustered up the courage to book a date for an IUD insertion procedure.
“So your appointment is booked - Thursday, 14th February at 2 PM. Please be here by 1:45 PM. Dr. T is seeing many people, you can’t make him wait.” “Uh, sure thing”, I smiled nervously before waddling out of the clinic.
A little over a year ago, I had migrated from India to Canada. I had almost forgotten the visceral fear and vigilance that would accompany me every time I ventured into crowded public places in India. The lecherous ogling, the occasional catcalls and uncomfortable comments, the constant surveillance and policing of my clothes, words and actions…..
“20 year old college student gang-raped while partying in Mumbai”, reads the newspaper headline, “Police refuses to file rape complaint, citing questionable character”.
“This is going to happen to you if you try to grab men's attention in public” says my mom. A 10 year young daughter is listening, horrified.
I snap back to the present. ”I am 25 years old. I am in a safe country. I am spreading my legs to get an IUD inserted. I am doing this to empower myself.” I need to overcome my internalized distrust of men so that I can feel safe and comfortable during the procedure.
“Why are you getting an IUD already? Are you and Sid officially a couple?” asks a friend. Sid and I had been introduced to each other just a few weeks earlier. We lived in different cities, but we had kept in touch. Admittedly, our text exchanges were getting racy and it was all but obvious that we might confess our crushes soon. During one of our recent video calls, Sid had told me that he would be visiting my city (again) soon. (Blush blush!)
But I was not getting the IUD for this reason alone. Sure, I’m not a prude. Safe sex is responsible. But why an IUD, though? Why not a cheaper, more temporary option like a condom? And why should I go through all that pain alone? All fair questions….
Pregnancy is a complicated topic in my household. After me, my parents wanted another child (obviously, why not try again for a son?). I was 5 years old when my mother suffered her first ectopic pregnancy. The foetus miscarried and one of her Fallopian tubes was surgically removed. Then it happened again during the summer when I had just turned 10. Two intensely distressful cycles of loss, grief and frustration. I got inevitably tangled in the waves of abuse and violence that followed the grief. Other stories of unwanted pregnancies, infertility and illicit adoption linger around as dirty secrets in my extended family.
Choosing not to get pregnant, for me, offers a path to break out of the traumatic cycles. I have no doubt that I would be a decent parent figure. But I am intuitively driven to not want biological children. The fact that I live in a country that allows single women to safely choose birth control is a privilege that is not lost on me.
As Valentine's Day approached, I got increasingly excited. I was told during my first consultation that a hormonal IUD had many advantages over other contraceptives like the pill. Apart from not having to consume pills everyday, about 20% of those with a hormonal IUD implant usually never experience menstrual bleeding every month. The effect is reversed and the bloody clockwork gets reinstated once the IUD is taken out. The thought that I may potentially NEVER get a period again was the biggest reason I decided to get the IUD insert.
One day before the procedure, I stepped into the shower and decimated the black curtain underneath with industrial precision. Gosh, I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so light. I was putting in all this effort for Valentine's Day, and mine would just be one of the many vaginas that the doctor would peek into on this day. The thought made me chuckle but I told myself to not be so self-conscious.
On D-day (or should I say V-day, hahaha!) I went into a pharmacy with my prescription for the IUD. I nervously dropped the paper on the counter. The pharmacist took a nonchalant look at the piece of paper and whipped out a box. I was not sure what to expect, but a box that was bigger than my forearm was definitely not it. What monstrosity was I getting inserted in my coochie? This was when I started to reconsider my naive excitement.
"So that's $540, but your insurance covers $450. Should we charge the rest on your credit card?" A quick mental calculation - I'll be paying $90. That was a pinch on my tight student budget, but I hoped the pay-off would be worth it. I made the payment, picked up the box and walked to the clinic.
After going through some intake questions and signing forms, the receptionist asked me to take a seat in the waiting area. "Someone will call you when it's your turn." I complied.
I sat in the crowded waiting room for over an hour. Glancing around, I saw folks of all shapes and colors. Gosh, I miss those pre-pandemic days with ample people-watching opportunities. A few visibly pregnant folks had come loaded with books/iPad and snacks for the wait time. It seemed like I was the only person in there who came in with expectations of a punctual date. Eventually, my name was called out and a friendly nurse waved me into a ward. I was asked to change into a translucent, cotton gown. She then collected a blood sample and asked me a few questions including if there was a chance that I might be pregnant. I vigorously shook my head. She chuckled a good-natured chuckle. “Alright, my dear, Dr. T will see you in a bit. Please make yourself comfortable on the bed.”
The adrenaline rush had kicked in. My mind was in furious spirals, laden with self-doubt and images of botched up procedures. I hated myself for having googled “IUD insertion gone wrong”. I can’t seem to recall what I did as I lay waiting on the hard bed, on paper sheets, wearing the translucent gown. It sure as hell didn’t feel like a sexy Valentine’s retreat. Gah.
After what seemed like eternity, the doctor swept into the ward. “Hello, there! How do I pronounce your name?” At least this part of the date didn’t seem new. “You can call me Shruthi,” I mumbled. “Are you from India?” he asked with a goofy grin. I nodded. “Oh, I hate what you Indians have done to cricket! The IPL has ruined the game for everyone” he exclaimed. Good Lord! This was not the start I had expected. “Oh, haha. Do you play cricket?” I asked. “No, but I’m from South Africa. I grew up loving and watching test matches. The good old days..”
I really wasn’t sure where to go from this point. Here I was, in a vulnerable state being attended by a person seemingly obsessed with cricket. “AB De Villers is one of my favorite cricketers,” I ventured, trying to set an amicable tone. “Oh, he’s a good chap,” said Dr. T. I beamed a smile, hoping that it would conceal my internal screams of bewilderment.
“Alright, you are getting an IUD, huh? That’s brilliant. Would you like to have a nurse in the room?” I was disarmed by the gentle and kind tone of this question. “Oh, yes, please,” I sighed. The good-natured nurse (I really should have asked and remembered her name, dammit) walked in and stood by my side.
Dr. T started, “So, Annapoorna (I said that I preferred Shruthi?), this is a simple procedure. We should be done in 5 minutes. You might feel some pain, but it shouldn’t be worse than menstrual cramps. At any rate, you should be all recovered in less than 24 hours. First, I am going to insert a speculum to expand the vaginal wall. OK?” He whipped out a can-opener. I'm sure Dr. T noticed the alarm in my face. He beamed his goofy grin again. “Have you closely examined your vagina before?” “Umm, not really, no.” I reminded myself that I had signed up for this session voluntarily. “Would you like to see the IUD being inserted?” “Oh, yes, please!” I was surprised.
Dr. T placed a small mirror at an angle from which I could everything. His gloved hands moved deftly to insert the speculum, revealing a dazzling, pink canal. Much like a high school biology teacher, he pointed with a short stick to show the parts - labia majora, labia minora, the vulva, the clitoris and finally, the vagina. A small lamp strapped on Dr. T’s forehead revealed my cervix located at the posterior end of the canal. You’ve got a very healthy looking vagina, Annapoorna.” I tried not to cringe. The nurse beside me chuckled again. Dr. T went on to extract the IUD from the box. He explained how it works and I nodded.
"Now, it is going to hurt like a beep when I insert it. Brace yourself, it will last only a few minutes.” My eyes opened wide and I tried not to scream. The lovely nurse tightly held my hand and patted my back as I heaved large, ragged breaths. My body relaxed eventually and the pulsating pain throttled down to a gentle throb. This pain was familiar territory, having experienced menstrual cramps every month for the last 12 years or so. “You did great, my dear.” The nurse beamed appreciatively. “See, I told you it would be quick. I hope you get to share about this with your friends and encourage them to get an IUD,” said Dr. T genially.
“Wow, this was not as bad as I feared. So, I won’t get pregnant for the next 5 years?” “As of this minute, you can have unprotected sex without worrying about getting pregnant, yes,” smiled Dr. T. “But know that the IUD does not protect you from sexually transmitted diseases. You might still want to use a barrier if you’re not sure about your sexual partner’s health. “Right, got it.”
“You know, IUDs are so common in countries like India and South Africa. Profit driven healthcare systems like North America have successfully encouraged youngsters to opt for the pill instead. You made the best decision by choosing the IUD.”
"Thanks for that lovely compliment, Dr. T!" My Valentine’s Day was made. I walked out of the clinic with a spring in my uterus.