Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream

To any poor lad that stumbles onto this blog, I do sincerely apologize, as this blog is one of a sensitive and womanly nature.

The Mirena is the DEVIL (To Me)

My logic: The mirena. It seems like the oasis of birth control. A small bit of placement pain puts you on the fast track to worry free sex for five long years. (Deal with the devil is usually you get something fantastic, then in five or ten years, the hell hounds come and drag you to the pit. [The world according to 'Supernatural'].) It lures you in with promises of no fuss, shorter, lighter periods, and sometimes no period at all.

So you go in, excited, nervous, but ready. You sign the consent forms, and happily scoot your butt to the very bottom of the exam table. Your doctor is in position, he numbs you, measures your uterus, and places the little device. It's painful, but you breath through it, knowing the reward will be no pregnancy fears, maybe no periods, at the very least shorter, lighter periods. The doctor tells you that you might spot for a few days, you might have a flow like a period for a week or so. You say it's fine, because you know the rewards of getting the Mirena. You've done the research. You're excited because you don't want to be pregnant.

Well over a month down the road, you look back on the placement, you look back on your decision, and you're filled with regret. "I could have used condoms," You think. "I should have just dealt," You cry. The rewards have yet to be known. Sure, you aren't worried about being pregnant, because you aren't having sex. Why? Because you've been on your period for the entire time you've had the Mirena. You get frustrated in the mornings because you've ruined yet another pair of undies. You're constantly cramping, you're raw from the pads, and you're frustrated from the countless times you thought it would be over, only to find it wasn't. You try not to think about the fact that you're popping Motrin like M&Ms. Your head is pounding, and the bathroom scale is taunting you. Your five, worry-free years are looking bleak and bloated. You crumble to the floor and cry with anger.

It's truly a hellish situation.

I love my life, but why did I get the Mirena?

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