In Which I get Defiled by My Own Choosing…

Warning Girly Stuff Discussed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

This morning I woke up to the vibrations of an incoming text. It was from my little sister, just beginning her college experience.

“Save me from my retarded* accounting class!”

Post coffee I would have guarded my words, but the kid keeps texting me at 5AM. Since we’re both taking the same class just 3,600 miles apart and I’m two weeks ahead… I feel no mercy. If my 30 year old brain can handle it, her fresh outta high school “ready to conquer the world” mentality can take it, I swear. So mercilessly (and in true sister like love) I texted back.

“Look on the bright side, if it’s “retarded”** it should be easy to get though. It could be worse… I’m off to have my vagina invaded, and not in a pleasant way.”

One would think that she would have the decency to pose a follow up question like “what?” But no, nothing. I guess my stunning visual had such impact on her that she simply felt better about going to school. I’m a good big sister like that. (I know someone is reading this and starting to feel bad for her. While you are rolling that pity around in your head, keep in mind that this is the same sweet baby sister who pulled my 12 year old daughter aside and taught her every euphemism known to mankind for penis. In the name of education! Really, don’t feel bad.)

Back to the great vagina invasion of 2009. For months I have been batting around birth control options. I’ve tried almost everything. Really when you think about it who wants to insert something the size of a friendship bracelet inside yourself every. single. month. Not me. When I brought up the IUD idea, there was practically a gasp heard round the family/friend ring. They’re so dangerous! Do you really want that in your body? There are so many side effects! It’s like having a mini abortion every time you could get pregnant. (That one’s my favorite by far. Ignorance surely must be bliss for some people. It must be.) In the end an IUD it was.

The last two times I visited the Gyn trying to get it all straightened out, the nurse noted that I have high blood pressure. To which I reply, “Do most women feel comfortable and relaxed with feet up in stirrups?” However, I don’t think that my mainland sarcasm translated well from English into Philipino. What can you do? Shut up and strip, that’s what.

So there I am feet in the aforementioned stirrups, praying to Allah that someone does not come bursting through the door. (Why do they always have your exposed girlie bits in the direction of the door?) When she (the worlds greatest doctor that a girl could have) tells me that she has to numb my uterus with something that smells like cherry mouthwash from the dentist office. I kid you not.  Hmmm… First question…how? and second question… with what? If this involves a needle, my half naked hiney is sprinting out the door, courtesy sheet and all. Don’t worry the people of the health clinic were spared from the horrors of my hallway sprinting to freedom because this numbing took the form of an aerosol. And she was right, it did smell of cherry mouthwash. Not something that I would have dreamed of listing on things that I now associate with a gynecological experience. Fabulous! 5 minutes tops of discomfort and it was over.

Short of mild cramping and the need to smoke a cigarette as I lay on the recovery table, all is well.

So here’s my question for the evening. Why do women (or men for that matter) feel the need to nose in on other people’s method (or lack thereof) of birth control. I mean if asked (or brazenly shared on the internet) can o’ worms considered open… game on. I find this particularly interesting in church (Here I mean all all religions, though I realize my choice to use the word “church” is associated with Judeo Christian crowds. I use it for ease of association and not for religious finger pointing). I’m just curious. Personally, I tend to follow the whole eco zero population philosophy. But it’s mine. I wouldn’t expect someone else to do it. Whatever method I choose to reinforce that  belief is my business. Then again what fun is it when we can’t finger point and feel better than someone else? I mean really, that’s the whole reason I watch Supernanny.

*My least favorite word in the teenage vernacular.

**Did I mention how much I dislike this word?