It all started when I first had sex and was so afraid the condom would break and I’d get pregnant that I rarely enjoyed it. I knew about birth control pills when I was 15, but, in order to get them, I had to go to the doctor. I also knew about hysterectomies and I wanted a permanent solution to birth control.
At 15, I knew I never wanted to be a mom. It’s like how people choose or don’t choose certain professions. Just like I didn’t want to be a mother, I didn’t want to become a doctor, or firefighter, or math teacher. There’s a lot less expectation of the job you’ll have when you’re older. It’s not questioned when you say, “I have no interest in becoming a brain surgeon.” People just accept it, like, “Yeah, that’s fair.” No one interrogates you: “Well, why not?” Or “You’ll change your mind when you’re older.” If you don’t want to become a doctor, it’s accepted as truth. As fact. But when I said at a ripe ol’ age of 15, “I never want to have kids,” they ALWAYS doubted it.
Luckily, I had supportive parents. I don’t remember them once challenging my vehement desire to avoid having kids in any way possible. Sure, maybe they secretly thought I’d change my mind. I was 15, after all. My frontal cortex was still developing.
Asking For Birth Control Pills
I remember going to the doctor to ask for birth control pills. At the time (2005ish), that’s all I knew existed. That, and condoms. And it was better than praying to a god I didn’t believe in that the condom would stay intact and sperm wouldn’t secretly sneak out and fertilize an egg. While I spoke to the doctor about “the pill,” I also asked her about getting my “tubes tied” or a hysterectomy. She chuckled, “Well, you’re a little too young to get your tubes tied, and usually, there needs to be a medical reason for a hysterectomy. The pill will protect you 98.9% of the time.”
It was that 1.1% that would ruin sex without pregnancy for me.
While I’m at it (and if it isn’t already obvious), I want to stay that yes, I believe you can and should have sex for enjoyment. It shouldn’t only be for procreation. Too many of us aren’t having enjoyable sex, so if you can have some damn good sex, do it. Literally. I’ve always believed I had a right to enjoy sex and that I shouldn’t have to bear children in order for that. If you only have sex to produce offspring, good for you. You do you (or not). But sex for me is for pleasure (and expressing love and all that happy horseshit) only. And at 15, I wanted to have safe sex without the negative consequences. So, I left my doctor’s office with a $10 prescription for “The Pill” I’d have to pick up at King Soopers later that day.
Picking Up The Pill
When I went to the window, I was a little worried they’d judge me. Like, “Why is this 15-year-old on The Pill?” They didn’t. At least, not to my face. They asked if I knew how to use them. Luckily, I already knew, and I didn’t have to sound like this was, in fact, my first rodeo. I knew I had to take this tiny pill at the same time every single day. If not, the likelihood of getting pregnant increased.
So, for the following however many years, that little packet came with me everywhere and at 9:00 PM every night (or almost every night), I’d take it with a sip of water. Meanwhile, the guys I slept with were only responsible for the condom. Which was (and still is) a problem for me too. Because we live in a patriarchal society, there will never be a male birth control pill or shot or implant or coil that attaches to an inner organ. Because men don’t personally get pregnant, preventing pregnancy will always fall on women’s bodies. We will endure the weird, unusual, and sometimes awful side effects of birth control when it takes two consenting adults to have sex. That was always another issue I had with sex and birth control, but I digress.
Birth Control Pill Alternatives
After taking the pill for years, I wanted something that required less work. Sure, having to take a pill once a day doesn’t sound like much work, but when it comes to having a nightlife in your early 20s, having to take your pill with a swig of beer doesn’t feel like the most responsible thing. I remember, at the time, there was a lot of secrecy about the pill and taking it. I snuck it in my mouth when I was around people. I didn’t want them to know.
Somehow, we were all having sex with only condoms and no one worried about getting pregnant. False. On top of condoms and The Pill, I was still deeply fearful of pregnancy. If my period was a day or two late, I was driving to King Soopers to pick up a pregnancy test. So, I was sick of the pill, of having to remember to take it every night, and hearing the dangerous side effects of it.
The Acupuncturist
I also remember an acupuncturist overstepping when he asked if I was on birth control. I told him “the Pill” and he said my body was a temple and that I shouldn’t put toxins into it. To which I responded, “I don’t want to get pregnant, okay?” He offered some bullshit about tracking my cycle to know when I was and wasn’t fertile. At 17, I wanted to put in the least amount of effort to not get pregnant, not follow my fertility. Instead, I just said, “Okay,” rather than going full-fledged feminist on him and telling him to stay in his own lane. That was my last appointment with him.
Something Low Maintenance?
I went back to the doctor and asked for something that was more low maintenance. She riddled off several things and for some reason, I wanted to try the Depo shot. I’d only have to go to the doctor to get the shot every three months. It seemed like less work than the pill, so I signed up for that. I had only had one shot before I moved to Ireland for my masters. I figured out there, I’d be too busy studying to go to bed with an Irish bloke, so I didn’t get on any birth control.
A few weeks before I moved back to Colorado, I wished I had some form of it protecting my body because I missed out on what I could only assume would have been a fantastic night. But bringing back STDs or an embryo did not sound like the souvenir any of my family (and much more myself) would have liked.
A New Gyno & A New Birth Control Method, With A Little Bit Of Sexism
Back in the states, regretting not having a more permanent birth control solution, I went to a new gynecologist to see my options. I was about 24. Still very much against being a mother and sick of having to be in constant fear of getting pregnant, I asked for a tubal ligation – again. This one refused. And this time, I was told I’d meet a man one day who’d change my mind.
We’re not taught how to advocate for ourselves in school, but they taught us that doctors went to school for years and years and we needed to trust what they said. My response to her blatant sexism was, “I don’t think so.” She told me to wait until I was older. Again, I believed the doctor knew best and that getting my tubes tied would never be an option for me.
I never questioned why other women could get them before they turned 40. I assumed it was for a medical intervention or because they already had children and that’s when they could finally have a say over their bodies. Before that, apparently, my uterus belonged to this imaginary man who could sweep me off my feet and lead me to question the one thing I’ve never wavered on in my life.
Even when I was a child, I wasn’t playing “home” where I had kids. My Barbies were lawyers or strippers. They didn’t have time for kids. They were too busy living their life. My parents accepted it (they didn’t know about the stripper Barbies). Why the fuck would a doctor not?
After being told, at 24—an age where you know whether you want to have a child ever—that getting my tubes tied wouldn’t be an option, and not realizing that one doctor’s opinion (and that’s exactly what that fucking was, an opinion) wasn’t every doctor’s opinion, I asked her, “What’s my closest option to that then?” She suggested the Mirena IUD—a coil inserted into my uterus that clamps onto the walls. It’s a painful process, but I’d rather that than a child. I left her office, pissed off and in pain, with yet another non-permanent solution to something I desperately wanted.
Introducing The Mirena
After a few years with the Mirena, I noticed my mental health declining (later, I’ll find out that it’s just me, not my birth control). I wasn’t sure why I was so anxious and unmotivated and sad all the time. Looking for answers, I spoke with an acquaintance who said she had the Mirena removed because it was causing her depression and replaced it with the Paragard IUD because it had no hormones. I dug around and found that certain forms of birth control, especially with hormones, could cause depression in women.
Fuck tr*mp
It was 2016, tr*mp was running for office, and I was afraid that not only would staying on Mirena would continue to fuck up my mental health, but the Mirena only lasted 5 years. I wanted something that’d last longer than tr*mp’s pussy-grabbing reign. And as soon as he was elected, I asked to switch from Mirena to Paragard—the copper IUD that lasted 10 years. If I couldn’t permanently close this shit up, I’d get as close to it as I could, especially knowing my reproductive rights were in jeopardy.
Periods From Hell
That was that, but with the heaviest periods I’ve ever had. I’m talking the Niagara Falls of menstruation. My period went from a few light bleeding days to heavy bleeding for 6 days and spotting for another two. It sucked, but it was all for the cause, I guess. I just had to accept it because I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to close up shop permanently.
For five years, every month, I dreaded my period. It wasn’t a relief to see it (meaning, I wasn’t pregnant) because there was just so goddamn much blood. Somehow, my iron levels were in the normal range, something I never trusted. I took an iron supplement because surely, with all that blood loss, my body couldn’t keep up. I hated having the Paragard, but I hated the idea of getting pregnant more.
The Last Leg To Sterilization
Finally, in 2021, I had had enough. I wanted to find out why I felt like shit all the time. What was causing the headaches, the chronic fatigue, and the dizziness? It wasn’t until I eliminated everything I thought could cause these issues that I decided to, I guess, take “your-body’s-a-temple” acupuncturist’s advice and remove the toxin from my “temple.”
I went to the gynecologist (a new one) in November 2021. I figured I had had headaches ever since I started The Pill and maybe that was connected. Maybe the acupuncturist was on to something (albeit totally inappropriate). As I explained what was going on with my body, my gyno actually listened to what I was saying, which seemed like an invitation to go off on the previous gynecologist who wouldn’t perform a tubal ligation because she thought I’d meet a man who’d change my mind (Spoiler: I met and married a man who 100% accepted that I didn’t want kids on our first date).
She gasped. “That wasn’t a Kaiser doctor, was it?” “No,” I told her, “it wasn’t.” She then told me Kaiser offers tubal ligations to women at 21. Granted, I’m sure they don’t give them willy-nilly. As my feet rested in the stirrups, vulva and vagina out for the world to see, my heart sunk. If I had kept asking, changed doctors, did whatever I could, it’s possible that I could have had this procedure 12 years ago. I was mad at myself for giving up so easily. I was also really fucking mad at the world.
Maybe she could read my face. She told me she could set up a call with the surgeon to allow me to ask questions and to see if it was something I still wanted. She scheduled a call, and we removed the Paragard IUD.
Meeting The Surgeon
A week later, I spoke with the surgeon, who was super chill. She told me she had to go over two things, legally. She had to tell me the list of birth control options and the chances of regret. “Okay,” I said, knowing full well that there wasn’t a different method of birth control and no amount of regret stats to convince me otherwise. Although I was still under the impression that the surgery would set me out for at least two weeks, I’d be bedridden, and I’d have to stay in the hospital. My assumption was, luckily, very flawed.
The doctor apologized for the spiel and asked if I had questions. She told me exactly how the operation would go and my recovery time. I was ready for it. She pulled up her schedule, and she had an opening a month later. If it was this easy to do it this time around, you’re abso-fucking-lutely correct I scheduled it on the spot.
Leading Up To The Laparoscopic Bilateral Salpingectomy
The entire process was simple. Two weeks before surgery, I had to stop all supplements. One week before, I could only take certain pain medications. I went in for a pre-op appointment to meet my surgeon (masked) face-to-face. I had to sign a waiver stating I knew about the other forms of birth control, the chances of regret, and the potential risks. It was worth it to me. Then, she wanted to give me a quick exam, so she knew the tilt of my uterus. I didn’t know that was a thing, but here we are. I found out it tilts forward.
We also decided to do a Laparoscopic Bilateral Salpingectomy—which means she fully removes both fallopian tubes. They aren’t “tied” or cauterized. They’re gone. Her argument was that it further protects against pregnancy (yes please) and helps prevent ovarian cancer (studies have shown that ovarian cancer can start in the fallopian tubes). I enthusiastically agreed to it.
Okay, so I had to ask her how the ovaries stayed attached to the uterus, or did they just… float? I got a much-needed anatomy lesson (two other ligaments, besides the fallopian tubes, hold the ovaries in place, so there’d be no floating ovaries).
People kept asking me if I was nervous about the surgery. After all, I was going to be given anesthesia and there is always the chance of something fucked up happening. Despite that, I wasn’t worried. If I could get brain surgery and make it out (relatively) just fine, this would be a walk in the park. If anything, I worried about my bike fitness because I’d have to be off the bike for 1-2 weeks. After taking 5 ½ weeks off during the summer, I was a little over taking anymore long breaks, but it’s just another thing I’d have to deal with in my sterilization journey.
Operation Day
Laparoscopic Bilateral Salpingectomies are chill enough that they’re outpatient procedures. I didn’t have to go to a hospital for it (After insurance, I’m expecting to pay around $600 for it, which is pretty much two Botox-for-migraine sessions and so worth it to me. Hell, it’s cheaper than the chiropractor and neurofeedback training I’m doing right now).
We checked in at 10:00 AM. Fasting since I went to bed, I tried to sleep in on the operation day in hopes of not getting too hungry, but then I had to stop drinking anything altogether by 8:00 AM (when I woke up). I downed three glasses of water and hoped that’d suffice. Granted, I had four Nalgene (32 oz) bottles of water the day before.
Surgery Prep
We waited 10 minutes before they called me back. I took a pregnancy test, of course, changed into a blue surgery gown, with little socks, and got myself into the bed. I had to tell three different nurses and my surgeon what I was having done that day.
By the third time, I gave up trying to use the medical term for it and instead opted for, “ya’ll are cutting out my fallopian tubes.” They inserted an IV in my wrist and Chris and I sat in the small patient room for about an hour and a half.
Apparently, they were cleaning the operation room (“OR”), which, take all the time you need to make sure that shit is clean. One nurse said they’d give me a relaxation shot prior to surgery. We joked and called it a margarita. I felt the “margarita” as soon as they started rolling me toward the OR. I was excited to have an entire team of women during my surgery. The anesthesiologist, my doctor, and nurses—all women. It was great. They placed an oxygen mask over my face and told me to breathe. The anesthesiologist told me she was going to administer the anesthesia and night-night.
Post-Op
I remember waking up in recovery, my eyes still super blurry from anesthesia, me trying to wake up faster. The nurse showing me pictures my doctor took during the surgery, but it was still too blurry to see so I just said, “cool.” They gave me apple juice and animal crackers to make sure I could keep food down. Because my heart rate was low (46 bpm), they wanted me to drink caffeine. I had some very gross hospital coffee in hopes it’d raise. My natural resting heart rate is usually 53, so I wasn’t too worried about it.
They finally let Chris come back and we hung out there for a few minutes before the nurse asked me to go pee in the bathroom. They wanted to make sure I could walk and also that my bladder was functional. And like a good little patient, I peed. The nurse closed the curtains, and I changed back into my loungewear. They told Chris to pull up the car on the west side of the building where they’d wheel me out. At this point, I felt great. I wasn’t in any pain and I wasn’t groggy.
As we drove back home, I got a little nauseous, so I asked Chris to stop for ginger ale. Then I wanted ice cream, so we stopped by Andy’s Custard for a small vanilla ice cream cup with sprinkles. Meanwhile, I texted my friends and family, letting them know everything went smoothly. My throat started killing me from having the breathing tube in my throat during surgery. That lasted for two days and it made sleeping, eating, and drinking pretty unbearable.
Home Recovery Period
The doctor recommended taking Tylenol and Ibuprofen every six hours at staggering times, so I essentially took something every three hours. As the excitement of the day died down, the pain crept in. I woke up every few hours uncomfortable, bloated, and a little in pain. Not only was there pain at the incision sites (one by each hip and one at my belly button), but there was cramping too, like the kind I got from the Paragard IUD. I finally took one Oxy to help. I let myself sleep in on Tuesday.
It’s now Saturday, five days after the surgery, and I feel just fine. The cramping and air bubble that hung around my diaphragm disappeared. It’s still a little tender at the incision sites, but I can move around just fine. I know I’m not supposed to bike or lift anything heavier than 10 pounds for two weeks. I can walk around easily and luckily, I haven’t needed to go to many places, so PJs have been helpful to prevent anything tight around the cuts (P.S. – they’re not big, about 5 mm long each).
She was even able to avoid my tattoos. At first, she asked if it would be okay to cut over (into?) the purple octopus that graced my lower stomach. “Of course,” I told her. “Do what you go to do.” It was a nice surprise to see my octopus still intact.
Five Days Later
I realize it’s only been fives days, but this was 18 years in the making. I’m stoked that I don’t have to worry about taking a pill, getting a shot, or having something inside my uterus that I continually have to monitor. It feels like I’m finally free from having to worry about getting pregnant. Yes, I’ll still get periods (which, by the way, are now only four days long with light bleeding since getting the Paragard removed), and I’m not going through menopause any time soon. Everything continues on like business as usual.
Questioning Resentment
At first, I struggled with the fact that I’d have to go through this invasive surgery and not my husband. His biggest inconvenience was having to wait at the hospital all day, reading anime. I thought I’d have a lot of resentment toward him because it still isn’t fair that birth control falls on women’s shoulders—or fallopian tubes, in this case. A vasectomy is easier, safer, and faster. And how dare he make me put my life at risk to avoid US (yes, us) from getting pregnant, right?
Every day leading up to surgery, I questioned my resentment toward Chris. And I realized—this wasn’t for him. I never asked his permission. Honestly, I didn’t even ask how he thought about it. This was for me. I hated always worrying about getting pregnant. I hated how that ruined sex for me (not forgetting STDs, don’t worry).
Besides, if we were ever to separate, I’d have to go through this again with someone new (not planning on it, but you never know). So, no, it came down to freeing myself from the burden of having the ability to get pregnant. This is not to say I don’t recognize the women who desperately want a child and have the reverse problem from me. The grass is always greener, right?
I did this for myself. I did this so I could control my own body. Not the government, not another man, or even a different gynecologist. This was for me and I am so fucking glad I finally got what I wanted.
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