Act Two, Scene One: I’ve picked up the new pill and I’m standing on my mom’s deck looking at the snow falling. The Visitor is on the couch taunting me about the snow. “Yep, it’s going to get bad,” he says with a smirk. Bastard. He doesn’t know why I so desperately don’t want it to snow this week but he likes to rub it in that I will have snow to contend with whatever I’m trying to do.

I glare at him. He laughs.

If I have to take that pill again without being able to have this thing done, I’m going to be really angry.

The Misoprostol had continued to work for a day after the cancelled appointment and it’s making me more than a little grumpy and uncomfortable. A snowstorm was predicted for the night before my appointment this week and I didn’t want to take it again if I wasn’t going to actually have the appointment and get the IUD inserted.

Really, I shouldn’t be getting it yet. I haven’t been well since I got home from the hospital but I’m trying hard to just move on and do the next thing. (Note added later: I knew that I was making the wrong decision but I was too broken to care.)

Act Two, Scene Two: Tuesday night I decide that I’d better run because I probably won’t feel like it for a while. It is a glorious run. I go home and insert the new pill, wishing that I had another travel toothbrush case but making due without it. Once again the symptoms start. My phantom baby is a little bitch.

I look out the window see the snow falling hard. I wonder if I’d regret doing this what with the possibility of my appointment being cancelled again. I take the four Ibuprofen and lay down. I call Sugar Muffin to complain. She laughs at me as I describe my symptoms.

Act Two, Scene Three: The snow melted enough that no one can justify not carrying on with business as usual. I’m sitting in the lobby of my Dr. Dashing’s office waiting for my name to be called. I took four Ibuprofen this morning and then took four more about an hour later.  Yes, I know that’s more than I was told to take. I don’t care.

The nurse calls my name, shows me the room that I’ll be in, and gives me instructions. I’m to go in the bathroom next door, give a urine sample so that they can make sure that phantom baby is really a phantom (i.e. make sure I’m not pregnant), take off everything below the waist, and then sit on the table with a paper blanket over my bare bits. She tells me that the doctor will then come in and talk to me.

In between completing these steps, I can’t help myself, I have to look at the items they are using for the procedure. They’re just sitting there on the tray with a sterile cloth over them. How can I resist?

I can’t.

I should have.

The first item I uncover looks like a Nazi torture device.

Where, exactly, are you sticking that?

I don’t even know what these are for…

And What Do You Do With Those?

As it turns out, most of the tools weren’t in the room yet. I considered snapping a picture of them all after the fact but there was too much blood and even I’m not that classless.

So, Dr. Dashing comes in, asks me if I have any questions, and has me sign something that basically says if I die my ghost won’t come back and sue his ass.

He asks me to lay down and go all spread eagle with my feet in the footrests. He tells me that there will be three major cramps.

For some reason, it’s almost comforting when he inserts the speculum. It makes it feel less like there’s some dude all up in my vag and more like the medical procedure that this really is.

First, he does three swabs of betadine at my cervix.

Easy.

Next, he inserts something that he is clamping to my cervix to hold it in place. Cramp number one. Yes, it hurts, but it’s not so bad.

He then tells me that he’s going to measure my uterus. Cramp number two. I flinch at the onset but again, it’s bearable. This is supposed to be the most painful step of the procedure and apparently sometimes women faint from the pain. It’s not bad enough that I feel like fainting bur it does hurt. I start translating Italian Arias in my head for distraction.

Lastly, he tells me that he’s going to insert Mirena. I assume that because I’ve been told that the prior step is the most painful, this one won’t be so bad. I JUMP! That was NOT a cramp, that’s what we call being impaled. I start counting to distract myself because it’s simpler and I can’t focus on words. I get to 40 before the worst of the pain stops.

It issn’t the worst pain I’ve ever experienced but it is definitely intense. After the initial jump, it’s not hard to take it but it is much worse than the second step.

Finally, he trims the strings, removes the speculum, and tells me that we’re done. We discuss the need to check the strings, the fact that it will be seven days before it’s effective, and under which circumstances I need to come back in to have it checked.

He leaves the room so I can get dressed. I’m a bit dizzy and sore but feel like I’m doing pretty okay.

I feel a sense of pride about the decision I’ve just made. It feels like one of the first real adult decisions I’ve ever made.

*Act 3 is up next!