Archive | 12:33

A Coil Story

16 Sep
Cover of "Monkey Business"

Cover of Monkey Business


I have nothing to blog about this morning so I raided my old emails and found a story of my insides. 

Under-25 Alert: Children, don’t read this; it’s icky.  Especially Tory Boy & Spud – I want you to be able to look at me without throwing up. 

Men Alert: If you’re going to read this, cross your legs and don’t think any the worse of womankind. 

Women Alert: Sisters, I know you feel for me. 

In early November of 2006 I received a letter from my doctor saying that my coil was due to be changed and would I please make an appointment.  Around the middle of December I was watching Monkey Business and the chimps all had their coils removed which reminded me that I had filed my letter in the ‘Forgot to do this important thing’ file, so I phoned next day.  There was a note on the computer to say that I had to speak to the nurse before making the appointment, but she was presently unavailable and would call me back.  I phoned again a week later because she hadn’t phoned me but she was presently unavailable and would call me back.  I phoned again a couple of days later because she hadn’t phoned me but she was presently unava…oh hang on, she just walked in.  Once I’d spoken to her I wished I hadn’t.  It transpired that the letter I received in November should have been sent out in September because we (my husband and I, not Nurse and I) had been having unprotected sex since then because the Mirena coil was still a new coil and its effective period not fully determined.  It was decided that I had better get my backside in to the nurse’s den post-haste for a pregnancy test.   

For that day, I was in a glow of possibility that another Sprog or Sprogette might be forthcoming.  Then I woke up next morning to my usual stiff legs, backache, sore feet and fuzzy head and thought, am I nuts?  A thought the Hub has been having about me since we married.  No sleep for five years; an unfinished degree; no energy and no free time.  I fairly ran to the doctor’s for my test, which was treated as urgent; I had the result next day.  It was negative, as I’m sure you’ve realised.  I was relieved yet sad, because that really was my last chance of having another baby…we made the decision to stop at two, and don’t regret it  (have you met my kids?).  Yet I’m sure that if it had been a positive result, we’d have been happy, although worried at the disruption to our Five Year Plan (which is to get through any five years without any disruptions).   

One crisis over, it was time to deal with another: how to fit in a coil change which, by the way, is kind of like an oil change for the body but with no greasy mechanics involved.  Sadly.  I was squeezed in between Christmas and New Year.  The Nurse had kindly arranged to leave a brown envelope containing condoms at reception for the Hub to collect, because I absolutely COULD NOT risk becoming pregnant between then and my coil change.  She did it discreetly, whispering to me over the phone in reception: reception being in the doctor’s waiting room filled with patients listening to every telephone conversation going on in reception.   

The Hub collected the discreet brown envelope that turned out to be not so discreet, being rather large and containing twenty-four condoms; I don’t know what Nurse thought we’d be doing over Christmas, but it wasn’t that.   At least, not twenty-four times in a week that had us run-ragged and not seeing much of our bed, never mind anything else.  I’m sure it was good for the Hub’s ego, though.  

Comes the man, comes the ow-er; when it came to the actual day I had a bit of a spasm on the table and the doctor struggled to get the new coil in as a result; she said it was quite normal for the body to spasm, because it was rejecting a foreign body.  I’m sure I could hear Clive Dunn in the background shouting, ‘They don’t like it up ‘em!’  Even chanting the thirteen times table didn’t help, though it always works at the dentist.  I suppose it’s not the same as going to the dentist, despite the yanking out and filling-in involved in both instances. 

In fact, I think I’d rather go to the dentist: at least when they ask you to open wide you don’t blush all over. 




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