Nothing like a pregnancy scare in 2020
Mary didn't have these issues #cantrelate
Since the age of 17, I endeavoured to never have a pregnancy scare by fully utilising the free contraceptive services we are so privileged to have access to in the UK. Having my first coil fitted at 19, my view was always, “Well, at least I can’t get pregnant now - anything else I can sort with a cream”. I know that is widely erroneous information and for the love of God, do as I say not as I do; I want people running around with Hermès, not herpes. Never has a single-letter difference been so crucial.
The word “unprecedented” has nestled into our shared lexicon like no other. Pre-2020, I can’t ever recall hearing it and I hope it doesn’t grapple its way into next year and remains in a support bubble with Carole Baskin, banana bread and people who stockpiled toilet roll. In a year marked by unparalleled madness, my IUD coil going missing was undoubtedly my personal pinnacle.
Allow me to set the scene in what should have been a routine removal and refit. I was pleasantly surprised at the speed in which I could even get an appointment given the current strain on our NHS. After a quick chat with the Doctor, I allowed myself to get as comfortable as one can when placing your legs in gynaecological stirrups and showcasing ones vulva to two complete strangers. She proceeded to have a good rummage with the same vigour that I’m sure we all did when organising and reorganising our kitchen cupboards, with all the free time we had this year.
“I can’t seem to find it,” she said.
“Sorry? What do you mean by that?” I replied with the expression on my face thankfully shielded by my mask. Were the NHS known for telling pranks to lift the mood? Where exactly could it bloody be? Has my Mirena coil gone to Barnard Castle with Dominic Cummings?
What proceeded was a 5-week wait to have an ultrasound, in which I had a mild breakdown because I was riddled with worry, swamped with work and if you read the last edition, you can imagine the fruitless conversations I was having with the potential baby daddy. As a woman in the last year of her 20s, whilst I think I want kids, I’d rather not be forced into pregnancy due to roaming contraception.
“I had you at 30,” my Mum always reminds me. “And I didn’t even think I could have kids.” Nothing quite like being reminded that you weren’t planned to boost morale. X-ray images on Google had informed me that rogue, travelling coils can end-up in areas of the body that no foreign object should ever be, but luckily for me, mine was just taking shelter mere millimetres out of sight.
My “missing-but-merely-hiding” coil is the symbol of my year. It’s a reminder that even amidst the chaos when we all suffered from loneliness, anxiety and stress, there was always someone silently supporting us. Support isn’t always a rampant fan, screaming and shouting from the stands. It’s often the family member that’s thinking of you but thinks you’re too busy so doesn’t call. It’s the friend that mentions your name in meetings and calls but never actually tells you. It’s the follower or subscriber that likes and shares your work but hasn’t yet commented or messaged.
With a mere seven days left in a year that has changed us all, I hope the last week provides you with a bit of rest, good food and ample naps on the sofa. Thank you for your support! Whether silent or sonorous, it hasn’t gone unnoticed :) See ya in 2021 pals x