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19th August, 2008: Mirena Memories
Spat by Soulgirl at 1:36 pm | Comment here!
Upon reading blu-tones recent abuse by an endoscope, up his bottom, it brought back funny/painful memories of a relatively minor procedure I had to endure 5 years ago! The insertion of a Mirena Coil!
Suffering mood swings (that five years on are obviously nothing to do with my monthly cycle, but I had to try to find a cure right?) and really painful breasts/heavyish periods I visited my GP. Karen, why not give Evening Primrose Oil capsules a try he said. Yeah right, I want to pop greasy capsules for the rest of my fertile years… NO DAMN YOU! I want an instant cure! You’re a doctor and I’ve come here to request that you wave your magic GP wand upon my decrepit body and cure me of this evil. 
What I really said was, well, I don’t really fancy popping pills every day… can’t you just disembowel me and be done with it? His compromise was the insertion of a Mirena coil. A small device inserted via the vaginal vault straight into the womb. The difference between the Mirena and other coils is that the stalk of the Mirena is loaded with 5 years of hormones
Woohooo!
Diminishing periods to that of a peri-menopausal woman if anything at all. GIVE IT TO ME I SHOUTED! He smiles and booked me a further appointment with a female Doctor. Not that I’d asked for one but it became clear that additional schooling was required and I bet they thought a woman GP was the best bet being that most women would request a woman.
So I arrive, a week later, back at the Surgery, take my seat in the waiting room and pick up a crap Chat magazine. I have to sit there and listen to the dire conversations of parents; the screams of their children; the coughs of old folk and the stench of those present suffering with incontinence. Please call my name I thought although I’m sure I may have said it out loud and I felt eyes bore into my very being as I quickly averted my gaze back to the crappy Chat magazine.
Karen to Dr X’s room please boomed the intercom. I gathered my belongings and did a quick mental check of things I should have done prior to the appearance of my most private parts. Wash – check; clean, respectable knickers – check; clean socks – check.
I was mentally prepared and physically ready 
I tentatively knocked on the Doctors door almost as though I felt that I was being a nuisance! Why do GP surgery visits always make you feel as though you’re wasting their time? I have feelings of a shamed child having been caught shoplifting and yet I was there to ease my own personal day to day functioning though I was feeling uncomfortable and demanding.
I entered and broke a smile… not the only thing I broke but I’ll get to that later. In fact, I think the smile may have been a grimace as I witnessed, lain before me, the paraphernalia that was to assault my privacy! So Karen, it’s a Mirena coil you’re having then? I nodded in a manner saved for those in the Dock, embarrassingly admitting to unlawful wrongs committed and awaiting the Courts verdict on a befitting sentence. Karen, get a grip, it’s just a fucking coil!
So Karen, if you’d like to get yourself ready behind the curtain. Remove your ‘panties’ and cover yourself with the blanket. Hang on! Why do they always refer to knickers as panties? That’s rather sexual if you ask me an I stopped wearing panties years ago. I’m wearing grown up knickers for gods sake. As though they give a damn what knickers you’re wearing I wore a pair of my ‘best’ ones – well, I want to give a good impression; one that shows I do care about myself and that perhaps I was thinking in the back of my mind that I may have been run over on the way to the surgery 
Alas, my best knickers were nothing but a discarded pile of black lace on the surgery floor where I also left my dignity in a crumpled heap of shame.
I laid upon the leather bed, creasing the cheap tissue covering, still with my socks on! It’s ok, they were plain black and detracted nothing from the personal space I was about to bare to the GP and her Chaperone.
The curtain flickered briefly before being thrown back. I thought at any time a spotlight was going to turn on and CanCan kicking girls were going to parade past me whilst the GP donned her latex gloves squeezing profuse amounts of KY on to the first two digits of her right hand.
OK Karen, draw your knees up and flop your legs open… try to relax. Yeah, right. A sight I normally save for intimate relations with my Husband were now required in front of two people I didn’t know at all! Like a child I responded to her request and felt as though I was standing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus in my Birthday Suit! I tried to think of other things. Anything. Alas, her slippery gloved hand was assaulting my very core.
Next up was the dreaded speculum! Cold, frigid, metal objects that can only be described as bullet shaped vices! More copious slatherings of KY and in it went. Crack crack crack (ironic but true), she cranked open the speculum. GUSH! Enough air to maintain a complete space mission for a year entered my somewhat small love tunnel affording her the necessary view and access to my uppermost reachable privacy – the cervix.
After checking that everything felt ‘right’ she proceeded with the insertion of the foreign object.
First up was a conical shaped instrument. Well, the cervix is closed shut… like a crabs arse. They need to open the cervix in order to insert the coil.
Fucking hell… sweet Jesus! The pain was excruciating. I think she was a magician; with slight of hand had swapped the somewhat small looking conical instrument for a fucking chainsaw!
I couldn’t help myself. I let out a loud groan followed by a ‘fucking hell!’. Please Karen, don’t swear she said. Please doctor, don’t cut me in half I pleaded in retort. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, groaning, grimacing, desperately trying not to swear out loud. I could feel the resistance on the cold metal as my muscles went to work trying to protect me against the entry of something that should not have been there! I’m sure my arse was tweaking like a 40 watt speaker yet I was rendered helpless as I remained cranked open as wide as the Mersey Tunnel. I remember shouting out, I’D RATHER GIVE BIRTH TO A HIPPO, but my vocal complaints went unnoticed and they carried on with their legal torture. My heightened responses certainly heard the winking flaps of eyelashes as they inflicted their pain upon me. Talking of wildlife, like an elephant, I shalln’t forget your actions toward me.
The process of opening the cervix took 7 weeks. Well, that’s what it bloody felt like. I laid there thinking back to the birth of my first child and the labour pains that lasted 7 hours. After 7 hours I was holding a beautiful baby albeit ripped apart but holding a perfect baby all the same. But this, what was I left with? A tummy ache to beat all tummy aches. As though she hadn’t inserted anything but rather pulled my womb from my body, danced the ‘twist’ over it, laughed heartily and popped it back in. Cheers for that.
The final insult was yet to come. What goes in must come out right? The speculum was ‘wound down’ and rather than remove it slowly she obviously thought quick was quaint. Cheers for that. All that air was left inside! As she left my side intimating that I might leave the bed and pop my ‘panties’ back on the pressure of moving from flat-back to upright expelled the trapped air and I sat there mesmerised by the length of the note that was emitted! Louis Armstrong could not have acquired such a long and sustained ‘in tune’ emission if he had tried. It was deafening and adulating at the same time 
It was a Fanny Fart to mother all Fanny Farts. I felt a whimpering giggle start from my cervix upwards.. it reached my stomach and exploded from my lungs, and out through my voice box to fill the room with raucous laughter. They both just stood there looking at me with a scornful expression. Jesus, lighten up I thought… save me from my embarrassment and join in! Please! I slipped on my ‘panties’, pulled up my now ridiculous black socks and adorned myself with my staid black trousers. I left the room without opening the door… I glided right under it I felt so small. Like a whisp of air I evacuated the surgery. If only the air escaping from my void had been so respectable I might have felt better. Paaarrrrp 
I had been assaulted, set upon, humiliated and tortured as a willing participant.
I can’t complain that much though, after around 8 months it started to do what it said on the tin and for the next 4½ years I’ve been very happy with my companion. 5 years is up now and last week the nurse said it was time for a replacement. Yeah, right! I looked at her through slitted eyes and said ‘why fix what ain’t broke?’ She read between the lines and knew where I was coming from 
It was a recent recall to the surgery for a routine smear… I’ve put it off since said incident, and I said to the nurse, I don’t care if this fucking coil gets buried with me… it’s not coming out and nothing else is going back in. I’m a WW2 bunker. Shop’s shut – no room at the Inn and the War’s over! She nodded in appreciation of what I was trying to convey 
So, there you go… my very own ‘procedure’ experience 
2008 Update!
Well, I bit the bullet so to speak, and had my Mirena replaced today! By a different doctor…. Dr Garland. I want to say that this particular experience was wonderful although that doesn’t sound appropriate.
We, the Doctor, Chaperone Nurse, and I had a great laugh and she was careful to remove the speculum slowly so’s to save my embarrassment this time round. They made me laugh so much I thought I was going to spit that speculum right out across the room
Anyway, really no pain at all and she even said she’d refer me to an Orthopaedic about my poorly big toe at my 6 week check-up!
Therefore, what went before obviously isn’t necessarily what follows… and for the benefits a Mirena brings, it’s all worth it anyway.
Happy coiling and here’s to another 5-6 years period free!
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