So because I’ve been on the internet for about two weeks and have yet to talk about my period, sex* or my lady parts, here we go. (I think that actually might be a record, most people only last a few days!)
About a year ago, due to some medical problems that are best summed up by saying that my body hates me and never wants me to be happy, I decided to discontinue the hormonal birth control that I had been on for, oh, ever. As I’m a tender young thing of 26, I’m naturally predisposed to wanting the best sperm-blocking apparatus possible as I have absolutely no desire to a) get pregnant, b) have an abortion, or c) actually birth a live human being (ew). And so I had a long conversation with my doctor (read: she spared me 5 minutes) and did a lot of research (read: I Googled it) and finally decided on having a copper IUD inserted into my holiest of holies.** This seemed like the best way of allowing R. to still have access to what he likes to call “the happiest place on Earth”*** without having to resort to the dreaded condom. Plus, do some research of your own. The IUD is like a fucking medieval siege-repelling castle, successfully holding off legions of sperm-troops in their quest to knock down the cervical gates and force a military takeover of my uterus. Hell yes, I don’t care if it looks like a torture device, I want three.
So I had my routine appointment with the gynecologist, and then went in a few weeks later to have the actual insertion done. I was in the examination room, nervous because I’d heard it hurt and I’m a wuss, and while trying to relax on the table I decided it would be best to lay down and take a few deep breaths. So I did, and then I opened my eyes and saw this on the ceiling:
Yes, that’s exactly what it looks like. A nice little village scene on the ceiling of my gynecologist’s office, right above the table. There’s really nothing more I can say about it, except: think of England, indeed.
Just for the record, I wanted to see how many euphemisms for vagina and uterus I could use in this post. I don’t actually refer to either as my “lady parts;” they might get insulted and go on strike, and no one wants that. Next time I’ll go old-school Victorian and call them my “stomach” while gesturing wildly in the air. I hear if you get diagnosed with hysteria, you might score a free vibrator!
* I don’t think referring to an actor as “bangable” really counts as talking about sex, although I fully admit I was probably thinking about it.
** WordPress wanted to correct this to “holes” and I almost let it.
*** If by “he likes to call it,” you mean “I make him call it.”