I was never the kind of person to have regrets. I thought it was a waste of energy to focus on the past; its steady and never changing, so what’s the point of putting the little brain power I have left to try and change it? Just move on and focus on the future. Right? That’s what I’d always thought. But everything is different know. I have a regret.
Ok, not everything is different. I still have the same perfect husband, drive the same green Ford Escape. Our dogs still ruin everything in our house and bananas are still my favorite food group. But I’M different. I’m not the same as I was before this. The way I react to things, the way I see the world. My future plans. My dreams and wants and hopes and desires and dang it even my eating habits.
I’m just not the same.
I thought it would be harmless. ‘Just a piece of plastic‘, the blonde lady doctor told me. She had a sweet smile, a mother’s smile, so I trusted her and her multiple college degrees. I said sure, I agree. ‘Go ahead‘!
I couldn’t even make it to the 5 year mark. About 3, to be exact.
The first two years were fine, I was so caught up in the excitement of life and all the changes that were happening. But then life slowed down and routines form and life becomes this steady pace and you finally have time to think and notice when things aren’t exactly normal.
Still, everything was good. Everything was fine. I didn’t even notice it was in me, to be honest.
But, just like a lot of ‘good things’, it came to an end. Slowly, my body started to crumble. And please, do not misunderstand me. Since the age of 9 I was used to the smell of hospital hallways and the cold touch of a busy doctors hands. I was not a ‘healthy’ lady. It’s just that, I wasn’t really any worse, for the most part. And heck, with my history of medical issues, eating disorders and drug use, you can’t really blame my body for being rather dysfunctional.
Ok, back to the point. What I’m trying to say is that around the 2.5 year mark or so, things started to get messy. I’d have to lay in bed all day when my Aunt Flo came to visit. I’d be curled up in a tiny ball for hours at a time, waiting for the cramps to stop. And Aunt Flo wasn’t just a once a month visitor. Oh no. She came often, once she came four times in the same month. And she was mean.
Each time before her visit my body would become this messy, useless bag of bones that was ALWAYS nauseous. And I don’t mean, like, just a little bit nauseous. This nausea was the kind where you can’t even button your own pants or open your mouth to speak. This was the kind of nausea that made you seriously contemplate asking your local vet to euthanize you so you could just end the pain of it, once and for all.
It was bad.
So then I started the research. I googled for hours on end, learning all about the horrors of what this little piece of plastic really is. And it is not innocent. It is cruel. Oh, and of course the makers of the device don’t tell you that. In fact, they will deny all accusations against it. Taking accountability isn’t their strong suit.
So, of course, i did what any respectable stable-minded, non-liberal would do; I got rid of it.
It was the last week of September and the leaves were turning that pretty golden color that everyone is obsessed with. Life was good. I mean, ok, I still felt absolutely rubbish, but once I get this thing removed I’d be back to my not-so-great-but-what-I’m-used-to health. The internet never said anything about being sick still, after it was taken out. Or so thought.
So there I am, butt-naked with this 60 year old Doctor telling me he will get it out in less than 30 seconds.
I tell him ‘Ok, go ahead‘.
But inside my head, i say ‘Deep breath Courtney, you will feel better soon, he’s got the strings, OUCH! is it out? Ok, it’s out. Close your legs. Where are my pants? Praise the Lord that this out, now I can get back to normal. Ok seriously, close your legs .’
I found my pants and put them on, and my husband walks me out of the hospital. And then I think he drove me to go get fries.
We get home, I put on my P.Js and I sleep for a solid 10 hours. Then it happens. I’m woken up by the worst nausea I’ve ever, ever had. All I can do is sit there cry. For hours. It was so unbearable, much much worse than before it was removed, and I didn’t even think that was possible. Fast forward 8 hours. That’s when the vomiting started. Uncontrollable, indescribable, vomiting. And it didn’t stop once my stomach was completely bone-dry. It continued on in dry heaves that leave you breathless. They got so painful that I began slamming down water, so that when I puked there’d at least be some substance to it.
Oh, and the bleeding. I’m no stranger to the heavy perio… Aunt Flo’s, I’m really not. She’s always been heavy, even with that stupidevilpieceofPLASTIC in me.
But this was so, so different. I would be sitting on the toilet and it would just run out of me. Any one listening would have thought I was urinating. It would just pour out. So much blood that when I stood up, you couldn’t even SEE the bottom of the toilet bowl. It was so red. It lasted for weeks.
I felt like I couldn’t go anywhere. I just stayed home all day with piles of fabric and cotton between my legs, throwing up and just being exhausted.
Then went my vision. Everything became such a blur. At first i thought it was because I was becoming too sick to even sleep more than a few hours. I just blamed it on my sleep deprivation. But it was non-stop, even after waking up from a nap. Reading, watching a YouTube video, everything became this daunting task because everything I looked at was a blur. I became, in a way, hopeless. I’m a devout Christian, and I know that God has a plan for me, but I truly felt so hopeless and couldn’t see the point in living.
One or two days, I felt a little better and the bleeding wasn’t as heavy. I even told my pregnant hippie friend Ava that I think I’m getting better, that the storm is behind me. I was even able to go on a little shopping date with my husband (but, of course, slept and cried from the nausea on the way home). Then the next day would come and it would get even worse than before. I wasn’t getting any better.
The doctors ran a few basic blood tests, confirmed I wasn’t dying of Ebola or the flu, and came to tell me the news.
‘We have determined that it is , indeed, from the Mirena removal. Your body isn’t reacting well to having it taken out. Nothing wrong with the Mirena, it’s just YOUR body reacting poorly. Your body became dependent on it, now it’s totally lashing out.’ That didn’t make me feel any better.
Eventually the bleeding stopped. The nausea, vomiting, dehydration, and blurry vision? That’s still there. Now my life is just a constant slew of doctors, IVs, prescriptions, and crying. They told me that they could put me on more hormones and that would help a little. Then they decided against it, because it has the chance of making me even worse. So they said I have to just ride it out. Said it can take up to half a year for my body to feel better. In the mean time, they’ve put me on three medications so that I can eat and drink again, and sleep. So now I’m just a drugged up, sad, walking zombie, having to have blood tests every few weeks to monitor my hormones…. All because I chose to get the Mirena IUD.
I regret it. I regret it so much.
I am a firm believer that if you trust God, lean on Him, that He will use every crummy situation you’re in for the better. But I just think, if I had listened to Him all those years ago, if I had just chosen a different birth control, my life would be so, so much different.
I used to have dreams of starting a family, of maybe starting my own little side business and of going on all sorts of adventures. Now all I can dream about is feeling better some day, to feel normal again. And I’m not the only one who had to experience this from getting the Mirena removed. There are many women out there who went through the same thing, or things even worse than me. This piece of plastic is not innocent.
Please, never, ever, get the Mirena IUD.