Being a woman is a beautiful thing, but let's face it, it's not always sunshine and rainbows. Dealing with periods, childbirth, and the constant pressure of contraception can make life pretty challenging at times. I recently experienced this firsthand when my second period arrived like an unwelcome guest, 18 months after giving birth to my last child. And let me tell you, I didn't fucking miss it.
But that's not all. I also started a new birth control today, and let's just say I'm not handling it well. Change, especially when it comes to things that mess with my hormones and chemistry, is not my forte. I've always been medication-phobic, even when in extreme pain, relying solely on Excedrin to manage my discomfort through three c-sections, kidney stones, and migraines. So, you can imagine how tough it was for me to make the decision to get on birth control.
After receiving the shot in my ass, I had a full-blown panic attack in the parking lot. Yes, you read that right, a PANIC ATTACK! It took me a good fifteen minutes to calm down and go to the store. But the worst part is that this is just the beginning of my journey with birth control. As women, we're constantly grappling with the burden of choosing between the risks of getting pregnant and the side effects of birth control.
Are we willing to chance blood clots, breast lumps, breathing issues, and long-term bone density loss? And those are just a few of the side effects, let's not forget the minor potential loss of life due to heart complications. But when compared to getting pregnant again and having a fourth c-section at 40, those side effects seem like a walk in the park.
So, what are my options? No "fun times" is not even an option. The pill is out, as that's how I ended up with kiddo #3. I'm not too keen on the idea of an implant or IUD, as the thought of a foreign object inside my body gives me the heebie-jeebies. And tube tying is just another surgery that I'm not eager to go through again.
That leaves the last option, which is to tell my husband to get snip-snipped. But let's be real here, that's not a decision for me to make. Just as I have full autonomy over my body, so does he. Until he decides, that option is off the table.
At this point, all I can do is hope for the best and tell myself that everything will be okay. The panic attack has passed, and I'm now sitting in my living room watching my beautiful kids play with blocks. In reality, my life is pretty amazing, and this is just a fleeting frustration.
To all my fellow womb-carrying friends, you're going to be okay too! Even though it can suck from time to time, "this too shall pass"! We got this!