Birth Controlled

Welcome to a very special edition of My Side Piece! This week I’m sharing someone else’s story, in their words. I hope you like it!

Kitty (pseudonym) has been a friend of mine for years. Our time together is mostly spent taking goofy photos, sharing cat videos, and dancing.

To me, Kitty defines sincerity. She is quick to give a compliment, send an invite, or encourage a friend’s passion. Her heart is ever-present on her colourful - and likely glittery - sleeves.

I was surprised when she sent a series of seething texts to our group chat. Her birth control options (or lack thereof), were sending her into a rage.

“Jamie,” she said, “you should write about this in your blog.” So we set a time to chat.

Going into the conversation, I was nervous about getting her story right. Most weeks I struggle to find words for my own thoughts, and I was convinced I’d have nothing smart to ask.

But, as she started talking I realized I’d heard versions of her story before. The palpable anger over how her body has been treated and the way sex education failed her is a common feeling I have while reading the news.

The 50th anniversary of Roe v. Wade passed on January 22nd. Many women took to the streets in protest and pain. I figured there was no better time to hear a first-hand account of how abortion, access to birth control, and proper education are fundamental elements of healthcare. Hopefully, it’s a stark reminder of the burden women face every day.

I left this section in as many of her words as possible, edited for clarity and anonymity. I also removed my various tangents and rants - you get enough of those in this blog as it is.

I was put on the birth control pill at a very, very young age. Maybe 12 or 13 years old. I just had the most killer cramps ever. Like, I couldn't move at all.
The pill helped keep my flow at a manageable place, but it affected my brain. I had huge mood swings and spiralled into a very, very dark depression. I ended up having suicidal thoughts. Some suicidal attempts.
I would talk to both my doctors about it, and they would say, you know, you're just a teenager. it's normal. I decided to take myself off of the pill at 15. Of course around that same time, I started to get sexually active.
In school, I just got the stupidest videos about sex. They didn't really say straight up what they were talking about. I guess they thought if it was animated, maybe kids would follow. And I had no idea what was going on. No one ever just said A plus B equals C.
So lo and behold, I got pregnant.
I’m still with that same boyfriend now, but at that time I was not in a good mental state. We were both so young, and, I mean, your whole life is ahead of you at that point.
Before I could choose anything, I had a miscarriage.
That was really hard emotionally for me. Even though I didn't really want to have a kid, there was still a part of me that was like, oh, that's kind of sad.
I didn’t want to go back on the pill, and maybe a couple of years later, I got pregnant again. At the time, I thought there was just something wrong in my body, and my mom took me to the hospital.
I got all these tests done, and I still remember how traumatizing this was. I went to the bathroom and as I was walking back to my little curtained room, the doctor stopped me to say Kitty, you're pregnant.
She was just so nonchalant about it. It's such impactful news to get flippantly and in the hall where everybody's listening. Like, could you not have waited until I was back in the room?
I chose to get an abortion. It was a surgical kind, and I got my first IUD inserted at the same time. That was fine for a while, but it somehow shifted, and I took that as I sign that I should get it removed. And, well, I got pregnant again.
I went to a Women's Hospital for my third pregnancy. They were freaking amazing. They walked me through everything and explained it all. Just super clear, this is this, kind of breakdown. Before we moved forward with anything, they had me do an ultrasound.
While it was happening, they actually asked me if I wanted to know further information about the pregnancy. I said sure, and they told me I was pregnant with twins.
This was very shortly after two close family members died, so it was a really hard time. A weird part in my brain was just like, maybe these children are a sign from them.
Ultimately I terminated the pregnancy, but I think because there was just so much layered on that I grieved everything at once. Plus the at-home abortion was horrible. It's basically something that you're taking to push everything out of your body. It's a uterus poison. There was definitely a point where I was in the bathroom and I thought, is this how I die?
The staff at the Women's Hospital had asked what birth control method I wanted after the abortion. I looked at their list and I was like, no, no, no, no. These are all bad options.
Eventually, I chose another IUD.
I didn’t get pain meds or anything like that for the procedure. They had to have one of the nurses come in and distract me because it hurt so much and I was bleeding a lot. I remember her saying, I like your socks.
I thought, great, I'm gonna burn them after this appointment.
And then, after a couple of years, that IUD moved, too. I knew that something was up because I felt like I kept having little cramps. When I called my doctor, she said, just book an appointment with me and I'll remove it for you. But then she wasn't available for at least a month.
I was in excruciating pain. It felt like an alien was trying to get out of me and I had to go to the hospital and get it removed on the spot. I was so thankful ‘cause my boyfriend was there with me at the time. He saw how bad it got and how much pain I was in.
Before I got my second IUD, after the third time I got pregnant and my second abortion, I had asked him, hey, how about a vasectomy?
You know, I've been on this fucking rollercoaster since I was 12. I thought, Why don't you do something?
He said no. He was scared of the surgery. And I let it go. It does take a kind of act of rebellion to say, no, I can’t do this anymore.
I looked into getting my tubes tied instead. I did some research and this information just fucking blew my mind. If a woman around my age, I’m 35, or older decides to get their tubes tied there's a greater risk that there could be health complications. But if I was younger, they wouldn't let me do it anyway.
After the ordeal with my IUD, I brought the vasectomy up again and convinced my partner to come with me to see my doctor. She told us it’s a 15-minute procedure. He wouldn't even need to go under. The recovery time is maybe a week. She also said it’s not as reversible as we thought.
That made him not want to do it, even though we don’t want kids
It's just insane how many things I’ve put my body through and the world still has no better solutions, not to mention something easy for men. In every step of my birth control experience, I feel like key information was left out.
We should be able to make tube tying and vasectomies part of the conversation for younger people. If we're able to navigate transitioning conversations for kids, we could approach this in the same way. Having somebody talk you through the process, seeing a psychiatrist, and making sure it’s something you really want to do. I would have loved that option earlier.
If I never had to think about birth control…that is something my brain can't even wrap around.

Kitty’s experience is not unique. Parts of her journey mirror stories I’ve heard from countless others, and I’m sure many of you have similar accounts.

Women’s health is often treated like an annoyance. I’ve had doctors question my chronic pain, talk down to me, or make me feel like I’m not worth the time of day. Beyond those interactions, the state of birth control is enough to let us know that we aren’t a priority.

Choosing the right option is really just a game of which hurts the least, and the best information we get is from commiserating with other women. Sex education certainly isn’t cutting it. In what world is it acceptable for a 12-year-old to be told their suicidal thoughts are normal? How do we think it’s helping children to allude to sex without explaining the risks fully?

Even worse is that access and education are dwindling. Currently, bans on abortion at all stages of pregnancy are being followed in 13 states. On top of that, 19 impose limits on abortion medications.

Likely, the growing list of restrictions isn’t stopping any time soon.

After Kitty and I finished chatting, I went to a dance class. For me, the studio is a sacred place where I can move my body freely. I can be sexy without judgment and I’m surrounded by people who get how healing that can be. I sometimes wonder if the women looking for solace in their bodies are the ones who have felt the most unsafe inside them, too.

It’s one way we’ve learned to keep a bit of control.

A huge thanks to Kitty for trusting me with her story. I hope it resonated with you as much as it did with me.

Feel free to reach out with your own experience anytime!

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