Retiring My Ovaries
It’s me or your nuts on the chopping block
-Stephanie Elliot, manicmommy.blogspot.com
I’ve done some crazy things in my almost four decades, including a night where I fooled around with three guys (separately – I’m NOT THAT CRAZY) and later gave the last guy my underwear. I’ve had sex on the rooftop of a friend’s house (with my husband, so it wasn’t THAT crazy), but we went back into the party and told everyone what we had just done. I used to drink beer bongs from the ground off third-story balconies while guys who tried it would vomit. And to this day, I don’t understand why I entered a wet T-shirt contest in Daytona over Spring Break my sophomore year in college. OK, I think I just answered that question. Daytona + Spring Break during college = STUPIDITY!
But now, approaching 40, I’m ready to do something totally off the wall.
I’m going to retire my ovaries.
They are past their prime. I’m past my motherhood prime. I imagine they are shriveled raisins up in there now, just waiting it out, asking for some relief already.
I’ve had three children, and I know I’m done. The past six years, they’ve been on hold – a little T-shaped metal thing, aka an IUD, inserted inside of my body keeping them at bay, probably getting all rusty, the IUD, AND the ovaries! But now, I’m ready to make it permanent. I’m ready to get Essure, which is kind of like a tubal ligation, but less invasive.
It’s a simple, out-patient procedure where the fallopian tubes are blocked off by a spring-like micro insert that will remain in the uterus. Scar tissue grows around this insert within three months (during that time I must either choose abstinence or another form of birth control) until the doctor can recheck to make sure the barrier has been formed.
For me, I don’t see any downside to having this procedure done. I’m certain I’m not in the mood to be pregnant ever again. It’s more than 99.5 percent effective, the surgery is out-patient, and my insurance covers it 100 percent. Another plus is that I’ve got a better excuse than the old headache line that my husband has been enduring: “Honey, we shouldn’t REALLY have sex until we’re certain the Essure procedure has been tested!” (Of course, I jest!)
But why the woman and not the man go through this? We’re more reliable? We’re more likely to make the doctor calls and the insurance calls to get the ball(s) rolling? And we certainly don’t have to go back every month for six months to bring in a sample to see if our little guys are still doing the backstroke.
A few years ago, a close friend of mine chose to get her tubes tied rather than have her husband go through a vasectomy. When we all mocked her for doing this, her explanation made perfect sense to us. She said she had done the research and found insurance covered more for the tubal than the vasectomy. But what was the final decision maker to spare her husband from getting the Big V? “Why should he get to lie on the couch watching TV for a whole weekend with a bag of frozen peas on his nuts when it could be me lying there after getting my tubes tied?”
Brilliant woman, and I’m proud to call her a friend.
So, now it’s time for us to make our decision.
Yes, I could have my husband put his nuggets on the chopping block, because after what I went through by giving him three children within four years, it’s certainly his turn for some “payback pain,” but he endures enough pain every month when he opens the credit card bill. And I’m OK with making the permanence part of my life now that I’m on the verge of 40.
And really, I’ve heard the stories of the smell of burning testicles, and the imagery of a knife slicing into a part of his parts that I find kind of nice freaks me out a little bit.
There, I admitted it. I don’t want a knife near my hubby’s whamma-lamma-ding-dong!
So, I’m going to own my fertility. Or end it. And I’m not sad about it. I’ve got a beautiful family, I’ve done my part to help populate the world, and I think I’ve done so fairly and adequately. I know I’m at the age now where I can undeniably, happily, adamantly, positively say:
“I’m done having children. My family is complete.”
And if my husband wants more kids later … well, we all know his next wife will be graduating from high school soon.