This morning I signed my own consent form to have my IUD removed in the operating room.
That’s right: my appointment with the gynaecologist was just as unsuccessful as the last IUD removal attempt (except much more painful).
My uterus is, quite literally, in a vice grip around that dang little piece of plastic, and it hurts. Physically and mentally.
Third time’s a charm, right? It better be, because as much as I’d like to just wake up without IUD, I’m going to have to refuse the propofol when I go to the OR. Later that day I will be participating in my sister’s rehearsal dinner for her wedding the next day. It’s either that, or wait until September for the next opening in the OR.
(Dare I say it – if this baby ever happens… Well… I won’t say it…)