The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has finally issued pain management recommendations for doctors, nurses, and other clinicians who insert intra-uterine devices (IUDs) in patients — but for many of us who've undergone the excruciatingly painful procedure, it feels like too little, too late.
As the Washington Post and other outlets report about the new CDC recommendations, medical professionals who administer IUDs are only being advised to counsel patients on managing the severe pain of having their cervixes dilated to insert the T-shaped contraceptive, rather than more urgently instructed to give them pain medication or local anesthetics.
That's great news for anyone interested in getting an IUD in the future. Everyone else who's suffered through the brutal pain of IUD insertion already, however, still has to live with the memory of it.
Like tons of other people, I elected to get an IUD in the wake of Donald Trump's surprise 2016 electoral victory out of fear that my home state of North Carolina, where I lived at the time, might outlaw abortion if Roe v. Wade fell, which it indeed eventually did. The decision was one I'd been weighing for a while after having heard many friends' horror stories about the incredible pain from the manipulation required for people who have not given birth — which generally is supposed to make the insertion a lot less painful — to get the device inserted and its aftermath.
In a certain light, I was lucky that my gynecologist allowed my then-partner to come in with me to squeeze my hand while I bore down and waited for the searing pain that radiated through my body, which felt like the worst menstrual cramps I'd ever experienced had been given "Hulk"-like steroids, to calm.
I'd been given little professional warning from my OB/GYN about the pain of the procedure beyond being advised to take some ibuprofen. The cramps that followed for about 12 hours after the insertion, which weren't quite as gutting but lasted much longer than the initial pain, I managed by smoking copious amounts of weed while wearing a hot pad.
Years later, I learned that not only were doctors technically able to administer local anesthetics such as lidocaine or topical numbing gel before the insertion, but that they could and sometimes did prescribe heavier-duty painkillers to take after, too. Instead of offering those options upfront, however, doctors didn't mention them — or, as some people have claimed, put the kibosh on the whole conversation.
Though one person I knew managed to find a gynecological practice in New York City that gave her local anesthetic and administered the procedure in her house for her comfort, I and most everyone else I knew considered it a foregone conclusion that it was going to hurt, and that there was nothing that could be done for it.
Though people have been sharing stories of the pain associated with IUD insertion one-on-one and on social media over the past decade as the medical industry began recommending them more and more, it seemed our cries hadn't changed much in the industry.
This year, however, something shifted as people began not only recounting their horrific IUD pain stories, but also began filming their reactions to the pain of insertion as it was happening. The videos are unsettling to watch — and it seems the medical industry and the CDC are finally taking note.
Doctors and nurses ignoring women's pain is nothing new, and if you know anything about the bloody history of obstetrics and gynecology, you'll know that it's steeped not only in misogyny but anti-Blackness as well. It seems that it took people literally recording their shrieks of pain to get the medical establishment to finally start paying attention.
Hopefully, this CDC move will give folks who want to enjoy the benefits of years of effective birth control more agency — and hopefully their doctors will start listening as well.
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