What's got into Macs today?, asks my dear reader. Let me correct you. It actually got into me 14 days ago. Wow, that's specific! How do you know that?, you question. Oh, well, I'm glad you asked. I put it there.
Let's rewind to my yearly gynae appointment in the last week of September. It went well - I was recovering from a bladder infection so I got to miss the smear test [this is the only time I will be grateful for having urethritis!], the doctor was pleasant and helpful as always, and very sympathetic to my plight. What? Oh, my plight, yes well. I wanted to change my contraceptive, to something ideally non-hormonal, or else to something with a small dose of hormones, because I'm prone to depression and would like to reduce anything that could affect it. The non-hormonal options I was interested in were shot down in seconds because I've never had kids, and even though I explained exactly how much I don't want and never have wanted any anklebiters of my own, the doc was adamant. No to the intra-uterine non-hormonal devices. I gave in when she used the words 'uterine tearing', because I am extremely squeamish [thinking about it, I'm surprised I'm fine with the sight of blood].
So then we went through all the possibilities remaining to us: hormone injection every 3 months [downside: if I react badly, there's no taking it out], contraceptive patch [downside: fly abroad or give my prescription to someone going to the UK to bring back a supply, because Malta is of course run by idiots who thinks preventing pregnancy is a bad thing, ergo a contraceptive that's only good for contraception is the devil], hormone implants [see downside to hormone injection], or other pill-type contraceptives [downside: I get sick too often for this to be reliable, reason 2 for changing contraception]. That left only one option: a vaginal ring that releases the same hormones the pill does right at the source of all potential trouble.
Here's the sales pitch: no remembering to take it daily, you just put it in, leave it for 3 weeks, remove it, let 7 days pass, then repeat. Hardly any side-effects, maybe some spotting during the first month of use, but otherwise it's perfect, especially because it doesn't cause mood swings.
-_-
You know what that face means people. You know it, I know it. Allow me to fill you in on the hell that has been my life since 5th October 2013.
Day 1: fine and dandy.
Day 2: fine and lazy.
Day 3: worry.
Day 4: worry worry. Stress.
Day 5: stress. Anger. Stress.
Day 6: stress. Anger. Anger. Anger. Stress.
Day 7: stress. Anger. Stress. Try not to cry. Misery.
Day 8: misery. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Misery. Anxiety.
Day 9: misery. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Misery. Anxiety.
Day 10: misery. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Misery. Anxiety.
Day 11: misery. Crying. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Misery. Anxiety.
Day 12: misery. Stress. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. Misery. Stress stress stress. Anger anger. Crying.
Day 13: misery. Stress. Sobbing. Stress. Anxiety. Stress. Anxiety. Sobbing. Weeping. Bawling. Sobbing. Misery. Anxiety. Crying. Try not to kill myself by driving into something intentionally. Sobbing bawling sobbing weeping sobbing crying sobbing bawling sobbing groaning. Fear of leaving the house.
*something awesome and cool happens*
Day 14: Fine. Fine. Fine. Anxiety. Fine. Anxiety. Okay. Anxiety. Stress stress stress. Okay. Anxiety. Okay. Crushing disappointment. Admit defeat. Pretend all is well. Try not to sob. Calm down enough to explain what's happening. Okay. Bitter disappointment. Frustration. Frustration. Super-frustration. Anger. Anger. Crying. Misery. Fear of seeing other people. Fear of communication. Panic attack. Anxiety. Panic attack. Crying.
If you bothered going through that, you'll have noticed the part where I said I tried not to kill myself. I haven't had seriously suicidal thoughts since I was a young teenager going through the double whammy of puberty and depression. As you can imagine, these sudden feelings of wanting to die added to my already excessive levels of panic, because if there's one thing I love it's living, and I wouldn't swap my life with someone else for anything because I really really really love my life.
Bring on resorting to the Internet. I typed in 'nuvaring causes depression anxiety' and a plethora of forum posts show up. You can imagine how sane I then felt: I wasn't the only woman turned overnight into a psychotic bitch whose crying exceeded her water intake all because of a little ring. Yay me. Then I saw the dates on the posts: 2008. 2007. 2006. 2005. 'Ah, so this bastard has been around for ages after all. Interesting.' thought I. Then: 2011. 2012. 2013. 'AHA!' And I'm thinking, how does a gynae worth her salt not know how badly this thing can affect women with a history of depression?
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to say: if you, or your lady, have had problems with your mental health, stay far away from Nuvaring. I know I'm getting rid of my supply.
Sincerely,
Macs
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