There is no waiting period for buying a firearm in Texas, yet the state feels it is in my best interest to make me wait a month after I sign two consent forms to get sterilized. Am I the only one who thinks this is a little unfair?
The saga of my attempt to keep my oven bun-free actually started several years ago when I tried to get an IUD placed. It was a horrible experience and one that seems to have been unique to me, because I have a number of friends with the same IUD who had no problem with their insertion whatsoever. For me it was horribly painful, and the doctor told me I had an uncooperative cervix that refused to dilate. I did some research and discovered the Essure procedure, at which point I decided that I didn’t want to take any chances and that permanent sterilization was the way for me to go.
Unfortunately, the doctors didn’t see it my way. Despite my willingness to sign forms, despite my assurances that I had done my research, they said they wouldn’t do the procedure because I was “too young” (29) and I “wasn’t married.”
Well now I’m older – by the time I’m able to have the procedure I’ll have turned 34 – and I am married to someone who doesn’t want kids either. Take that, stupid doctors in Wisconsin. My procedure is even covered under the Texas Women’s Health Program, which apparently feels that if I want to get sterilized I should go right ahead and do it to save them money on feeding and clothing low-income kids. But not too quickly, obviously. Whatever. I’ll wait.
Here’s how things went down. I went for my annual lady exam last week and told the female doctor – Dr. C – that I wanted permanent birth control. She looked at my list of health problems and said I was making a smart choice and that she loves the Essure procedure but she doesn’t do them herself. So she referred me to another doctor – Dr. G – who specializes in fertility. Since he was also on the TWHP, I said sure and went off on a merry adventure across town to his office.
Once I found his office (how many OB-GYNs does one medical building need, anyway?!), I filled out some more forms and finally met Dr. G. He was a really nice guy who was very sympathetic to my experience with the IUD fiasco, and told me I have two options. He can either try to do it while I’m awake and probably fail, or I can have anesthesia in an operating room and not remember anything about it.
Because I am a person who would rather go to sleep, bypass any unpleasantness, and wake up in time for tacos, I told him I was completely fine with anesthesia. In fact, I thanked him profusely.
So after a few forms were signed and I was told that I’d have to wait 30 days before they could do my procedure, I was informed that in a month I would be heading to the ambulatory surgery clinic to finally, finally make the world a little bit more child-free. That was it. No arguments, no “you’ll want babies someday” talk, no asking for a letter from my shrink saying I’m in my right mind. Maybe because Dr. G is a fertility doctor he knows that people pretty much come to him with their minds made up, whether it’s to have a baby in spite of long odds or to keep from having babies ever. I’m just happy that he was a nice, caring guy who took my needs into account and didn’t try to push an agenda on me.
Best thing? Mister E has already promised me those tacos.