Diaphragm Daze

I have over-shared my honest-to-God diaphragm experience with two trusted individuals in my life. Both have indicated a strong desire to share this story with others, so I thought I’d be the first to over-share this experience with my blog audience. Warning: Ew factor ahead.

On Christmas Day, the day Christians around the world celebrate the birth of the sweet baby Jesus, I stopped using the birth control pill. No longer could I tolerate the side effects, like DD boobs, acne flair ups, irregular periods, yeast infections, flattening emotion, and water retention. I was just done with it, despite the fact that Joe is still not ready to let go of my DD breasts (quite literally).

Don't worry – I’m not pregnant.

So, earlier this month I went into my primary care provider, a former hippie wearing brown Dansko clogs, who finally convinced me to switch to a diaphragm. Yep, that's right, Kristjan is going old school.

Have you ever experienced inserting and removing a silicon diaphragm multiple times in front of a health care professional? It's a bit awkward, but being the go-getter than I am, I hopped to it. Hand me a silicone object that looks like Yakama for Jewish gnome and an ounce of lube and I shift into over-achiever gear. In fact, it turns out that I’m an old pro at removing and inserting a diaphragm thanks to my experience in college with a disposable DivaCup-like feminine hygiene product that I purchased at Target. The other women on my floor even christened me with the nickname "Cup Girl.”

Standing in front of my doctor with the paper gown falling to the floor beneath me, I inserted the diaphragm for the first time in less than two minutes. Two minutes! Other novices take up to 45 minutes. A+ for Special K (another college nickname of mine).

I proudly strutted out of Dr. Erhardt’s office with my new 65mm diaphragm prescription. What I didn't realize is that obtaining a diaphragm and an inexpensive spermicidal lubricant in a simple 3.8 ounce tube takes a lot of searching in the Twin Cities Metro Area. Not to mention complete unflappability. My health insurance plan doesn't cover a prescription for the device and, apparently, Walgreen’s Pharmacy doesn't stock diaphragms or spermicidal lubricants in simple 3.8 ounce tubes. But they do have the Sponge in stock. Also, the pharmacists I talked to tend to think that diaphragms don't exist anymore. This is somewhat true, considering that only 0.2% of American women use a diaphragm. However, after an extensive web search on the topic, I learned that several reputable feminist contraceptive organizations are all about the diaphragm. It appears to be the next best thing to speculums & self exams.

Anyway, so I went to my local Walgreen’s Pharmacy with my prescription in hand thinking this will all be really quick. In and out in less than five minutes, just like my practice sessions in front of Dr. Erhardt. Nope. The pharmacist called their supplier on speaker phone, but thankfully used the National Drug Code (NDC) number instead of repeating, "Diaphragm. Yes, I said, Diaphragm. DI-A-PHRA-MMMM." That was kind. So Walgreen’s ordered my 65mm diaphragm and asked me to return the next day to retrieve it.

When I returned, however, the Walgreen's pharmacists knew that the diaphragm was in stock, but no one knew where the supplier had put it. I had a few ideas about where they could put it, but I didn't share my comments aloud. All I wanted was to go home and have uber-protected, non-baby-making sex with my condom-wearing husband. But no dice.

So I returned last night for a second time. I again searched the shelves for spermicidal lubricant and got in the pharmacy line with my big box of spermicide that comes in individual applicators, waiting for my turn at the Walgreen’s Pharmacy counter. And I kid you not, but right when it was my turn to approach the counter, a pharmacist called out over the loud speaker, "Mr. Sieman, your prescription is ready."

Seconds later, Mr. Sieman tapped me on my shoulder and cut ahead of me in line, "I'm Tim Sieman. I was paged over the loud speaker."

And I muttered, my arms brimming with spermicide, "Go ahead. I can wait." Mr. Sieman raised an eyebrow.

Then it was my turn to approach the pharmacist for my prescription, with my arms loaded with applicators full of spermicidal lubricant. I sighed to the man behind the counter, "The irony of this situation is not lost on me. I’m Kristjan Selvig and I’m here to pick up my prescription."

The pharmacist retrieved my prescription, raised an eyebrow, rung me up at the cash register, and then said, "Have a good one."

"I always do," I responded.