The first time I went in to get my intrauterine device, or IUD, my doctor asked me if I was in a relationship.
“Um, kind of?” I stammered. “I mean, no. But you know, I hear this is the way to go as far as, you know, protectiveness.”
“Hrm,” she said, flipping her chart closed. This was the first time I’d been to this gynecologist, who ran her practice in my tiny suburban hometown. I was 20, home from school on Christmas break, and tired of frantically eyeing the moon and waiting for my period once a month. Keep reading »