Read Online In Our Control by Laura Eldridge - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Eldridge
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regularly but never considering that otherwise unexplained changes in my health—for example, migraine headaches I had never experienced before—were due to Pill use. And I can honestly say I didn’t think much more about it.
In 1999, the way I thought about contraception changed. I had the tremendous honor of meeting and working with the great author and activist Barbara Seaman. Barbara died recently after a short battle with lung cancer and nearly fifty years of battling with drug companies, doctors, and scientists over dangerous drugs, including hormonal contraception and hormone replacement therapy.
I met Barbara as part of an internship for a women’s studies class. I fancied myself a serious feminist and jumped at the chance to work with an author who, a friend explained to me, had been an active member of the second-wave women’s movement. Imagine my surprise when on my first day of work she told me that her first book, The Doctors’ Case Against the Pill , critiqued a drug that I had come to see as synonymous with the gains feminism had made. I was about to learn that while the Pill has indeed revolutionized and improved women’s lives, the story is much longer and more complicated.
Even as I continued working and eventually writing with Barbara, I stayed on the Pill. When I found myself in a new and increasingly serious relationship with the man who is now my husband, it seemed like the natural choice. But this time, the minor inconveniences that had whispered their presence in years past began to shout at me. My moodsbecame erratic and overwhelming. My breasts swelled unrecognizably, and I shuddered to put on a bra, let alone have them touched by my partner. Most upsetting was that I began to spot each month, right around the middle of my cycle. When I spoke to my gynecologist, she suggested I switch from a low-dose to a regular-dose Pill. (I have since spoken to friends and other women in my life and have learned that an extremely high number of women spot on low-dose hormones, despite what company material suggests.)
Things weren’t much better for me on the regular dose. I began putting on weight and my moods were worse than ever, to the point where it was affecting my relationships. I felt like I was standing outside of myself, watching a body that used to be mine and that was now occupied by an emotionally charged, easily angered monster. Every time I spoke to my doctor, her answer was the same: try another Pill. And so I gradually went through five different varieties, each of which brought new problems.
Why didn’t I go off? Mostly, if I am honest, because I was scared. Not scared that I would get pregnant using another method, but scared that going off the Pill would change my sex life in a negative way. I liked the freedom the Pill gave me. And I had heard horror stories from friends about other methods.
The truth was (with the notable exception of Barbara) I was surrounded by amazing ignorance on all sides. None of my friends used anything but the Pill and condoms and none had even considered that there were other possibilities. When I began to ask about diaphragms, I couldn’t find a single girl among my friends who had used or tried one. Nor had they tried female condoms or IUDs (intrauterine device); they hadn’t even tried other hormonal alternatives, like Depo-Provera. This wasn’t because my friends were all happy with the Pill—on the contrary, most had complaints that ranged from minor to more severe—but none considered that they had other acceptable options. When people encountered problems, their response (prompted by their doctors) was, like mine, to try another brand. It wasn’t just that doctors had only one answer to the birth control problem; it was that they didn’t even like the question.
The last straw came when, on my third Pill variety in a year, I stopped bleeding altogether. I know some women might like this “side effect,” but for me it was scary. Each
In 1999, the way I thought about contraception changed. I had the tremendous honor of meeting and working with the great author and activist Barbara Seaman. Barbara died recently after a short battle with lung cancer and nearly fifty years of battling with drug companies, doctors, and scientists over dangerous drugs, including hormonal contraception and hormone replacement therapy.
I met Barbara as part of an internship for a women’s studies class. I fancied myself a serious feminist and jumped at the chance to work with an author who, a friend explained to me, had been an active member of the second-wave women’s movement. Imagine my surprise when on my first day of work she told me that her first book, The Doctors’ Case Against the Pill , critiqued a drug that I had come to see as synonymous with the gains feminism had made. I was about to learn that while the Pill has indeed revolutionized and improved women’s lives, the story is much longer and more complicated.
Even as I continued working and eventually writing with Barbara, I stayed on the Pill. When I found myself in a new and increasingly serious relationship with the man who is now my husband, it seemed like the natural choice. But this time, the minor inconveniences that had whispered their presence in years past began to shout at me. My moodsbecame erratic and overwhelming. My breasts swelled unrecognizably, and I shuddered to put on a bra, let alone have them touched by my partner. Most upsetting was that I began to spot each month, right around the middle of my cycle. When I spoke to my gynecologist, she suggested I switch from a low-dose to a regular-dose Pill. (I have since spoken to friends and other women in my life and have learned that an extremely high number of women spot on low-dose hormones, despite what company material suggests.)
Things weren’t much better for me on the regular dose. I began putting on weight and my moods were worse than ever, to the point where it was affecting my relationships. I felt like I was standing outside of myself, watching a body that used to be mine and that was now occupied by an emotionally charged, easily angered monster. Every time I spoke to my doctor, her answer was the same: try another Pill. And so I gradually went through five different varieties, each of which brought new problems.
Why didn’t I go off? Mostly, if I am honest, because I was scared. Not scared that I would get pregnant using another method, but scared that going off the Pill would change my sex life in a negative way. I liked the freedom the Pill gave me. And I had heard horror stories from friends about other methods.
The truth was (with the notable exception of Barbara) I was surrounded by amazing ignorance on all sides. None of my friends used anything but the Pill and condoms and none had even considered that there were other possibilities. When I began to ask about diaphragms, I couldn’t find a single girl among my friends who had used or tried one. Nor had they tried female condoms or IUDs (intrauterine device); they hadn’t even tried other hormonal alternatives, like Depo-Provera. This wasn’t because my friends were all happy with the Pill—on the contrary, most had complaints that ranged from minor to more severe—but none considered that they had other acceptable options. When people encountered problems, their response (prompted by their doctors) was, like mine, to try another brand. It wasn’t just that doctors had only one answer to the birth control problem; it was that they didn’t even like the question.
The last straw came when, on my third Pill variety in a year, I stopped bleeding altogether. I know some women might like this “side effect,” but for me it was scary. Each
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