How Birth Control Ruined My Life

My family doctor sat down in front of me, leaning her elbows on her thighs.

“We’ve done all the tests. We’re not going to find anything.”

Behind her, my file was displayed on the computer screen, and my eyes focused on the note, has anxiety.

My heart started to race, and I felt blood rush up to my cheeks. Something was wrong with me, and I knew it, whether my doctor wanted to believe me or not. I mumbled something, I don’t remember what, and walked out feeling worse than when I’d walked in.

As I walked home, I called my boyfriend, sobbing. There had to be an explanation for my recurring infections and kidney pain that throbbed so hard it made me cry. I wasn’t crazy, or a hypochondriac, but my doctor made me feel as though I was.

I’d done every single test under the sun: countless urine tests, blood tests, x-rays of my kidneys, ultrasounds of my uterus and urinary tract, but they all came up negative.

Birth control for me had always been an issue. I’d begun using it at the relatively late age of 18, when I got my first boyfriend. I’d gone into the clinic, and come out with a crisp new prescription to Alysena 28, which I proudly filled at the neighbouring drug store. Look at me, taking care of my body and sexual health.

Things were fine for a few months, and I didn’t notice any outward symptoms except a bit more moodiness than usual around my expected period.

One night while lying in bed at my boyfriend’s house, I felt a sharp pain in my kidney area, like a spasm. I cried out, eyes wide at this bizarre sensation and tears inexplicably ran down my face. Concerned, my boyfriend gave me a back massage, hoping it would go away. It didn’t happen again for a few weeks, and I continued to ignore it.

Then, the infections started. When the first one flared up, I didn’t know what was happening, so I did what any young adult would do and Googled my symptoms. After sifting through dozens of anxiety-inducing diagnoses, I narrowed it down to a yeast infection. After work the next day, I headed to the drugstore and bought over-the-counter medication, avoiding the cashier’s eyes as I swiped my debit card.

My mother had had reactions to birth control in the ‘80s, but I dismissed her issues to poor ingredient choices they must have had “back then.” But the infections kept coming, and getting worse.

My boyfriend’s mother, a naturopath, suggested I try a diet change and oils. She suffered from candida, and had a strict diet to help manage the symptoms. I reduced sugar and caffeine consumption, but nothing seemed to change. I didn’t want to leave the house, thinking I was the only one who suffered from these bouts of infection, but I finally broke down and went to a clinic.

Three weeks after booking my appointment, I told the my family doctor that “my birth control wasn’t working for me,” and was given a free three-month trial of the latest low-dose birth control on the market. LoLo, aptly named for its low dosage, could potentially be the right fit for me, my doctor said, handing it to me. I was probably sensitive to the hormones in birth control pills.

Going home, I felt elated. I was finally going to feel better after a six months of almost constant pain—these even had their own little cases to carry them around in discretely.

Opening up the box at home, I placed my weekly stickers on the top of the 28-pill packet, and took the first one that night. I became a changed woman—in the six months that followed, I only went to the doctor to renew my prescription. I barely even got my period to boot.

Until the infections began again.

I’d never experienced a urinary tract infection, and couldn’t understand why I had to use the bathroom so much, or why I was in so much pain. I waited it out for two agonizing days before I broke down and went to the walk-in clinic.

After a three hour wait and a urine test, I was prescribed antibiotics. The doctor and I barely exchanged a word.

I was given a list of kidney friendly foods, drank tons of water, and took cranberry supplements. I did everything “right,” but the infections kept coming. For the next two years, I became a regular at the downtown clinic and knew every doctor by name.

They didn’t know what to do with me. I was told this “wasn’t normal,” and that maybe it was kidney stones. I was given an ultrasound and an x-ray. The technician asked if I was pregnant, and when I hesitated because I hasn’t heard her clearly, loudly asked again with the door to the waiting area wide open. I walked out of their office with my head bowed.

Both tests revealed nothing, other than that I had cysts on my ovaries. I was placated by assurances that this was a common condition and that it would go away on its own–periods for me would just be a little more painful than usual.

I was at a loss. I’d become accustomed to random spasms of pain in my kidney area and crying in frustration. But according to both test results and my family doctor’s insistence, there was nothing wrong with me, and all I could do was grin and bear it.

Eventually, I found solace in an online group of women who related their issues with recurring urinary infections. I concluded that this was the price to pay for being on birth control, and despite my frustration, my insistence with my doctor wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I resigned myself that this was going to be the way it was going to be.

When I spoke with my family doctor about the possibility of this being a side effect of birth control, she cut me off, saying it was impossible.

In late summer during an out-of-town visit, I started seeing blood in my urine. Alarmed, I went to a local doctor, who took another urine sample before sending me on my way to the pharmacy. I’d attempted to convey the seriousness of my symptoms during the visit, but the clinic doctor kept her eyes fixed on her notepad, silently taking down notes on the clipboard during the five-minute visit. I was outraged at her blasé attitude. Was this not abnormal? Why had she not even bothered to explain possible causes of this symptom? I felt like another box ticked off on a long list of patients, just another number.

I made my way back to my local clinic. This time, I had written out every single symptom, visit and pain in detail. I was determined to be listened to. I handed the walk-in doctor my papers, and watched him read. I walked out with an appointment with a urologist, and a smile on my face.

Three months before the appointment, and almost four years after I’d begun taking birth control, I was in so much pain I threw my birth control in the trash.  My kidneys hurt too much, and my insides felt like they were on fire—a fire that no amount of water would put out.

The next day, I woke up without pain for the first time in almost a year. I waited for it to return, for a small stab from an unknown source, but nothing happened. The shell of a person I’d been, internalising all the pain was gone—I felt human again.

But I knew I couldn’t conceivably stop taking birth control for long. My new boyfriend said he’d gladly take a contraceptive, if any existed for males, but the only options that currently exist, aside from condoms, are vasectomies. A trial of male birth control is underway, but incomplete.

So off I went for a consultation to see if an intrauterine contraceptive device (IUD). I was recommended the Jaydess IUD, designed for women who haven’t had children yet. The small T-shaped device has the lowest hormone dosage on the market before the hormoneless copper IUD. Sitting on the examination table, I looked at the shiny new poster on the wall proclaiming its 99.6% efficiency.

After insertion, I went home blinded with pain, and had cramps that lasted a month. During a follow-up visit with the IUD specialist, I was asked “What do you think is wrong with you?” I said I didn’t know.

After another ultrasound, we discovered that not only had the device not deployed fully upon insertion, all the pressure exerted on my uterus had made one of my cysts rupture.

The IUD specialist didn’t think much of it, and felt around the area until I flinched to confirm I had blood in my body cavity. I was told to monitor the situation and to come in if I had any more issues.

Now every month, thought I haven’t had infections since the switch, I experience cramps that leave me seeing stars and have me dry heaving.

Unfortunately, my story is not a stand alone one—a simple glance at the horror stories revealed on online women’s health chat rooms prove a terrifyingly common trend in the health system. Women should be allowed to voice their concerns without being cut off or dismissed–you’d think that having women doctors would lend a sympathetic ear to womanly troubles. Unless doctors are to nurture open communication between patient and doctor, there is likely no end to this vicious cycle.

I know that for now, this IUD is but a temporary fix in maintaining my sexual health, and that my struggle to be heard will continue as I get older. To those that suffer silently like I did, keep pressing until you do—you are the one that knows your body best.