CW: health issues and sexual violence

When Trump was elected as President in 2016, I was afraid that condoms wouldn’t be enough. As an 18-year-old in Florida, relying on something that could break or fail needlessly increased my anxiety, and was honestly impacting my sexual and mental health. I do want to be a mom someday, but I wasn’t ready at the time. But despite that feeling- if abortion was outlawed in Florida, or even worse, in the entire country, I wouldn’t have had a choice. I have an auto-immune disorder and other chronic health issues, so having a baby while entering college would have changed the trajectory of my entire life in ways I was not mentally, fiscally, or physically prepared for. I am hopeful that I can have a healthy child someday, but certainly not eight years ago. I decided to be responsible and get a more permanent method of birth control to use in addition to condoms and an ovulation tracker in order to be as careful as possible. 

As I have health issues and high breast cancer risk in my family, I was advised to not use birth control methods that have hormones, so I decided on the single non-hormonal option, a copper IUD. I went to my gynecologist in early 2017 and explained that I wanted the Paraguard. I had already gotten approval from my insurance, my boyfriend was made aware, and my mom went with me. My gynecologist unfortunately did not give me the answer I was expecting. She told me that she was happy to prescribe birth control pills, the patch, shot, or hormonal IUD. I explicitly mentioned only being able to use non-hormonal options, and she responded that as a practicing Catholic, she refused to insert a copper IUD. She argued that hormonal birth control methods could have been used for improving acne or helping with irregular periods, but since the copper IUD’s only purpose was to prevent unwanted pregnancy, and I was not married, she would not ‘allow me’ to get one at her practice. For a bit of backstory, my former gynecologist is an OBGYN. She was my mom’s midwife when she gave birth to me. I had seen this doctor, who I was close to, for my entire life. When I was molested as a child and the police were called. When I got my first period. When I was sexually assaulted as a teenager and told no one else. But for the first time in my life following years of abuse, I was learning what it was like to be happy to be in a safe, loving sexual relationship with a long-term partner.  Naturally, I left in tears. She told me a lot of things that I won’t repeat here, but needless to say, my mom and I have both found new doctors since. What I will tell you, is that as someone who experienced repeated sexual abuse during their entire childhood, to be called a slur by a doctor for wanting contraceptives once I was finally engaging in consensual sex, was a level of shame and hurt that is too painful to write down. 

Eventually, I got the copper IUD inserted at a Planned Parenthood. They were incredibly gentle and made the experience as pleasant as something incredibly painful and traumatic could be. They explained the risks in a way that made me feel safe and aware. They helped me feel empowered and acknowledged that the choice I made was for my own health, and I had no reason to have any negative feelings around my decision. They asked my favorite band and played music during the procedure and offered me snacks before and after. 

Soon after I left for school in another state, which was something I wanted for a long time. I was born and raised in Florida and wanted out my entire life. I applied to schools that were only in the Northeast and went to the one that gave me the largest scholarship, the University of Vermont. While obtaining my bachelor’s degree, I had to see a lot of doctors for my health issues. I remember dreading coming home on breaks for check-ups, wishing I could see my Vermont doctors instead. They were all sensitive and kind. They took my concerns seriously. They didn’t tell me that it was “just anxiety”. I felt heard and seen. I had never lived in a liberal state before. It was incredibly refreshing, albeit very sad, that I had to go 1,500 miles away to get the level of care and compassion that I deserved. As much as I would love to say that having the IUD was a painless and rewarding experience, I unfortunately cannot. I had issues with my IUD throughout the years I had it. Any time I had one of these issues, the Planned Parenthood in Vermont brought me in the same day, sometimes even after hours if I was in discomfort. The one time I saw a doctor in Florida for a yeast infection, unrelated to the IUD, they recommended “while they were down there anyway” that I trim the IUD strings so my partner wouldn’t get poked. As quintessentially Florida as it gets- I came in with pain, and before even acknowledging my experience, they advised I make a change so that my male partner was more comfortable. 

For about a week in February of 2019, I was having a lot of lower abdominal pain. I assumed it was a UTI and made an appointment to go to Planned Parenthood the following Monday. Due to my history, I had a very strong pain tolerance. I thought broken bones were sprains, and an ulcer was a period cramp, so I didn’t think anything out of the ordinary was wrong. As I endure waiting for Monday to come, serendipitously, my roommate had a health issue and asked me to drive her to Urgent Care. Since I was driving her anyway, I decided to get checked out for my presumed UTI. The urine test came back negative, so they asked if they could do a physical exam to check for any infections. I agreed and the test proceeded. I anticipated a yeast infection or something similar since that had been a pattern for a while. What I did not expect was the doctor double checking my paperwork before confirming that I had an IUD. I still remember the feeling of my heart sinking to my stomach. I explained that the strings were trimmed, and it may be possible that it was there, but could not be identified due to the short strings. They recommended to see a specialist just in case, as if my pain was not from a UTI or infection, it may have been due to my IUD expelling, which is rare…lucky me. Urgent care was unable to proceed with any treatment as they were closing for the night. I called the OBGYN wing of the hospital attached to my university, and they were not able to bring me in due to being at capacity. They said I could go to the ER, but I couldn’t afford it. I called Planned Parenthood, and one doctor agreed to stay after hours and told me to get there ASAP. My friend and I still joke that her ear infection could have saved my life. 

I raced to Planned Parenthood, hypochondria running wild. I told my mom and boyfriend what was going on and went in alone. After taking my vitals and doing a scan, they determined I needed emergency surgery. I had a 102-degree fever, and they had a feeling they needed to remove the IUD as soon as possible. I was given sedation and woke up confused, scared, and now, actually in a lot of pain. After all I had been through, why was this happening to me? Why couldn’t I just take the pill like everyone else? Why had the one non-hormonal option failed me? They brought me a hot towel, a stuffed animal to hold, a fluffy blanket, and water. The doctor held my hands as she told me that the IUD had displaced and ruptured my uterine wall, leaving a hole and a severe amount of internal bleeding. I still get emotional when I think about it. Her holding me as I cried. How she explained that if I waited longer to come, I could have become infertile, or even died from organ failure or sepsis. She commended me for getting help when I needed it. The doctor left the room for me to get dressed, and the world around me went blurry upon an intense realization. I had seen my boyfriend exactly two months beforehand. If the IUD had already expelled at the time, it would not have prevented a pregnancy. I could have gotten pregnant, and because of this issue, it would have been ectopic. If my IUD expelled when I was at home in Florida, if I was pregnant, and if I needed a medically necessary abortion for an ectopic pregnancy- I could have died. I could have died because doctors in Florida could have refused to perform an abortion if it was passed 6 weeks. Fortunately for me, these concerns were simple “what if’s”. I was in a blue state, I had access to emergency care, and I received the treatment I needed because it was medically necessary, regardless of people’s opinions on the matter. 

I drove back to my apartment in excruciating pain, clutching my coat and holding my abdomen, which now had 5 stitches. My professors were all understanding, and I rested and recuperated over the next few days. A month later I went home on spring break. I had a checkup with my at-home gynecologist, and I explained what happened. While significantly more positive than my previous Florida gynecologist, they expressed little sympathy and gave me a brochure of progesterone pills to consider. 

When someone gets an abortion, people are very quick to pass judgement. “Just keep your legs closed”, “fatherless behavior, “never heard of a condom before”, and even more heartless and deplorable expressions. Head over to The Center for Reproductive Rights’ social media pages, you’ll be disturbed. The thing is, even if abortion wasn’t made illegal, it was still a complete last resort for me. Pre and post-IUD, I was always using 3 methods of birth control to be safe. Call me paranoid if you wish, but I was not prepared to risk a child being born without the strength and resolve to give it the life it deserved. It was my right to make that choice as a 22-year-old, as it still should be my right today as a 27-year-old, and for 30-year-olds, 40-year-olds, and teens across the nation.  

I have been fighting for reproductive rights in Florida my entire life and I will never stop. There is power in numbers, and I am not the only one who feels betrayed by the state. It’s time to take our power back. I am incredibly fortunate that I was able to get the help I needed. The “what if’s” remained purely hypothetical. What if I had an ectopic pregnancy? What if the damage made me permanently infertile? What if I couldn’t get an abortion? What if I couldn’t get help in time and got a fatal infection or bled out? But what about all the people who live in Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, or another state that outlawed abortion with few exceptions, or even worse, none at all? What about those who can’t afford to travel to another state, or don’t have access to a neutral provider like Planned Parenthood? Would they have died? 

Would our government even care if they did?

about the author

Loret Haas is a graduate of the University of Vermont and Florida International University. She primarily writes research articles and content for nonprofit-related work, but could not pass up the opportunity to write for something so important. Thanks to the editors of this journal for giving us a voice to stand up for the future of Florida.