KT (Kayte) Walsh
CREATIVE  PRODUCER | WRITER | MEDIA SPECIALIST 

By: KT Walsh | 2011

The Diaphragm Experience: The Top

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Alright people, today we are going to talk about contraception. Family planning is essential, just ask the 16 year old who’s got to tell her parents she’s eating for two. That’s a priceless look from dad. I’ll send an important message about birth control: during childbirth tearing the perineum is likely. Yeah, that’s from one hole to another, and if you were paying attention in anatomy class you know there’s only three down there. Chew on that, then tell me you still feel weird about insisting he wears a condom. And if you still are uncomfortable talking about contraception, maybe you shouldn't be enjoying sex at all just yet? 

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However, we all agree, it really DOES feel so good without a rubber. I say, if you’re STD free and so is he, that’s one little diver that won’t be needing his wetsuit. This is where my dilemma lies: what form of contraception is best for me, ahem–excuse me, for us? See, I have this winter boyfriend, Mr. Right Now. I am single-ish, and don’t judge me just because I like to keep a man around during the cold months as a personal heater and to lift heavy things from the car to the house. Plus casual sex partners become less frequent when it’s too chilly to wear a bikini. One of my favorite things that Mr. Right Now and I have in common is above average physical agility. When we became exclusive after the first frost we got tested and I’m happy to report that both of us are squeaky clean. The problem is neither one of us have enough money for birth control in this country, so… I guess that makes us pretty good parents? KIDDING! Last winter after I retired that season’s boyfriend I went off my oral contraceptive and experienced some complications, therefore I’m a little weary of getting back on the hormonal bucking bronco.

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Don’t get me wrong, the pill (who just had its 50th birthday last year) is one of the greatest inventions/discoveries of all time. Woohoo! Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Just set an alarm on your phone, carry around a little compact of hormones, swallow a pill no bigger than a nugget of granola, and PRESTO! Babymaker temporarily out of order. And now, the pill isn’t just a pill, you have more hormonal options than ever before. You got your 4 bloody marys per year kind, the 3 day light flow kind, the shove a ring up my vag kind, the patch kind (which seems like advanced sorcery), the shot in the ass kind, the never ever have a period ever kind, and all that shits basically fool proof. You got to really be brain dead mess up today’s birth control. But as with all prescriptions now, no matter what brand, it comes with a laundry list of side effects waiting to pounce on you and your little uterus. I can’t tell you how many of my girlfriends I’ve this conversation with, and chances are if you have complaints, you’re on the wrong kind.

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Think about it, hormones in birth control basically tells your body it’s got a bun in the oven. No wonder you have weird food cravings, irrational mood swings and a decrease in sexual appetite, your eggo think’s your preggo! I’m no doctor, but that seems a little backwards. Most GYNs say your body gets used to the cycle of hormones and the side effects will even out after a few months, but even after being on it for a couple of years, I was still crying at fabric softener commercials and my lbs had climbed the scale faster then an 8 year old boy climbs a rope in gym class. After going pretty much bat-shit crazy, I bought a cosco-sized box of condoms and swore off synthetic hormones. Of course, once off the pill I became hornier than ever, and being newly single, that plan kinda backfired.

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Let’s fast forward to the current predicament. I need to have great condomless sex, but I should not become pregnant. I'm unmarried, 27, I live in a studio apartment, and my car isn’t exactly reliable. Not the best environment for child rearing. I don’t want to go back on the pill. Between now and when I originally went off it, I skipped over 8 periods. Let me tell you, 8 months without a monthly visitor equals a lot of pregnancy tests and psychosomatic insanity. The sad part was, it would have had to be the Immaculate Conception because I was going through a bit of a dry spell. As a result I learned it’s impossible for your vibrator to induce a baby bump. My gyno just loves my introspective questions. The thought of becoming a blubbering PMS case and gaining 10lbs in my boobs, combined with fact the pill basically made me barren for a year drove me to research other options. Meanwhile, Mr. Right Now and I are exercising the “pull out” method, which I know doesn’t work if he gets prematurely ecstatic.

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I took the webMD “what contraceptive is best for you” test online. Turns out, the “pull out” method is actually pretty effective when “practiced correctly,” but it’s not something that a woman could ever know for sure was “practiced correctly.” A barrier method was rated best for me, even though it’s not as effective as hormones by about 8%. I happen to think that 8% is a lot when the consequence is harboring a uterine parasite for 9 months just to have it shoot out your twat after it grows to the size of a football. An IUD would be a dream if I had the funds, because I don’t want to even think about incubating offspring until I’m 32. But that’s not realistic for my current bank statement, the calendar thing is risky because sometimes I barely know what day of the week it is and all that additional stuff about taking your temperature and monitoring the mucus-ness of your discharge. Also, just the thought of a female condom is foul. So… diaphragm it is!

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***Please note, this is a two-piece post, like a bikini As always, comments and discussion on these hot topics are encouraged.

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The Diaphragm Experience: The Bottom

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Believe it or not, humans have been trying to have sex without consequence since before the first recorded condom in 3000BC. I’m going to spare you the description of the first prophylactic because you’ll cringe at the thought. The barrier method was very popular across the globe as well. Ancient African women used plugs of chopped grass or cloth, Japanese prostitutes employed balls of bamboo tissue paper, Islamic and Greek thought wool would be a good idea (though rough and itchy), linen rags were used by Slavic women, even a concoction of crocodile dung and honey was thought very progressive. As early as 1838 the first diaphragm was born of vulcanized rubber (angels singing).

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Back in those days, abortion was also a very popular choice until it was declared murder by Pope Pius IX in 1869. Then there was all that junk the church spewed about sex being immoral if practiced for pleasure. Ahem... What else would you practice it for? Today’s society seems to think that people weren’t having recreational sex before the 1960s, but if cavemen were wrapping their dongs in fish bladders, I think there was some ancient hanky panky going on.

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After the church came down hard on sex (that’s what she said) birth control was illegal all together in the US. Gasp! It wasn’t until 1938 was the law deemed unconstitutional, 65 years after the ban. I’m going to take this moment to give a shout out to my girl Margaret Sanger, a devoted Suffragette who dedicated her life to making birth control available by prescription to anyone who desired it. She also is responsible for raising the money for the pill. If she were alive today I’m certain there would be a parade in her honor. She should have her own day with a long weekend so the good people of this country can fornicate.

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Enough with the history lesson and back to my own diaphragm experience. Although it’s 8% more chancy then taking hormones, a diaphragm is incredibly cost effective. Each ‘phragm is less then $70 and can be used for up to two years. My Ortho-Tri-PMS prescription was costing me upwards of 50 bucks a month! I convinced myself further on the barrier by doing some more math. A diaphragm when used correctly with spermicide is 11% more effective then withdrawal and natural family planning so I figure if I use the diaphragm AND I keep my calendar-o-ovulation AND he pulls out during risky times, the three combined will be just as effective if not more then getting my tubes tied. Seems right to me. I discussed this with Mr. Right Now and he was cool with it so I marched on into my gynecologist's office and asked for a fitting.

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My doctor was delighted to hear that I wanted a little flying saucer of my own given the hormonal hell I had gone through previously with my missing period. Best not to mess with the cycle. He was down there doing his thing asking me the usual questions, “How’s the job, How’s your parents” etc. When he asked me what I was doing for New Years, but he cut me off and said, “I know, you’re going to be using your new diaphragm!”

I started laughing hysterically right there on the table in my paper robe. What can I say, he knows me.

Next was the search for spermicide, which there seems to be a shortage of. We must have gone into five different drug stores. We gave up and decided to erotically read each other the diaphragm directions instead, which are quite lengthy. Sexy time turned off when I learned about the huge risk of UTI. If you’ve had one, you know you need a prescription to get rid of it, and there is nothing worse then to ALWAYS feel like you have to pee really really badly. As we’ve covered, prescriptions are expensive, so I promptly bought a cranberry supplement when I went out to get the calendar for family planning. This is lot of hoopla just to replace the pill.

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Over the next couple days I read up on the ‘phragm and devised the insertion strategy. I came across something I didn’t expect: there is nothing sexy about excusing yourself to go put a silicone cup in your vagina. When it came to game time I said in my most seductive whisper, “let me slip into something more… protective.” With that I marched off to the bathroom. No, he was not going to get a show! Not the first time anyway. I got my directions out and lubed it up with the spermicide. Note of caution: it will be very slippery, be sure to have the lid to the toilet seat down.

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So there I am wrestling with the slippery little bugger, trying to follow the step by step illustrations with my leg practically over my head, and having no real idea what I’m doing. There is some real choreography you have to execute in order to get it in the right spot, which is covering your cervix. I was told your cervix should feel like the tip of your nose, but I don’t think that’s what it feels like at all. I emerged from the bathroom with bad lunch face and said, “I think you’re going to have to check my work.”

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Mr. Right Now tried to make it fun launched into some role-playing where he’s the professor and I’m silly coed. Now that I think about, he may have mocked me for his own amusement. Regardless, I was feeling more comfortable when he started going down on me and confirmed everything was in place. The during part was fine, I couldn’t even feel it, and the only complaint from him was that he thought the spermicide made his tongue numb. So I guess we did everything right. There’s only one way to know for sure and it’s the first exit on the crimson highway.

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The trouble came the next morning. See you need to leave the diaphragm in for up to SIX hours after intercourse. Makes sense, you don’t want any little swimmers sneaking by the ropes into the deep end after the pool’s closed. I stumbled, half still asleep, into the bathroom to remove the apparatus from my bathing suit area.

Not to be too graphic, but my fingers were up there as far as possible and I could touch the ‘phragm with the tip but I could not grab hold of it. I talked myself through it, “Okay, don’t panic. You just need help” Aw man, I had to ask him to do this for me.

I slowly opened the lavatory door, he’s just stirring awake. “I have a tiny problem,” I said. When I explained what was happening with the catcher’s mitt of love lodged so deep I could not retrieve it, we laughed about it and he did agree to lend a girl a hand. He’s no magician, but it was like some kind of raunchy allusion. Embarrassing.

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I’m not one to write off something because of one experience, so we tried it again that night. In the morning I had the same result and my manfriend needed to assist me in the removal. Bless his heart, he’s okay with the way things are going to have to be until I can figure out how to do it myself. There has to be some sort of finger extender or grabber.

We started to affectionately call it Framsies and I think it’s a great addition to our sexual activity. If I come across a solution to my little short of reach problem, I’ll be sure to let you know. Until then, I’m using my diaphragm.