I picture it in there like a tiny copper referee, arms outstretched to signal...um...Unsportsmanlike Conduct! If the crossbar of the T were angled differently it would be all, "It's GOOD!" but no, Unsportsmanlike Conduct is what the ref says. Maybe it's what the egg thinks when it hops off the Fallopian twisty slide and encounters a towering metal obelisk, cue 2001: A Space Odyssey theme. duunnnDUNNNDUNNNNNN DUN DUN! BOMbomBOMbomBOMbom.
And this is the university's faculty practice so of course I let the student midwife do the insertion. She was sweet and very nervous, and I got to chat with her and the director of the midwifery program while they viewed my cervix and poked things into it. Seriously, if you need to learn how to do some uncomfortable gynecological procedure, I'm your woman. I have a high pain threshold, can relax everything, and even if something does hurt I'll hold still and tell you calmly instead of freaking out. I can tell you whether you've got ahold of my fundus or not. I am a goddamned educational aid! And I am awesome.
The insertion went off without a hitch (when you factor in extra time for teaching) and now? I neither have to fear nor hope for pregnancy. The latter can be more of a burden then you'd think.
So far I haven't noticed any extra bleeding or cramping; we'll see how the next few periods go. There is one thing they don't tell you about, though. It's a really bad idea, I have discovered, to come home from the procedure and sort outgrown toddler clothes for the thrift store.