I Got My IUD in Europe for $220 and I’ll Never Get One in America Again
This past summer, while galavanting through Europe in the middle of a spontaneous, three-week getaway, I met up with my friends Mika and Jamie and we had a hot and heavy threesome (psst, I spared zero details about it all right here 😉) that unfortunately ended with semen accidentally inside of me.
As someone who has never wanted kids and isn’t on birth control, I was feeling devastated by the possibility of becoming pregnant. Like many young women, I stopped using hormonal contraceptives because I prefer to be in tune with my body’s natural rhythms, and I bemoan their slew of unsavory possible side effects that I personally experienced in the past, like lower libido, anxiety, and depression. So even the thought of taking an emergency hormonal contraceptive, like a Plan B, was not something I wanted to do. I felt so dismayed, so I just cried—mad at myself for what felt like my mistake and furious with existence for making the female body so vulnerable.
But then Mika softly interrupted my self-loathing with a suggestion: “Or you could get the non-hormonal copper IUD as emergency contraception. And then take it out when you get your next period if you don’t like it?” I had a history with hormonal IUDs, and it wasn't one I was fond of, so this made me a bit nervous.
Before I stopped using birth control about 10 years ago, I got the Mirena IUD and the insertion pain was so severe I passed out. My vision went black as the most gut-wrenching “cramp” I’ve ever experienced seared from the middle of my body and out of every pore. The nurses woke me up with smelling salts, and that indescribable agony was still reaming through me. And then there’s the part where—even with an appointment—I had to nervously wait more than six hours to be seen. To top it all off, I weaseled my way into Planned-Parenthood-sponsored financial assistance for the $1,500 expense since I was uninsured.
After two years of a removal and another reinsertion (which was just as insanely painful as the first time, BTW), my doctors gave me a lot of flack about my “indecisiveness” over contraceptives. So between the ways medical professionals chastised and guilt-tripped me for my reproductive choices, and the ungodly levels of pure agony from insertion, I was scarred and overall reluctant to get another IUD, let alone ask for reproductive help again.
But copper IUDs are 99% effective as emergency contraception and those were odds I could get behind, so I was willing to take a chance. Plus, this was in August 2024, just months before the U.S. presidential election, and it felt like the best option to protect myself, especially since I was worried about a (then-potential) second Trump administration that would likely wreak even more havoc on reproductive rights.
We had about five days to get that precious metal in me and kill off any sperm, but we wasted no time. After a couple hours of calling around the next morning, Mika found a facility that had copper IUDs in stock and that could see me same-day.
When we got there and walked into the lobby, I immediately got a sense that this was going to be a wildly different experience than the ones I had in the States. Green marble covered the floors and walls, compared to the lackluster linoleum floors and drop ceiling of the facilities in L.A. Only a few people sat waiting, each with their own comfy couch, bottled water, and wifi to pass the time. It even smelled amazing, like one of those luxury hotels that has their own custom scent being pumped through the vents.
Within a half-hour I was with the doctor. The first part of my appointment was a consult, just me and him, sitting in his fancy office overlooking the Danube River while we discussed my options for IUDs. There were more than 20 choices, making the measly five cleared by the FDA in the States look like sad leftovers. I told him what I wanted. “You’re in luck!” he said, telling me they had the Gold T in stock. “This is the Rolls Royce of IUDs.”
In the exam room, I put my feet in the stirrups, scooted myself down, and braced for impact while the doc slid the speculum and IUD into my body. But all I felt was…slight cramping. That was literally it—the IUD was inserted. The whole process took about one minute, and compared to my U.S. experiences, it was damn near pain free.
How? Well, based on what he told me, it’s because he didn’t use a tenaculum, aka the scissor-looking metal medical tool used to pierce the cervix and then forcibly hold it open during the procedure—this is what causes most people’s pain during the IUD insertion process. The Gold T doesn't require a tenaculum, and instead, it has its own insertion tool that measures your uterus for more accurate, seamless placement. And of course, the Gold T isn't available in America.
But the differences in my experiences didn’t stop there. After my IUD was placed, my doctor said, “Okay, now let’s just make sure everything looks right.” Stunned, I watched him pull out the intravaginal ultrasound wand—a post-insertion practice that was never offered to me in the states. He turned the screen to me and I welled up like a happy, expecting parent at that sonogram, only instead of looking at a blotchy, black-and-white rendering of my own fears, there was my little IUD angel making a perfect T-shape between my fallopian tubes. Everything was where it was supposed to be and I was safe—after a procedure that took less than five minutes, start to finish. Relief washed over me, dissolving the dread I felt the last 24 hours.
I went to the reception to check out and braced myself for a hefty bill. Instead, I received an invoice of…$220–as an uninsured tourist. I knew right then and there that I would be coming back for my replacement IUD in five years.
But the sad thing is, I might not just want to, I might have to. Despite Trump signing an executive order to make IVF more accessible and affordable, the overall state of affairs for women’s health and reproductive rights in America is dismal at best. Let us not forget that he appointed the now conservative-majority Supreme Court that overturned Roe v. Wade nearly three years ago, causing a slew of disastrous ramifications in its wake.
All of this considered, I found myself weeping post-procedure, not from the minimal physical pain, but for all the women back home who would have given anything to be in my shoes. There was no judgment or condescending monologues about my “fickleness.” Or scrambling scramble to make payments for my care. Or ammonia waking me up after passing out from the pain. None of this should be an exception, but the standard, and America should take some notes.
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