Friday, 21 September 2012

XXVI. Pill

I've never taken the contraceptive pill.

Of all my friends, whom I know well enough to exchange gossip on these things, I think I am alone in this.

I am superstitious, suspicious of it. A thing that changes the outcome of such a profound physical event must have ramifications that are equally as profound. And I fear that we have just not learned yet to measure what these changes are. If my ovaries are meant to release an egg every month, in mystical and physical coincidence with the lunar cycle why would I ingest synthetic hormones to prevent this natural occurrence. Suppress this natural release. Well, I suppose the prevention of unwanted pregnancy is an admirable reason. But there are other birth control methods that don't drastically affect hormonal cycles. It seems to me it would take a powerful force to make an otherwise fertile woman, effectively temporarily infertile. A powerful package in such a tiny pill. I don't think I would like to render myself infertile, even for a time, as I am afraid what psychological change that might induce. Fertility makes me feel empowered. A giver of life. I understand the anguish a woman must experience upon discovering herself infertile. There are different joys to life to find for those women. 

My view on the pill is probably archaic, witchcrafty, a gut response, and I do endorse wholeheartedly a responsible approach to conception. Children should be wanted, received into loving arms. Sex should be able to be enjoyed without fear of pregnancy. 

I can see I have a sort of superiority complex about never having taken the pill. A sense of purity, I have seasoned and matured with regard to my sexuality in a natural state. I am a glorious reaching ghostly gum tree with roots plunged into a rich organic chemical free soil. My leaves fall freely to the earth.

I had both my children by Caesarian section, not by choice, but by necessity, and had a small amount of angst over the fact I never experienced labour or natural childbirth, so I need to celebrate these small feminine victories, the many eggs, the many menstrual cycles, through lame tree metaphors should I chose. 

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