This is an opinion article. Any views expressed belong solely to the author and are not necessarily representative of The Mercer Cluster or Mercer University.
At 18 years old, I went to my scheduled OB-GYN appointment expecting a straightforward procedure that would provide me with reliable birth control for the next five years. Instead, I found myself gripping the edges of the exam table in agony as the doctor casually counted to three before sending sharp, searing shocks through my cervix. This wasn’t just a routine IUD insertion; it was a traumatic experience where my pain was dismissed and belittled by a person I entrusted with my care.
It was the summer before I left for college. Like many young women, I wanted a reliable form of birth control that wouldn’t require constant attention. The idea of an IUD was appealing—one procedure that would provide protection for years, freeing me from the hassle of daily pills or frequent appointments. However, I wasn’t sexually active and rarely used tampons, so the idea of a penetrative procedure was daunting. I worried I might experience worse pain given my situation, and I relied on my doctor to guide me through the process with care and understanding—or even advise me against this form of birth control altogether if it wasn’t appropriate for someone in my situation.
During the consultation, I voiced my concerns about the insertion process, and the doctor reassured me that it wouldn’t be an issue. We also discussed the potential for weight gain with hormonal birth control. Together, we decided on the Mirena IUD, which primarily releases hormones locally in the uterus, generally reducing the likelihood of systemic side effects like weight gain. She was confident that the procedure would be straightforward, and I trusted her judgment.
On the day of the insertion, I was asked if I had taken Tylenol. Not realizing this was recommended, I quickly took two pills, hoping they would kick in fast enough to provide some relief. My mom waited in the reception area as I nervously walked back to the exam room. Lying on the table with my legs wide open, I anxiously anticipated the procedure but made a conscious effort to relax my muscles. The doctor clamped my vaginal opening, and then said, "I'm going to give you a few shocks to help open up your cervix. I'll count to three."
"One, two, three," shock. Immense pain swept over me, and my entire body began to shake. Again, she counted, "One, two, three," shock. The pain was far worse this time. Finally, she said, "Last time, one, two, three," shock. I was in the worst pain imaginable, my body convulsing as I fought back the urge to vomit. I was crying uncontrollably, but the procedure wasn’t over. She quickly inserted the IUD while I was still in shock from the pain.
After the insertion, I crawled to the bathroom, unable to stand. My entire body was cramping, and I felt lightheaded and nauseous. I threw up. My mom, concerned by how long I was taking, came to check on me. When the doctor walked over and saw me kneeling on the bathroom floor in tears and my mom standing in the bathroom doorway with an alarmed expression, instead of offering comfort, she snapped, “What do you want me to do about this! Take it out of you? I think it’s best we take it out, come on.” Her words and demeanor were so cold that it felt like she was threatening to remove the IUD in an attempt to punish me for expressing my pain. I insisted on keeping the IUD, not wanting to endure that pain for nothing, but I was shocked by her lack of empathy and professionalism.
In the days following the procedure, I researched IUD insertions and was shocked to discover that the cervical dilation technique used during mine was not the default practice, especially without prior discussion. I had not consented to cervical dilation, nor was I informed that it would be done or given alternative options. Through research, I learned that if a healthcare provider suspects that a patient’s cervix may be too narrow, they should discuss this in advance and provide options such as pre-procedure medications. According to the CDC, providers are encouraged to offer pain relief measures and discuss available options to ensure patient comfort during IUD insertion. Not being informed about the available options and undergoing what I believed to be a standard procedure left me feeling both violated and angry. I trusted my doctor to communicate with me openly and compassionately. Instead, I received no communication about how she intended to perform the procedure, and when I expressed my pain, I was met with hostility.
Many women share similar experiences of their pain being minimized or dismissed in medical settings, leading to unnecessary suffering and trauma. Research indicates that women often report significant pain during procedures like IUD insertions and are less likely to receive adequate pain management. A study conducted at the Columbia University Medical Center with 200 female participants, most of which had previously given birth, found that women reported an average maximum pain score of approximately 65 out of 100. Based on my experience, I believe this pain often results from the pressure for efficiency in healthcare settings, contributing to insufficient discussions about available pain management options. Consequently, pain is frequently underestimated, and patients may not receive adequate care.
My doctor’s lack of concern and failure to properly inform me about what was happening turned a routine visit into a traumatic experience—one that I will never forget. Because of this experience, I switched healthcare providers. My new OB-GYN has been everything my previous physician was not—kind, gentle, and attentive to my pain. He takes my concerns seriously and ensures that I am comfortable and informed at every step.
This painful experience has reinforced my commitment to pursuing a career in medicine. I have seen firsthand how crucial it is for healthcare providers to approach their patients with empathy, to take pain seriously, and to fully explain options and procedures. As I work toward becoming a physician, I plan to carry this lesson with me, striving to be the kind of doctor who not only heals but also listens, respects, and genuinely cares for every patient.
Looking forward, I’ve realized from this experience that two key aspects can significantly enhance patient care. First, I believe discussing procedures and available options in depth before the procedure, as well as actively seeking patient feedback afterward, are crucial in understanding their experiences and identifying areas for improvement. This practice not only strengthens the doctor-patient relationship but also fosters an environment of trust. Second, I recognize the importance of staying updated on the latest literature in the medical field. Keeping abreast of current research and best practices ensures that patient care is informed and effective. By embracing these principles, I hope to contribute to a culture of empathy and understanding in healthcare, where no patient’s pain is dismissed or ignored.
Sarah Cooper is a graduate of Emory University with degrees in Sociology and English. Since graduating from Emory, she has worked and volunteered closely with the Mercer School of Medicine and its Rural Health Clinic. She also collaborates with Mercer medical students and faculty on research exploring how these medical camps impact rural youth’s knowledge of and interest in medicine, addressing the critical shortage of rural physicians.
