News from Shakes Manor: Girly Bits Edition

Last night, my girlfriend Miller was telling me about her crusade to get an IUD, which began last year—after, mind you, a long and typically Milleresque research project into The Perfect Birth Control for Her Particular Circumstances. Having taken this journey of discovery (and having already tried and rejected for various reasons the pill and the Nuva-Ring), Miller was fairly intent on getting her IUD—and was dismayed to discover that her insurance company didn't cover the procedure, though it covers birth control pills, Depo shots, and even—remarkably—abortions. ("I loved that it would cover an abortion but not the birth control I wanted to avoid requiring one," noted Miller dryly.) So, because she's a sassy broad like this, she went to her employer's benefits administrator to complain and petition to get the cost covered. (Yay, Miller.)

The benefits administrator called the equivalent person at the parent company to complain and petition on behalf of Miller (and all the other women who might want this cost covered), who in turn called the insurer to complain and petition on Miller's behalf. And shortly thereafter, Miller received word that the cost of the insertion procedure would be covered by insurance starting at the first of this year. (Yay, Miller.)

So, recently, Miller made her appointment. She was all set, at long last, to get her much-anticipated IUD—only to be told by her doctor that she couldn't get one, because her uterus is only 5 centimeters, one centimeter short of the 6 required to use an IUD.

"The universe has quite a sense of humor," said Miller.

"What you're telling me is that you do not have a womb with a view," I said.

"No. I have a studio womb. Not even a one bedwomb."

"It's not very womby in there."

By this point, we were laughing like fiends—because, ya know, what else can you do?

"You should totally post this," said Miller.

"Will do," I said. "You know how I love uterine humor!"