It was a whirlpool romance – specifically, sex in a spa bath.
Afterwards, when I went to fish out my new diaphragm in the privacy of the hotel’s en suite, the combined suction of the silicone dome and the spa bath had rendered it stuck. I didn’t worry about it at the time – there were fluffy robes and mini bars to explore.
We’ll get to the worry.
I chose a diaphragm because with every other form of contraception I’d reached that point of no return that many of us will be familiar with. After 15 years of faithful use, the pill had triggered an almighty hormone imbalance (estrogen dominance in my case) that a quick poll of any woman I know over 30 will confirm sounds familiar. I’m talking mood swings, livid facial rashes, melasma (pigmentation patches usually found in hormonally haywire pregnant women), constant bleeding and murderous fantasies… and no amount of switching brands was remedying that.
(Around the same time, incidentally, I interviewed a professor of reproductive biology who insisted, “There are no known health deficits to taking the pill. I took a pill on television the other day, to impress people that it’s totally safe”. Ha ha! Who’d like at him first, ladies? I know where he works.)
I knew that an IUD, a NuvaRing, a shot or a patch would have the same effect as the pill – i.e. messing with my body like it’s some kind of high school science experiment. So this left condoms or the seemingly archaic diaphragm – a cap that attaches to your cervix by SUCTION. Okay, that sounded foolproof.
It took me ages to find a specialist doctor who could even order and fit a diaphragm, so out of vogue are they. I eventually bought one diaphragm for $100 and was then told that there was nowhere in Australia that I could get the diaphragm’s crime-fighting sidekick, spermicide gel.
A few weeks later the two tubes of spermicide gel that I’d ordered on the internet from the US arrived – which cost another $100 or so. For a contraceptive straight out of the Dark Ages, this was really starting to add up.