Julia Forster

IUD removal, as it was told to a friend, verbatim

That I was bemused by the bed-side drip
That I gradually realised the drip was full of water and
That it was destined for my vaginal passage
That the steady trickle of water felt as if a zen garden feature was hydrating my genitalia
That my legs were strangely relaxed in the stirrups – so much so
That the masked nurse asked three times if I was OK
That she must have thought I was in extreme pain
That actually my thoughts had turned to Japan, where I have never been
That I brought bonsais to mind, how attractive they are – so miniature!
That I preferred to stare out of the window rather than at the grey video of my uterus
That, despite catastrophising, it took the consultant two minutes to locate the strings with his fishing hook and tug on them
That this forced the coil to close like a cocktail umbrella collapsing – remember them? – and
That when it was out, he asked if I would like to see it
That I said yes and
That I cried when he held the metallic twig aloft
That the IUD had caused me to menstruate so heavily for twelve years
That I had to change tampons hourly
That I had become so anaemic I had palpitations, anxiety attacks, insomnia
That the nurse rushed to comfort me when I cried
That this was what I had really wanted, all along – for someone to touch me
That I had just wanted someone to hold my hand

JULIA FORSTER is an award-winning poet and author from mid-Wales. In 2020 she won the Telegraph Lockdown Poetry Competition and her poem ‘Invisible Sisterhood’ was highly commended in the 2022 Fish Poetry Prize. She is currently completing her first poetry pamphlet. www.julia-forster.com