Before I begin, I would like to state that I am obviously not a medical professional and all of these opinions around this highly vast, sensitive subject are my own (and/or stolen from friends who have consented to me stealing their feelings). I realise that this is just one aspect of a much, much wider picture and politely ask you to respect my thoughts which have been provoked by my own personal experiences.
I’ll start by setting the scene: a couple of months ago I accidentally missed a pill, which, as a ‘relatively’ single woman, felt like no big deal. Cut forward a couple of days and I found myself in a slightly compromised position – I had, to quote Paddy McGuiness, ‘let the piña see the colada’, and so that missed pill became quite a big deal (like I said, ‘relatively’ single). I hasten to add here that this piña was (for want of a better phrase) wrapped and, to this day, I’m 90% sure I would be sitting here unfertilised. However, you don’t get the college nickname ‘Paranoid Gabby’ for no reason – that 10% of doubt (which definitely wasn’t a result of copious amounts of alcohol) was niggling away at me. I found myself concluding that I should take the morning after pill. Better to be safe than sorry, right?
There are two types of morning after pill, Levonelle and ellaOne. They need to be taken within 72 and 120 hours of unprotected sex respectively to quickly prevent an unwanted pregnancy. Generally, they aren’t intended to be used as regular forms of contraception (like the implant and combined pill etc.) – they’re also around £35 a pop. They can be bought over the counter in many UK pharmacies and are increasingly available to order online. Not too much hassle… Or so you’d think.
The morning after pill has been available in the UK since 1984 and I believe we still stigmatise its use. Why? Well, widely, it’s associated with sexual promiscuity, irresponsbility, tartiness, taboo behaviours. Doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence for your little pharmacy trip, does it?
Whilst planning this piece I asked girlfriends what springs to mind when the morning after pill is mentioned. Most admitted a sense of embarrassment (but questioned why they felt this way); some said they have felt nervous when obtaining it, afraid of reactions and perceptions; widely it was acknowledged that even though taking this type of pill felt the sensible choice, plucking up the courage to go through what is sometimes a shameful ordeal is difficult. One opinion that really stood out to me is a feeling of guilt for having had to rely on it. Guilt? We’re all human. We all make mistakes. We all slip up from time to time. Sure, given the chance many of us would change the way we have approached certain situations in the past. But should we feel guilty for taking action? Was it really your fault that the condom split?
So, back to the scene. I had dillied and dallied for a few days with Paranoid Gabby over whether or not she needed to splash the best part of seven gin and tonics on this pill. Naturally, I decided to do so and, armed with a wealth of knowledge from my 2am reading sessions of the emergency contraception pages on the NHS website, I felt confident and self-assured as I strode into the (first) pharmacy, head held high.
I got straight to the point in my private consultation with the male pharmacist, explaining that whilst I had used protection (why does that sound as though you’ve been involved in a battle?) I had missed a pill a couple of days beforehand and I just wanted to be super sure that I wasn’t going to have a bun in the oven anytime soon. I told him that I was after the aforementioned ellaOne pill – it was Tuesday lunchtime and the last time I’d buttered the biscuit was circa 1am the previous Friday morning. Now, I’m no Einstein but adding on 120 hours means that technically, I had until 1am on Wednesday to get an ellaOne inside of me, a timeframe and calculation that I had triple-checked (obviously). After all, what did I get an A-Level in Maths for if it wasn’t this? So I felt completely shocked when he retorted that I had gotten my adding up wrong. What? I went through the timings again aloud – surely this was just a mistake on his part? He told me again that I was incorrect and I had missed the pill’s window. I felt my face redden with humiliation and my mind begin to spin with ‘what ifs?’. Practically laughing in my face, he told me that I would now have to wait a couple of weeks before taking a trip to the Doctor (WHAAAT?!), then helpfully adding ‘well I can still sell it to you if you want but it won’t make any difference’. That was enough for me to walk (run) out feeling utterly stupid yet somehow not doubting myself entirely. I tried a second pharmacy.
Having now recalled the intimate details of my erm personal relations to a second stranger in the space of 15 minutes, I was pretty pent up and beginning to freak out. Luckily, the second pharmacist I saw was a lovely young gent who listened to my hasty justification of needing the pill and my increasing worries. Thankfully, I’d gotten my maths right (shoutout to Mr Wilde for that) and he left the consultation room to get things in motion. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I was not going to be with child at 24, then followed him to the counter where I placed my handbag so I could retrieve my purse to pay. I was mildly aware of the people milling around me queuing to purchase items themselves, waiting for prescriptions or browsing the shelves. And I didn’t feel phased.
That is, until the pharmacist stopped fidgeting with the packet in his hands, leant forward, lowered his voice and asked me if I wanted him to ‘wrap it up’ (and no, that was not a proposition). I politely declined his offer – firstly, I didn’t feel the need to keep my purchase a secret and secondly, the environment, duh. I noticed a few glances my way but didn’t take much notice. It was what the pharmacist did next which surprised me most. Instead of handing my purchased item over to me as tends to happen in most transactions, he decided to reach into my open handbag and put the packet inside, making a comment about being discreet. Hmmm. If I were to have felt embarrassed, it would have been at that point – everybody around me had witnessed this unusual exchange which I would argue was less discreet than just handing a baby to me. I’d like to make clear here that I am not writing this in any way shape or form as an insult to said pharmacist. I fully acknowledge and appreciate his efforts of discretion (if that’s the right word) and how he probably felt he was saving me from the humiliation I can only assume he thought I felt. Except I didn’t feel humiliated for what I had purchased, I felt cross. Cross that it was such a big deal because you know what? There’s nothing shameful about the morning after pill. It’s responsible to take this pill if you do not wish to be pregnant. It’s responsible to buy this pill if you accidentally miss one of your usual pills. It’s responsible to buy this pill if a condom gives up. And so, puffing out my chest like a pigeon and retrieving the (God forbid, morning after pill!) packet out of my bag, I pointedly looked around and said ‘this is no big deal. We’re all adults here, aren’t we?’ followed by rapturous applause (ok, maybe not the applause). Because who is anyone to judge a woman for taking ownership of a situation that hey, may not have been her fault in the first place? And even if it was her ‘fault’ that she missed a pill, her memory is only human, right? Leave her be for taking control and doing something about it. You don’t see a guy hanging his head in shame in a pharmacy if his condom split now do you?
The stigma surrounding the morning after pill needs to evaporate – spoiler alert, Netflix’s Sex Education has an eye-opening, realistic episode revolving around its insinuations. The associations with the ‘types’ of women who purchase it need to stop too. I suppose its colloquial name depicting its use the literal morning after doesn’t necessarily help, but what does it matter if you did partake in a one night stand? If you aren’t ready to have a child then you are being far more proactive taking this pill than giving into the dynamic of shame (thank you Purdy for that phrase) and ignoring it. It’s a massive double standard which angers me.
I’m not ashamed to say this wasn’t my first time (and who knows, maybe not the last); I’m ashamed to say I’ve never felt my character more preconceived. The next time you see a teenage girl, a young woman or a middle-aged lady in the chemist purchasing emergency contraception, applaud her instead of judging her (maybe not aloud as you don’t know how she will react. Just do it in your head). The morning after pill is something we should be proud to have accessibility to and certainly not a purchase to be embarrassed of. Let’s raise a piña colada to that.
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