When I got my IUD, I was told to take three Advil beforehand and that I would be fine. No numbing, really no sympathy or compassion… nothing
It was said casually, like it was no big deal. Like it was the same as any other quick appointment. So I listened. I took the Advil, showed up, and expected something uncomfortable, but manageable.
It wasn’t.
The pain was immediate and intense, I remember feeling so dizzy, sweaty, and trying to focus on not passing out. What stuck with me the most wasn’t just the experience itself, it was how it had been explained to me beforehand. Or really, how it hadn’t. There was no real warning, no serious conversation about what it might feel like, just a quick suggestion to take a few over-the-counter pills and move on.
When you sit with that for a second, it raises a bigger question: why is something that can be that painful treated so casually in the first place?
This is where the conversation shifts from just one experience to something bigger. IUD insertions are a form of reproductive healthcare, which means they fall into a category of care that primarily affects women. And historically, women’s pain within healthcare has often been minimized, normalized, or brushed off in ways that it wouldn’t be otherwise.
It becomes easy to label certain types of pain as “just part of being a woman.” Cramps are normal. Hormonal changes are normal. Discomfort with certain procedures is normal. And while some of that may be true, the problem is how quickly “normal” turns into “not worth addressing.”
The expectation becomes that women will just handle it.
This shows up in more ways than just IUD insertions. Women are more likely to have their pain dismissed or attributed to stress or anxiety. Conditions like endometriosis can take years to be diagnosed, even when symptoms are severe. Even in everyday doctor visits, there can be a pattern of not being fully listened to or taken as seriously when describing pain. And one of the worst feelings is sitting in a doctors office and talking about your symptoms, symptoms that you ahve been dealing with for months, trying to articulate, to put into words so you can get help, and being told or simply that feeling of being dramatic. After all of the tears and stress and feeling the symptoms that are so real, you can feel shut down in seconds.
My experience fits into that pattern. The issue wasn’t just that the procedure was painful, it was that the pain was downplayed before it even happened. There was an assumption that a few Advil would be enough, and that I didn’t need more information, more preparation, or more options.
And that assumption is where gendered healthcare starts to show.
Because if a procedure is known to be painful, the response should not be to minimize it. It should be to prepare patients honestly and give them real choices in how that pain is managed. But when the people who are primarily experiencing that pain are women, it becomes easier for the system to treat it as something expected rather than something that needs attention.
And sometimes, it shows up in ways that are not about pain at all, but still reflect the same pattern.
When my mom went to her OB-GYN to talk about gaining weight because of menopause, the doctor offered Ozempic instead of asking about her history with Hashimoto’s. Not exactly the point of this blog … but I just remembered and had to write it down so I don’t get too mad again…
It felt like another example of not fully listening, of jumping to a quick solution without really understanding the full picture.
It is also important to say that this is not about blaming individual doctors. Many providers are working within a system that has been shaped by years of research gaps, gender bias, and normalized expectations around women’s pain. But that does not mean those patterns should continue.
Something as simple as communication can make a difference. Being honest about what a patient might feel. Offering different pain management options. Taking a few extra minutes to actually prepare someone for what they are about to experience. These are not complicated changes, but they shift the experience from something dismissive to something respectful.
Because at the end of the day, healthcare is not just about treating a condition or completing a procedure. It is about how patients are treated in the process.
My experience with getting an IUD is just one example, but it reflects a larger issue within gendered healthcare. Pain should not be minimized just because it is common, and it should not be treated as something people are expected to just push through without question.
If anything, common experiences should be taken more seriously, not less.
So instead of asking why certain procedures are uncomfortable, maybe the better question is why that discomfort is so often brushed off, especially when it comes to women’s health. And why “just take 3 Advil” is still considered enough.