1. Decide I'm sick of having to remember to take the pill, and want to switch to a more permanent form of birth control that I don't have to worry about every day.
2. Quickly determine that either the IUD or the birth control implant are my best options.
3. Go to the Planned Parenthood website and compare both.
4. Talk to a friend who said getting the IUD inserted was incredibly painful for her, and get kind of scared about getting it, even though I know it's a great option for many women.
5. Discover this New York Times article, which shows the implant is a damn-near foolproof method of birth control (although it does not protect against STDs).
6. Begin leaning toward the implant.
7. Talk to a co-worker who got the implant a few months ago, and become convinced that because of its effectiveness, how easy it is to insert and remove, and the fact that it has hormones, it's the best birth control option for me and my lifestyle.
8. Call my current gynecologist to book an appointment to get Nexplanon implanted.
9. Be told my doctor doesn't do that.
10. Go to the Nexplanon website and search for doctors in my zip code who do the implant.
11. Call the first doctor on the list.
12. Get told that she is a specialist and I would have to be referred by another doctor in order to see her.
13. Call the second doctor on the list.
14. Get told basically the same thing.
15. Feel like giving up.
16. Decide to call Planned Parenthood.
17. Talk to a Planned Parenthood employee who asks if I have an HMO or PPO.
18. Tell her I have PPO.
19. Get told that if I had an HMO, I could get a referral from my doctor, but since I have a PPO, my insurance doesn't cover procedures done at Planned Parenthood.
20. Get asked by the woman on the phone what my monthly income is, so she can determine how much it would cost to get the Nexplanon implant without using my insurance. (She also asks me if I have children, and if I'm married — both of which I answer no to.)
21. Tell the woman on the phone my monthly income.
22. Find out that at my income level, if I got the Nexplanon impant from Planned Parenthood, it would cost between $1,000-$1,200.
23. Think very seriously about giving up again.
24. Go back to the Nexplanon website, for what feels like the hundredth time, to look for more doctors who will do the procedure.
25. Find a local women's health clinic that does the procedure.
26. Call the clinic to ask if they take my health insurance.
27. Find out they do and have a mini-dance party on the sidewalk outside my office, where I'm making the call.
28. Book an appointment for Wednesday at 10 a.m.
29. Call my health insurance just to double check everything is good to go, since at this point, I feel like the universe is against me.
30. Get told that my insurance doesn't cover any form of birth control implant.
31. Question the woman on the phone, and tell her I thought at least one type of each form of birth control has to be covered under the Affordable Care Act.
32. Get told I am wrong, and sorry, but Nexplanon isn't covered, and neither is Implanon, the only other birth control implant option.
33. Freak the fuck out.
34. Email literally all of my female co-workers to basically say WTF is wrong with this system.
35. Receive an outpouring of support from the BuzzFeed ladies, one of who sends me this link, which says that under Obamacare, legally at least one type of every form of birth control must be covered.
36. Decide to call my insurance company back, planning on raising hell.
37. Explain to this insurance employee my last conversation with the company, which had occurred a few hours earlier.
38. Get told that the first lady was wrong, and that my insurance does in fact cover Nexplanon.
39. Do a victory dance.
40. Email my boss and tell her I have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday and won't be in the office until 11 a.m. that day.
41. Wake up Wednesday morning, slightly nervous, and drive to the clinic.
42. Try to bypass the protesters picketing on the sidewalk outside of the clinic as I walk from my car to the door.
43. Successfully avoid making eye contact with them, but still hear them saying that the medicines inside the clinic are "the work of the devil" and if I'd just talk to them for a minute they can give me another option.
44. Make it inside the dark and slightly depressing office, sign in.
45. Refresh my Instagram countless times while I wait in the lobby for 40 minutes.
46. Finally get called up by the receptionist.
47. Have a confusing conversation with the receptionist, and get asked to fill out additional paperwork.
48. Sit down and fill out the paperwork, not totally sure what I'm being asked.
49. Bring the paperwork back up to the receptionist.
50. Wait with sweaty palms as the receptionist goes through the paperwork.
51. Stand there perplexed but relieved when she says I can go back to see the doctor now.
52. Walk through the entrance to the back area as the receptionist presses a button that both unlocks the door and makes a loud beeping sound — causing everyone in the lobby to look up and stare.
53. Pee in a cup.
54. Go to a second waiting room, where they check my blood pressure and temperature.
55. Get called back to a doctor's office and meet the nurse practitioner who will be implanting the Nexplanon.
56. Decide together that since I'm left-handed, the implant should be placed in my right arm.
57. Lie down on the exam table, and notice I can't stop fidgeting. I'm nervous.
58. Tell the nurse practitioner, who is not entirely fluent in English but is being very friendly and hasn't stopped smiling, that I'm nervous.
59. She tells me I have nothing to be afraid of, which is sweet, but doesn't calm my nerves.
60. Have her numb my arm with a few shots from a small needle, which doesn't really hurt.
61. Turn my head to the left.
62. Feel the nurse practitioner lightly touch my arm.
63. Think to myself, There is no way she's doing it, 'cause it feels like nothing!
64. Hear the nurse practitioner say, "You won't believe this, but I just did it; the implant is in, you're done."
65. Get a piece of paper with a date, three years from now, for when I need to get the implant removed.
66. Have the nurse practitioner tell me not to have unprotected sex for seven days, which seems more than worth not having to worry about getting pregnant for the next three years.
67. Finally leave the clinic, relieved the journey is over, and confused about why it was so difficult.
It's been 17 days, and I love the fact that birth control is no longer something I have to worry about. Although the process was crazy for me, once I actually got into the doctor's office, it was so quick and painless.
The moral of the story: Don't let all these roadblocks and annoyances stand in the way of getting the birth control that's right for you. Talk to your doctors, your friends, and your insurance company — and be persistent.
This post has been edited since it was originally published.