Do cheaper morning-after pills work as well as brand name pills?
Someone asked us:
I was at the drugstore and I saw that they had a few different brands of plan b. Some of them were cheaper than others so like, do they all work the same or are more expensive ones stronger?
Short answer: all morning-after pill brands that you can buy without a prescription work the same, regardless of price. It doesn’t matter if you get it at a pharmacy, convenience store, health center, or a reliable online drugstore. Get yo bargain on!
Like most medicines, there are different brands of morning-after pills. They may be different prices, but they all have the same active ingredients and have the same effectiveness.
In the U.S., all over-the-counter morning-after pills use 1.5mg of levonorgestrel to prevent pregnancy. Levonorgestrel is a type of progestin, the same kind of hormone that’s in all hormonal birth control, like the IUD, pill, and shot.
Some brands of levonorgestrel morning-after pills that are sold in the U.S. include:
Plan B One-Step
Next Choice One Dose
AfterPill (only available online)
Less expensive brands are often called “generics.” The FDA requires generic medications to have the same active ingredient, strength, dosage, quality, and effectiveness as name brands. So why can they cost less if they work the same? Because the companies making generics don’t usually pay for advertising, and they don’t have to run the expensive clinical trials that the original brand needed to do to get FDA approval for that kind of drug.
You can always double-check with the pharmacist if you’re concerned about buying the right pill. But as long as it says “levonorgestrel 1.5mg” somewhere on the package, feel free to buy the cheapest morning-after pill on the shelf — it will work exactly the same as more expensive brands.
Black protest in Poland stoped goverment from a new law about penalty for abortion
in any cases but now goverment decided that morning after pill won’t
be available in pharmacies
and there will be only possibility of buying it by prescription. Health Minister, Konstanty Radziwiłł
added fuel to the fire
by saying that he wouldn’t have prescribed this kind of pill even raped women.
Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.
Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.
Count: 9,656 words.
The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.
There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!
Twenty-three years old and pregnant.
You throw up again.
This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.
Note: If you’re a trans guy who takes hormones, you should talk with your doctor and see what they recommend when it comes to taking emergency contraception. Unfortunately, right now there isn’t enough research that tells us how hormonal EC will affect you, so your best choice may be the non-hormonal ParaGard IUD.
You’re a sophomore in college when you start noticing some odd changes.Every
month, about two weeks after your period, you’re easily distracted,
especially by men. A professor’s cologne in the hallway can send you
into a wild daydream that makes your cheeks flush and pupils dilate. As a
conservative girl saving yourself for marriage, you’re worried, so you
make an appointment with a counselor. The counselor reassures you that
feeling more easily aroused during ovulation is perfectly normal.
by month, the symptoms gradually get worse, but you do your best to
work around them. You start packing several extra pairs of panties in
your schoolbag on “those days,” because by mid-morning, you’ve soaked
through the originals and are paranoid about the smell. You drop an art
history class because the male anatomy on display makes you lose all
concentration; you avoid the gym two days a month for the same reason.
* * *
the middle of your junior year, your symptoms have worsened
drastically. Not only do you get wet and flushed at the slightest
suggestion of testosterone, but thanks to your hypersensitive clit and
lips, you’re also prone to spontaneous orgasms. Thankfully, there is
usually at least a second or two of buildup, which enables you to brace
yourself and disguise the climax when in public. But with each new
cycle, your orgasms are triggered more randomly, and they’re becoming
longer and stronger.
You eventually figure out that you can stop
having orgasms at inconvenient times… if you release the tension
yourself, at regular intervals. So when you feel the onset of your heat,
in addition to extra panties, you pack a massive vibrator and spare
batteries. (You try using a more discreet one at first, but you seem to
build up a tolerance to it; it isn’t long before you’ve upgraded to the
biggest one on the market.) Whenever you get a chance between classes,
you run to the nearest private washroom and unwrap the silicone savior
with clammy, shaking hands. You can’t rip your panties down and shove it
in fast enough. You brace yourself on the edge of the sink with your
left hand, convulsing again and again as you thrust the vibe into
yourself with your right, panting like a bitch in heat, exploding with
fluid nearly every time, fluid that somehow never runs out, fluid that
streams down your hand and thighs and soaks your jeans and puddles on
the floor until your body finally gets what it needs. You clean your
vibrator as well as you can, touch up your makeup, and make the most of
the few hours of freedom that follow.
After hitting rock
bottom in your parents’ bathroom over Easter weekend, you finally put
your denial aside long enough to do some research. As you feared all
along, none of this is normal. Not even close. You see a GP, who refers
you to a series of specialists.
The invasive examinations
inevitably cause you to dig your nails into the paper and climax
violently. Each doctor awkwardly asks if you’d like to reschedule, but
you beg them to keep going, to find out what’s wrong.
* * *
It turns out that what’s wrong is your ovaries.
Or rather, your extra ovaries.
the MRI scans show, you currently have three pairs of full-sized
ovaries, plus at least a dozen more pairs of varying sizes, all growing
rapidly. This steady but dramatic escalation in fertility has been
causing you to get increasingly high on your own hormones each month.
doctors believe that a genetic mutation is probably involved, but agree
that in the short term, the ovaries will need to be surgically removed
before your symptoms get any worse.
Unfortunately, the only
surgeon qualified for this procedure is booked solid for another month.
The doctors estimate that you will have a fourth pair of functional
ovaries by then, so your next ovulation – due in three weeks - is likely
to be even more intense than the last.
“It is absolutely
essential,” intones the gynecologist, “that you use birth control
responsibly in the meantime, and ideally that you refrain from sexual
intercourse of any kind.”
“I’m abstinent by choice,” you reply proudly. “I may need to physically… handle… my urges, but when it comes to guys, I can control myself.”
well, even so,” the neurologist says, frowning, “You can’t afford to
take any chances in your condition. Even if you’ve stayed out of trouble
so far, your hormones have already caused serious behavioral changes
over the past year. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I highly doubt that
your purity ring will stand much of a chance once that fourth pair
“And if you get pregnant during this kind of ovulation,
we’re looking at guaranteed multiples,” warns the obstetrician. “You
don’t need that on top of everything else. Incidentally, we’ve also
detected some other hormonal and physical abnormalities that may have
repercussions on pregnancy – we’re still waiting on those tests. So for
those reasons, you really need to do everything in your power to prevent
impregnation for the time being. Okay?”
The other doctors concur.
They prescribe a birth control pill, sedatives to calm your nerves
during your next ovulation, and a morning-after pill (“in case something
happens”). They also recommend that you employ female supervision, and
perhaps even physical restraints, to keep you from having sex with a man
before your surgery.
After your appointment, you go to the
pharmacy and buy the sedatives, but you crumple the other prescriptions
into a ball and toss them in a trash can. Birth control? Plan B?
Restraints? How dare they. You’ve gotten this far without their
condescending advice. Your body may have betrayed you, but your virtue
has been unflagging through it all.
And it won’t let you down now.
* * *
the days before your next heat, you get ready. You fill your studio
apartment with food, water, vibrators, and batteries. You get a vague
doctor’s note from a clinic and reschedule an exam. You plan to take a
double dose of sedatives as soon as you feel your time coming on, which
will hopefully make the physical distress more manageable.
You’re a little nervous, but you’re sure that if you stick to the plan and stay indoors, everything will be okay.
* * *
come into heat a full day ahead of schedule, in the middle of the
night, your hormones surging and overwhelming you so quickly that they
jolt you awake.
“Ohh… oh God…”
You fumble for the lamp on
your nightstand, manage to switch it on. Your need is already at a
critical level; this is happening too fast.
You try to think. What was it you needed to do? You needed to take… something…
“Nghhaaahhhhh— oh fuck, fuck, fuck…”
It’s no use, you can’t remember. The plan is gone. All you can think about is filling yourself, now. You yank the nightstand drawer off its rails; the vibrator rolls under the bed.
“No! Shit! Wh-where… is…”
As you drop a foot to the ground to get out of bed, your pussy brushes against the edge of the mattress.
An orgasm rocks through you. You hold on for dear life. This is not how it usually goes. Usually you have much more time before it gets this intense.
orgasm drops off, and your desperate arousal instantly returns.
Carefully this time, you lower yourself to the ground and grope around
frantically for the vibrator. It’s no use; you can’t locate it.
if enraged by your failure, the throbbing heat in your hugely engorged
clit and lips flares inward and upward, inflaming every square
millimeter of tissue between entrance and cervix.
“Haaaaahhhhhhhhh… oh God! Oh God please fuhh—ooooohhhhhh God…!”
out of your depth now. Even with your biggest vibrator, you’d be
powerless to meet this kind of demand. You’ve never experienced anything
like this before.
And yet, shuddering alone in the darkness, you
recognize it. It’s your primal instruction, your absolute purpose. But
to overcome your own refusal of it, you need to say it out loud, to hear yourself name it.
“Need to… m-make…”
You sob as tears flood your eyes. You try again.
“I… need to make… babies…”
innermost Truth is so beautiful, so simple. You want to kill yourself
for denying it for so long. But if you do that, your babies will never
grow inside you, will never be born. And that would be a thousand times
worse that death.
Lurching to your feet, you manage to soothe
yourself slightly by murmuring your Truth under your breath. It’s the
only thing that gets you from your bed to your door without collapsing.
to make my babies. Oh my babies, oh so many, oh so big and strong. My
babies. They’re going to grow so strong, so big, so many, so many, so
many, my beautiful, precious babies.
You find yourself going
down the hall. Your body leads the way; your mind follows by quite a
distance. Even so, you know where you’re going, because it’s the only
place that exists anymore.
The apartment next door, where the young male lives.
* * *
There’s light under his door – he’s a night owl. You knock. No answer. You knock again.
the male sees you in his doorway, his look of annoyance turns to shock.
You’re wearing a threadbare t-shirt that accentuates your erect
nipples. A gold crucifix pendant. No panties.
Before he can say a
word, you shove a hand down his boxers. Just the sight and smell of the
male should have caused you to climax immediately, let alone the warmth
of his thick member, but your adrenaline-fueled sense of purpose buys
you some time.
Staring up at him with your hugely dilated pupils,
you manage to communicate some of your Truth as you stroke him hard, but
you can feel your furious need surging once more.
need you to fffuck me and put… put you cum-m in… ahh— inside me. Right
now-ohhhhh. Ahhh—f-fuck. I’m gonna… I’m gonna come, but it’s just–haaahhhh… shit… listen… y-you need to fuck me after this bec-auunhhhaaahhhhse… haaaaah… becauss’ I need to get so fucking big I can’t move… and I… I need… my… my… my precious babi— oh! Oh God!-AAAHHHNNNN—!!!”
You barely have time to pull your hand away and throw both arms up
against the doorframe before an orgasm seems to electrocute your entire
body from within. You feel more liquid than ever gush out of you, and
your vision blurs.
When the world comes back into focus, you look
up to find abject horror in the male’s eyes. But it doesn’t matter; you
know without even looking that his cock is hard as iron. You stumble
past him into the flickering light of his TV. There’s a beat-down,
stain-covered couch against a wall. You kneel, facing backwards, on one
of its filthy cushions, gripping the seat back for dear life with both
hands. Then you raise your ass and display your throbbing wet entrance
to the male. You pray silently, feverishly, not daring to look behind
My babies. Need to feel my babies and grow them and make
them, so many, so big and so strong and so precious. Please God, please
God, I need my babies, my babies, oh please… fuck, fuck, why isn’t it in
me yet? Why isn’t he filling me with my babies? Please, please, I can’t
take this anymore…!
But just as you’re about to turn around, you feel big, warm hands on your hips, and finally, finally, the male plunges into you.
Can I use the morning-after pill for more pregnancy protection if I’m already using the birth control pill?
Someone asked us:
Would taking the morning after pill provide more protection if I’m on birth control (gildess)?
As long as you’re taking your birth control pills every day as directed, you don’t need to use the morning-after pill (AKA emergency contraception). Regular birth control pills are actually much better at preventing pregnancy than emergency contraception pills, and using them both at the same time won’t do anything extra. If you want even more protection from pregnancy, use condoms along with the pill. Plus, condoms will help prevent STDs.
However, you can definitely use the morning-after pill if you miss a few of your regular birth control pills and have unprotected sex. This only applies to the birth control pills with hormones in them — if you miss any of the placebo (non-hormonal) pills, you’re still protected from pregnancy and don’t need the morning-after pill.
If you DO miss some of your birth control pills and need to use emergency contraception, you can use the Plan B morning-after pill (or other Plan B generics, like Next Choice, MyWay, AfterPill, and Take Action) to help prevent pregnancy. You can get these types of emergency contraception at a drugstore, without a prescription. They work better the sooner you take them.
The bottom line is: if you use your birth control pills correctly, you don’t need to take the morning-after pill. Using condoms + the pill is the best way to double your pregnancy prevention.
This started off as an innocent post about contraception after a submission from @michaelatheroleplayerartist but it got tied into some other things I was thinking from before along with some thoughts on Chapter 20 so I made a whole thing for it.
Special thanks to: @rapidratkiller, @bracari-iris and @bellabrownie for helping me with this post and coming up with crazy connections with me~
Table of contents:
Who’s Contraception Box is it Anyway?
Possibility of Sexual Abuse in the Oh Sangwoo Household
What Does the “I’m not some rapist” Line Mean?
Why Does Sangwoo Hate Noisy Things?
Sangwoo’s Actual Room and Upstairs
Warning: This post contains far fetched theories. But it was really fun to make connections!
It was supposed to just be a small cold. A few days ago, the cough was every once in awhile and water soothed your slightly aching throat. Now your cold has graduated into a full-blown fever with a sore throat and runny nose to go with it. Tissue boxes didn’t last more than a few hours and you had consumed so much tea you were sweating peppermint. Moving from bed wasn’t something you wanted nor had to do, thanks to your best friend, Lafayette. The Frenchman had made it his number one priority to nurse you to health, this includes waking you up at 6-hour intervals to take more fever/pain reducers along with a full bottle of water. Even though you snapped at him as best as you could in the condition you were in, he didn’t let it discourage him from taking care of you.
“Y/N! Mon amie! I have arrived with more stuff to help!” Lafayette stumbled into the room, almost dropping the groceries in his hands. Your eyes widened at how stuffed the bags were, bulging from the objects that occupied them.
“Did you buy the whole store? Jesus, Laf.” You giggled lightly but it ended up becoming a coughing fit and Lafayette was sitting next to you within seconds, patting your back lightly.
You can marry whoever you want You can take an abortion. You can buy a morning afterpill without showing your ID STI tests are free birth control and condoms are free You can legally buy alcohol when your 16 And drugs is legal
Let’s have a cold calm look at the plot holes this storyline has. shall we?
A “woman of the world” which we’re meant to believe Rebecca is would be on birth control of some description.
If she happened not to be, she would have taken the morning after pill, after her one night stand with Robert. Unless she was trying to trap him.
The consent thing IS dodgy and it worries me that Emmerdale don’t seem to want to address that.
Victoria would not have been able to guess Rebecca was pregnant that soon after the “deed.” Yes, the woman in question may have suspected, but not a friendly stranger.
Victoria would not have kept a used pregnancy test in her handbag for half a week. She’s a chef for God’s sake, um hygiene?
Rebecca would not have gone romantically near a man who “forced” her into an abortion. There is no way she would have slept with him again, unless an abortion was what she wanted too.
Rebecca’s family’s rich. This weepy victim act I don’t buy. If she wants to be a single mother, it’s not like she has the usual problems of having no way to support herself.
Again, if Rebecca was emotionally distraught over one unplanned baby in the past, she would make DOUBLY sure she was on birth control.
Condoms fail. She can’t know it’s Roberts for certain.
Robert would not have missed Aaron’s appointment for anything, if Aaron wanted him there. The whole point of this Robert bad boy thing is that he’s protecting the one thing that matters to him, Aaron and his life.
Robert has over the past 18 months or so proved he cant lie to Aaron for long or convincingly, and we’re meant to believe he’d realistically hide something so huge?
Aaron’s not a stupid man, he knew there was something up when Robert visited the prison. He knows something happened.
We don’t care about Rebecca, because we’ve been given nothing to care about.
I cant believe this next one needs saying, but Robert didn’t rape her, this is not all Robert’s fault. Again, Rebecca is not the victim here, she’s at least 50% responsible, and you can weigh that more in her favour because of Robert’s obvious drunken state.
Not a plot hole exactly, but my God this has been so predictable so far.
I’m sure there’s more, but it’s late and Rebecca pisses me off.
If you think that a woman should have to carry, give birth, and raise a child of her rapist because you’re “pro-life”, then you need to reevaluate your fucking perspective on life and womanhood. The emotional, mental, and physical pain of being raped is already more than enough, can you imagine having to suspend your education, career, and life to raise a child you were forced to bear?
I defend my right as a woman and so should you. My life, my fucking body, get over it.