100 million women worldwide take 'the Pill' everyday.Anqa

When the combined oral contraceptive pill first hit the market over 50 years ago, it catalysed a sexual revolution: seemingly overnight, women had been freed from the constraints of their gender by their newfound ally of science. The use of ‘the Pill’, as it quickly became colloquially known, was almost unattached to the act of intercourse itself, with no requirements in terms of preparation, no interference with sensation and no impact on female autonomy – the choice to take the Pill was a private one. Add to this the fact that, when taken correctly, the Pill was over 99 per cent effective, what was the result? The oral contraceptive appeared to be ‘the little pill that could’, and its social ramifications propagated themselves across Occidental society at an unprecedented speed. The utilisation of the Pill as a staple contraceptive too became widespread and remains so now in 2016, with one-third of UK women aged 16-49 currently prescribed the Pill, according to Contraception and Sexual Health (2006). The UN Population Division reported in 2005 that an exorbitant 100 million women worldwide are consuming its hormonal mélange daily.

 

Yet, while the ubiquity of the Pill has persisted, research would suggest that its emancipative allure has not. Increasingly, women report complications associated with the ingestion of a not insignificant dose of hormones; most recently, the crux of complaints has centred on the flux of depressive symptoms experienced by users, with individual accounts and scientific studies alike coming to the fore in recent months to suggest that taking this type of contraceptive can worsen underlying mental health issues and, potentially, instigate new ones. Indeed, it was only last month that Danish researchers published salient findings, after actively studying the issue from 2000 to 2013. Their results were unforgiving: Association of Hormonal Contraception with Depression reported in 2016 that users of the Pill had a 40 per cent increased risk of depression after six months of use, and their sample size was not small – one million women, excluding subjects with previous psychiatric diagnoses or usage of anti-depressants.  Given such growing contention and the credence that it is slowly, but continuously, garnering, it seems logical to pose the question, what other options are there available?

 

While contraceptive research has undoubtedly slowed, – most ‘new’ options are adaptations of pre-developed contraception from the 1960s and 1970s – there have been some novel, and promising developments. Contraceptive implants, patches and coils, such as the Mirena IUD, offer an alternative to the relative slavery of daily pill-popping. However, hormonal supplementation is still central to their function, even if in lower doses or varying formulations, and hence it is arguable that these do not constitute a ‘true’ alternative. For men, the contraceptive panorama is barren: a male contraceptive pill has been promised, but is yet to materialise, and given the now rigorous nature of drug development and testing, may not do so for the foreseeable future. Thus, aside from the questionable choice of ‘pulling out’ or the irrevocability of a vasectomy, there remains only the humble condom as a means of protecting against unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases.

 

This landscape of the arrested development of contraceptives cannot, nevertheless, be safely correlated to satisfaction with oral contraceptives: Current methods and attitudes of women towards contraception in Europe and America shows that 36 per cent of contraceptive pill users in the UK change to a different method within a year, most commonly due to concerns about side effects. Given the strength of indications that women are not contented by their hormone-heavy counterparts, it is perhaps a paradox that awareness of numerous non-hormonal contraceptives remains low. It would appear that we’ve reached an impasse: we're holding out hope for something better, but a perpetual ‘frenemy’ of the Pill given its undeniable reputation as the contraceptive option for women.

 

For their part, the University of Cambridge aids students enormously in their contraceptive empowerment, outside of the narrow boundaries of oral contraceptives. Through the provision of condoms, femidoms – an equivalent for women – and dental dams, which help protect against sexually-transmitted diseases, students are not only made conscious of their contraceptive options as a set, but are also prepared for safe sex.  Free pregnancy tests are available too, and all of the above items can be acquired with the reassurance of anonymity. Such sexual health initiatives are reinforced by similar college-level strategies and the involvement of the Student Advice Service in caring for the overall wellbeing of students, the relevance of ‘overall wellbeing’ resting in the accepted truth that our sexual health is not only bound to our physical integrity, but also to our mental state.

 

We can remain secure in the knowledge that the University supports its students in their choice of contraception. We are encouraged, catered for, and hence more likely to be protected. Yet on a wider scope, the issues arising from the topic of contraception expose a pertinent need for the scientific community to meet: a sea-change of contraception, underpinned by fresh – versus recycled – research and guaranteeing both women and men the scope of choice they deserve. Perhaps a scientifically-minded Varsity reader might be bold enough to accept the challenge.