What I Didn't Tell You
Remember that post about my last follow-up appointment? You know. The one where the doctor was all jazzed about my "beautiful cervix"? Remember how awesome that was?
Well... there is something that happened at that visit that I did NOT tell you about. Something not just less awesome, but less THAN awesome. Something I was hoping to avoid, but apparently cannot.
The dreaded vaginal dilator.
Yep. My incredible shrinking vagina needs assistance. Ugh. And because both Ryan and I are so tweaked out about everything being all askew up in there, the whole "have sex at least three times a week to keep everything working" thing is totally not happening. In all honesty, we've managed to "have relations" (as the nurse called it) exactly once - on that night at Mohican. Where it hurt me and terrified us both and seems to have dried up (no pun intended) any desire either of us may have had to get it on.
So yeah. When I was telling the nurse practitioner at that appointment that this was an issue, she went over to the little medical tool chest thingie and... well... did you know that speculums come in SIZES? Well they do. As I learned while reading the labels on the drawers of said medical tool chest. They come in: Extra Large, Large, Medium, and VIRGINAL! Teeheehee. So yeah. The nurse that did all my blood pressure and all that set up had gotten out a size large, but once I told the nurse practitioner about my shrinkage, she replaced it with a medium. (At least I haven't shrunk back to virginal, though it sure feels that way.)
Then she told me the dilator is a must. Apparently, those come in sizes, too. I was given a Small Plus, whatever that means:
Well... there is something that happened at that visit that I did NOT tell you about. Something not just less awesome, but less THAN awesome. Something I was hoping to avoid, but apparently cannot.
The dreaded vaginal dilator.
Yep. My incredible shrinking vagina needs assistance. Ugh. And because both Ryan and I are so tweaked out about everything being all askew up in there, the whole "have sex at least three times a week to keep everything working" thing is totally not happening. In all honesty, we've managed to "have relations" (as the nurse called it) exactly once - on that night at Mohican. Where it hurt me and terrified us both and seems to have dried up (no pun intended) any desire either of us may have had to get it on.
So yeah. When I was telling the nurse practitioner at that appointment that this was an issue, she went over to the little medical tool chest thingie and... well... did you know that speculums come in SIZES? Well they do. As I learned while reading the labels on the drawers of said medical tool chest. They come in: Extra Large, Large, Medium, and VIRGINAL! Teeheehee. So yeah. The nurse that did all my blood pressure and all that set up had gotten out a size large, but once I told the nurse practitioner about my shrinkage, she replaced it with a medium. (At least I haven't shrunk back to virginal, though it sure feels that way.)
Then she told me the dilator is a must. Apparently, those come in sizes, too. I was given a Small Plus, whatever that means:
So yeah. There's the box. I'll spare you an actual photo of the thing itself - I'm sure you can imagine. And the really thrilling part of this is... she said that this is FOR LIFE. Yep. Every day for the rest of my life, I am supposed to keep using this little gem. Unless I am having sex three times a week. Which really seems awfully time consuming even if I WAS into it...
So there you have it. You know. In case you missed me being humiliated. I promise you, it never ends. I will be humiliated forever... but I'm ok with it.
Love love, Phoebe
Comments
I'm a big fan of lots of sex, but when it's prescribed -- and I've been in a place in life when that was the case, and that was the prescription -- it becomes decidedly unsexy. 'No pressure, just do this. A lot. And like it.' Awesome.
But SOMEday, it won't be doctor's orders. Someday it'll be way more about the fact that you're both sexypants for each other, and giggling nostalgically about vaginal dilators might even be amusing post-coital conversation.
You could also, when the time comes, use it all as an excuse to make Ryan shave. Just sayin'. Always trying to help you with that angle.