Tag: Menstruation

  • “While you’re unconscious…” | Pleasure Moans #2

    “While you’re unconscious…” | Pleasure Moans #2

    There I was, sitting in the waiting room of my community hospital trying to read Papillion. I say trying because I was very distracted. It was my last week of term, I was, as I made clear in my last post, absolutely pooped. But more distracting than any of the assignments, deadlines and very real desire to finish Papillion was my concern for what was going to happen when I saw the gynaecologist.

    As discussed in the last blog, the impending appointment pushed me to take action for the first time in a few months. But until the night before I hadn’t actually given the appointment itself much thought. True to form, once I did I completely freaked myself out. Doing all the period, pain and penetration maths in my head I had come to the conclusion that my gynaecologist was going to want to do another diagnostic laparoscopy – keyhole surgery to look for endometriosis.

    Image result for algebra meme gif
    Me doing the period, pain and penetration maths

    How had I come to this conclusion? Because that’s the only other thing my local NHS has to offer, other than antidepressants, which I tried but weren’t for me. But also because since I started with this new gynae he hadn’t been convinced by the laparoscopy I had in Swansea back in 2017, but from what I could understand, the only reason for doubt was that he hadn’t performed it himself.

    Anyway, I was right. But not for the reasons I’d anticipated. He suggested antidepressants again, which I declined. So then he suggested something I didn’t even know was a thing. He wanted to examine me under anesthesia, since it’s hard to really get a good look at my innards with so much pain kicking about. And then… well, then this conversation happened:

    Dr: So when I do the examination under anaesthesia, I can stretch the vagina and see if that helps.
    Me: Sorry, stretch my what?
    Dr: Vagina
    Me: With what?
    Dr: What do you mean?
    Me: What would stretch my vagina with? 
    Dr: My hands.
    Me: ... 
    Me: And what’s that… procedure… called? 
    Dr: Oh it doesn’t have a name. It’s just part of ‘examination under anaesthesia.’ 
    Me: …
    Dr: And while you’re unconscious we might as well do another laparoscopy just to have a look around. 

    The more I think about this conversation the funnier/more ridiculous it seems. I was flabbergasted but this is the coolest and most collected I’ve ever been in an appointment like this, I asked loads of follow up questions, aired my doubts and concerns and he heard them all out and answered them as best he could. Many of my concerns were, are even, small little things, but when I look at the bigger picture holistically, these things add up. For example, the irony is not lost on me that in the process of trying to have pain free sex I’ve made myself feel incredibly unsexy – a resurgence of acne, surgical wounds that scarred weirdly, taking a drug that in the past has reduced my libido but in the present has given me erratic mood swings that I have to actively intervene to control. All pretty minor things, but when I consider what the point of all this is, which hasn’t been reached, I have to ask myself what price I’m willing to pay to get answers. My belly button’s starting to look normal again, do I really want to start from the beginning again?

    The other thing, that’s slightly bigger, is that having diagnostic surgery and not getting a diagnosis is a very surreal and difficult thing to process. Surgery and the recovery from it are painful – which is just so frustrating when it hasn’t done anything to help the underlying pain. I’ve tried and failed several times on the #Periodically blogs, but it’s a really difficult thing to articulate. You cause yourself additional pain and duress only to be told ‘there’s nothing wrong.’ That’s not a feeling I enjoy remembering and I don’t particularly want to experience it again.

    If I’m going to have another laparoscopy, I need a better reason that already being unconscious.

    But, this is the NHS in 2019 so if I say no and then find a better reason then in all likelihood it would take me a year to get to this point again. So I’m on the waiting list, mulling it over, very aware and reassured that I can withdraw my name from the waiting list at any point.

    I’ve sought counsel from just about everyone on this. Friends, family, my GP, support groups, random strangers on the Internet, academics and a brill gynaecologist I have the good fortune of knowing (thank you!) And all of their concerns echoed mine – there’s got to be a better reason to do another laparoscopy. I should also add, there were lots of raised eyebrows about the idea of having my vagina stretched. Worryingly, I can’t find any information about this having been done to anyone else, and given I apparently have a certain psychosexual vulnerability, it sounds like a stretching might do more harm than good.

    So I’m in the process of trying to get a second opinion from a London gynaecologist, which, while possible, is proving to be more complicated than me and my GP first thought. London hospitals are more likely to do more detailed/thorough scans (MRIs & ultrasounds by gyanes rather than radiologists) to check if there are any signs of endometriosis before surgical intervention. Unfortunately the wires have been crossed in my referral letter and I’ve been referred to a vulvology specialist, which is not what I want at all, but my doctor’s surgery have submitted the referral despite my protests and have said I have to talk to my GP if I want to alter it, which is fine, except my GP is booked up for the next month, meaning the referral I don’t want is likely to be processed in that time. It’s just a massive waste of time and money for everyone which is the last thing I want to do. As always, the admin side of this is really hard work and puts irritating little voices in your head that ask ‘is this stress really worth it?’ The jury’s still out. 

    I did not think we would be back at the ‘e‘ word, and I’m nervous about going down that path again. But November’s news that a special NHS report had found that there was ‘a demonstrable lack of understanding’ of endometriosis among Welsh health care providers (I had my first lap in Wales) has made me wonder whether double checking is a good idea after all.

    I change my mind every day about what I would do if my gynae’s office called me and told me I could have the laparoscopy tomorrow. Today I would say no, but ask me when I’m in more pain and I might say yes.

    Since I might be going back down the endometriosis route, you might be wondering why I decided to move this story over into Pleasure Moans and away from Periodically. I’ve been thinking a lot, academically and personally, about the interrelation and separation of sexual and reproductive health lately. This ‘situation’ is obviously both. But it’s also not. I am very aware that to get help faster I only have to rephrase what I’m saying to my doctors about my sexual health to make it about my reproductive health. My aims are to be able to have and enjoy sex again and to be in less pain day-to-day. In my current reality, this has very little to do with reproduction. For others, it’s a totally different situation with the same symptoms and goals. Plus, it may be that this is easier to say now that I’ve settled some of my menstrual issues. It’s complicated stuff, but the way we talk about it makes a huge difference to patient experience, and so this is how I’m choosing to tell this part of my story from now and for now.

    Thank you for all the encouragement about making this change. It’s been on my mind for a while and I’m feeling good about it! 

     

  • One Year of #Periodically: Sharing is Caring | #Periodically 27

    One Year of #Periodically: Sharing is Caring | #Periodically 27

    Fanfare alert: it’s been one whole year since I published the first #Periodically blog on Fictitiously Hilary. This marks my 27th blog about my menstrual, gynaecological and all together grossly overshared health. If truth be told, I can’t believe it’s only been a year, it’s been a bit of a mad one.

    So much has happened in the last 12 months, and, as I mentioned last week, writing the #Periodically blogs has given some really awful situations a positive edge. Writing about this never-ending shit-storm has meant I’ve actually got something from the shit-storm. The year would have been a bit of a downer without it.

    Health wise, the last twelve months have seen me hate the pill, have eliminating surgery, an infected bellybutton (nice!), cysts, cyst, no cysts, vaginismus (that was a curveball), counselling, stop running, start yoga, give up sex, several very painful pelvic exams, four very painful ultrasounds, anaemia (another curveball), one trip to the emergency gynae unit, going back on the pill, almost liking the pill, hating the pill again and going on pain eliminating antidepressants. It’s remarkable, but not all that surprising, that I have had so much medical intervention in the last 12 months without reaching a stable diagnosis or any reliable resolution. It’s also pretty distressing to think that things at this point are probably a little worse than they were a year ago. On the bright side, I’m incredibly fortunate that all this medical intervention, except prescriptions since leaving Wales, hasn’t directly cost me a penny! #SaveOurNHS 

    I say directly because my health has cost me financially. The increase in doctors appointments and pain last autumn undoubtedly influenced my decision to go freelance but I don’t regret that decision for a second. I graduated last July, spent four weeks in South America (including a struggle with altitude sickness that makes so much more sense now I know I was anaemic), before having the op and then deciding to go freelance.

    Going freelance straight from university was an awful idea, I knew it was at the time, but #Periodically has been a huge part of my freelance “success” (as in I’m still alive). While I haven’t monetized the blog, #Periodically has opened up so many doors, from top-secret projects that are going to change the world, to helping me get accepted onto the masters course I’ll be starting in September. It’s also let me meet some amazing people, from Period Poverty activists like Mandu Reid and Gabby Edlin (who I met in a toilet of all places), to entrepreneurs and game-changers in female health.

    From time to time, #Periodically has also veered away from my personal experiences and into other things, like femtech and menstrual cup reviews, as well as reviews of books like Sweetening the Pill and It’s Only Blood. The most popular blogs, ‘Does being anti-pill make me a bad feminist?’ and ‘My experience using Natural Cycles,’ combine review and personal experience — something I hope I can do more of in the future.

    In the first #Periodically I wrote, “I don’t want to write about it after the fact, because after the fact might not be for a long time. I want to write about it while it is happening,” and THANK GOD I had that mentality. Who knows when the end of this saga will come, but by sharing my experience, often in TMI detail, collaborating and campaigning I feel like I’ve got so much more from this year than just pain and frustrating doctors appointments. I hope the blogs can help make a few more people sit up and take female health, particularly menstrual health, even the tiniest bit more seriously.

    Thank you so much for reading and sharing the #Periodically blogs, especially if you were only here for book-talk. I have no idea where me or #Periodically will be in another 12 months time, but I can say with some confidence that things are probably going to get weird. 

    My favourite #Periodically is still #Periodically 4, check it out here: “Conversations with Doctors That Shouldn’t Have Happened”. 

  • Review: It’s Only Blood – Anna Dahlqvist #Periodically 25

    Review: It’s Only Blood – Anna Dahlqvist #Periodically 25

    Last week I attended the launch of gender, sexuality and human rights journalist Anna Dahlqvist’s book It’s Only Blood: Shattering the Taboo of Menstruation. The conversations on the night, between Dahlqvist, the founder of Bloody Good Period Gabby Edlin and the audience were interesting enough, but the book itself stands out as an enlightened piece of writing about the profound impact that period taboos, period poverty and poor menstrual hygiene have on menstruators’ lives.

    The book was originally published in Swedish and has been translated into English by literary translator Alice E. Olsson. Olsson was at the launch and discussed the fun (and struggle) of translating some of the menstrual colloquialisms.

    https://www.instagram.com/p/BjJ2uqLFo_-/?taken-by=baraliteblod

    It’s Only Blood is not a list of historical period myths, instead it’s a contemporary assessment of how reinforced menstrual shame continues to cause harm on a monumental scale. “Even though shame and silence are experiences shared by menstruators all over the world, the consequences become far more serious when an additional dimension is introduced: poverty,” Dahlqvist writes.

    The testimonies, many from school girls and activists from Uganda, Kenya, Bangladesh, India, America and Sweden, are combined with Dahlqvist’s research of UN legislation to highlight the fact that inaction when it comes to menstrual hygiene, education and resources means that many human rights are being violated, and yet, there’s a distinct lack of retaliation by politicians. The book is also coloured with Dahlqvist’s personal anecdotes and descriptions, which makes this serious book palatable – it’s rare to get a non-fiction book that you can’t put down.

    “Power over the period is a necessity, a precondition for participation in public life,” Dahlqvist writes, in reference to the serious social and educational issues poor menstrual hygiene can bring about. When school girls don’t have access to running water or locking doors, their options are rather bleak. If they bleed in public they’ll experience immense shame (the weight of which is only heavier when menstrual myths maintain that seeing or touching menstrual blood is bad luck), returning home to secretly clean and change a cloth at lunchtime, avoiding school entirely or hoping, at risk of infection, that one cloth or pad can survive a whole school day. Unsurprisingly, this has a profound and direct impact on their education. The book also explores how, contrary to popular opinion, these problems don’t go away as menstruators leave school.

    One particularly interesting part of It’s Only Blood is the connection Dahlqvist draws attention to between infections, like UTIs and Bacterial Vaginosis, which can be caused by poor menstrual hygiene, with HIV and HPV (leading to Cervical Cancer). Society, including period product providers, encourages menstruators to aspire to be clean and fresh while simultaneously not letting anyone around them know that they are bleeding. With all this shame and secrecy, it’s no surprise then that students in Malawi dry their menstrual protection under their mattresses or that in Bangladesh, one women hides her cloths in the roof, rather than drying them in sterilising sunlight. It’s a public health issue, why aren’t we treating it as such?

    Not only is Dahlqvist’s book intersectional in the stories that it tells, it also covers the intersections of menstrual hygiene with poverty, politics, commercial business and cultural and social stigmas. If you’re already active in combatting period poverty It’s Only Blood will spur you on and if you’re new to the discussion, the book will motivate you to join the ranks. Activists’ stories of feats large and small show how desperately change is needed, but also how in some cases, how little it takes to dramatically improve things.

    It’s Only Blood perfectly showcases how menstrual shame causes problems for everyone and why shattering the taboos will undoubtedly improve individuals’ lives and society in broader terms.

    Buy It’s Only Blood from Wordery by clicking here.