Tag: Vaginismus

  • The fun part? | Pleasure Moans #1

    The fun part? | Pleasure Moans #1

    1. Try not to intellectualise your bodily experiences (much too late for that)
    2. If you start dating again, you’re likely to unconsciously pick someone with erectile dysfunction (can I unknow this?)
    3. When you’re ready, try penetration but on your own (oh shit, here we go)

    Those are the three nuggets of wisdom my sex therapist gave me when we finished our sessions together in the autumn. She made it clear to me that she expected to see me again, or that I would see another psychosexual counsellor at some point in the near future. I was being discharged a) because my sister’s Danish health insurance had dried up and b) because we’d hit something of a brick wall in terms of progress. My generalised pelvic pain had improved and I was beginning to handle the upsetting side effects of the pill, the only thing left to test was the penetrability of my vagina. The fun part, right?

    I was in no rush to test this theory, partly because I was so encouraged by the way everything else had improved. Even in terms of vaginismus, we had come to the conclusion that any superficial, psychological pain and reaction I had was situational and secondary. We also agreed that I wasn’t ready to try penetration again. I was happy with the progress I’d made and while it was a really big deal to test the theory at some point, it was nice to live in the pain-free-ish, worry-free bliss for a little while. And it was worry-free. Until…

    A letter arrived announcing the date of my next appointment with my gynaecologist. I knew exactly what it meant. If I went into that appointment and said “yep, all good, pain’s reduced, periods are lighter, plus I’m handling the acne and mood swings” that my gynae would say “job done” and discharge me – rightly so. Honestly, I felt ready to be discharged. But in the back of my mind, the deadline of this appointment deeply worried me. I needed to test the theory that everything was fixed. I could foresee how upsetting it would be to be discharged and only then discover the horrible deep pain during sex was still there, meaning that if I needed more gynaecological care I’d have to start again, again, again.

    Despite the advice of my well-intentioned friends to ‘find a lad’ in order to test my internal mechanics, I knew exactly what to do, or at least, where to go. The Vaginismus Network has hosted a couple of its events at a Shoreditch sex shop called Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium that has proven itself to be deeply knowledgable about unwanted pain during sex. Months of avoiding this big ominous question but one letter had me on a bus to a sex shop after class. Whatever it takes, I guess.

    Sh! hooked me up with a dilator set. These are specially designed vaginal trainers of different sizes, mostly used to treat vaginismus. While I wasn’t specifically treating vaginismus, I was advised that it was the best option for testing the water again, especially since I didn’t know if vaginismus was going to be part of the process or not.

    I was so sure it was going to be alright, because (have I said it enough?) everything else had genuinely improved. So I tried the smaller two. No pain, no vaginismus. I stopped there for a week or so, but this really bolstered me. I had reached the dream articulated by Fran Bushe in Ad Libido, I had fixed sex. 

    And then I tried the third one.

    Pain. Pain, pain, pain. Deep, cramping, breathtaking pain. Shortly and sharply followed by a different pain and resistance: vaginismus.

    What’s worse, the deep pain didn’t go away. It was like I had just turned my pain back on again, all of it, like a switch. Two days later I vomited up my breakfast because of pain, something that hadn’t happened since I started the pill. And I hadn’t even tried the largest one yet.

    Safe to say, I did. And it was agony and pretty upsetting. Not just for that moment but also because it was quite #triggering in ways I did not expect. I must have tried them for two, maybe three minutes. Not long at all. It just made me feel deeply disturbed, uncomfortable and worried by the fact I have had sex with that pain in the past.

    As a bonus stroke of discomfort, I currently live with my parents. They were pretty aware of my situation and how much it had improved. So when I was suddenly in pain again I was really unsure how to mention, “oh I’ve been upstairs testing out my vag before I see the gynaecologist on Tuesday!” So I did the very rational thing of saying nothing, becoming a bit of a stroppy teenager and not being a very nice person to live with. Oops. Sorry, folks!

    There are lots of things I hate about pain, but up at the top of the list is the exhaustion that comes with it. Whether it’s due to the cause of the pain itself or just by the toll being in pain takes, it sucks. I’ve found the masters draining and challenging, so adding some extra stress, pain and fatigue meant that by the end of term I just felt like a blob of matter floating around. Most of my diary entries from November and December start with “I am so tired,” “I’m fucking exhausted” “bloody exhausted” “you’d think I’d be used to exhaustion by now…” or various uncreative phrases of a similar ilk. I really thought it was just university, but my workload this semester is much bigger and yet I have had so much more energy and I wonder if it has a lot to do with my return to the regular use of painkillers and the fact I’ve stopped using the dilators for now.

    I can’t tell you how much I’ve hesitated over writing this blog. At the LSE Gender Department there is a lot of talk of so-called Imposter Syndrome. I’ve certainly felt it there, but I’ve felt it in this respect too – how can I spend so much time writing about sex but feel uncomfortable discussing solo vaginal training? And yet I didn’t want to force myself to write about it. If I felt there was a new line being crossed then I was going to cross it slowly and thoughtfully. But I did want to cross it eventually. The rediscovery of this pain has opened up a whole load of new questions, like was my pain ever hormonal? Did the pill actually fix something or did my pain just improve because more time had passed since the last time I had penetrative sex? The other feeling of imposter syndrome came from the fact I had restarted the pain myself. Should I devalue this pain because I had unknowingly but voluntarily made it worse? These questions haven’t gone away and I think this part of the story is crucial if I’m going to tell the next part. And though it does continue on from the #Periodically blogs, which aren’t going anywhere, I’m going to do so under a new banner: Pleasure Moans. 

    This blog is already way too long so I’m going to end it here. It’s obviously not the end of this (never-ending) story. I didn’t want this post to be quite so depressing but it is what it is. I promise the second half of this ‘episode’ is more constructive and angry and funny. I’ll try to write it soon, rather than leaving it another four months, but I’m making no promises. Thank you as always for your support, kind words and patience! 

  • Where I’m at #Periodically 32

    Where I’m at #Periodically 32

    The last couple of months have seen me finally achieve some sense of stability with pain management and general wellbeing. I’m able to exercise again, I’ve completed a round of psychosexual counselling and I’ve started a new chapter by beginning my masters in gender and sexuality studies at the LSE. But what do these changes mean for the #Periodically blogs? I’m not sure yet.

    My challenges are by no means over, some of them I haven’t even considered addressing yet. But after having shared so much, I’ve been enjoying sharing a little less lately. Now I know what I’m like, I’ll write and post a blog saying I’m stepping back from #Periodically and a week later my oversharing side will kick back in, that’s what happened the last time I considered reigning things in.

    Healthwise, I’m still facing new issues every month, but I’m finding it hard to tell whether things are connected or not or whether they’re just signs of life. And while I’m in considerably less pain, my acne is refusing to calm down and my body feels a bit like it’s beginning to override the pill (I have a horrible feeling about my next cycle, I hope I’m wrong!) I’ve reached the end of my journey with the urology department (I think) and it seems that despite my hunch, I’m all OK in that sense. Currently, I’m not in a frame of mind where I’m looking to open up another can of worms by investigating something else. This is a huge deal for me because it must mean that I’m doing something remarkable  — I’m coping!

    Despite being asked on the regs, I have no idea when I’m going to ‘get back out there’ romantically and sexually, but what I do know is that I have a lot to say about painful sex, vaginismus, female sexual dysfunction and sexuality in general, plus the effects all of these things have on your mental health and personal relationships. But I’m not quite ready to share them yet.

    This is the bit of the story that I feel is missing from #Periodically at the moment, and it doesn’t really fit into the category #Periodically, does it? So I’m toying with the idea that when I’m ready (don’t hold your breath), these conversations will come under a new banner, or maybe in an entirely different format altogether.

    So to repeat my earlier question, what’s next for #Periodically? I definitely want to cover a few more events and I would love to review a few more period products, but logistically I’m not menstruating regularly enough for that to work right now. (LOL, period logistics eh?!) I’ve been testing out the new release of Clue Plus and have some thoughts on that, so that’s to come, but most of all, I would really love to hear from #Periodically readers. You lovingly email and message me the nicest words of support, and now, if it’s not too much to ask, I would love to hear what blogs you’d like to read and what topics you’d like to see me cover. What’s more, if you want to write a guest blog for #Periodically, I am all ears! A) I want to broaden the experiences #Periodically covers and B) I have considerably less time for the blog at the moment, LSE is trying to suck all spare minutes out of my life…

    BASICALLY, I’d like to hear from you, so if you have any blog ideas or a guest blog pitch for me, please get in touch, by Twitter, Instagram or email.

  • Admitting Defeat? #Periodically 26

    Admitting Defeat? #Periodically 26

    Technically speaking, it’s been almost two months since I last shared a personal update on my tricky situation. Why the hiatus? I’m not sure. I guess my oversharing side took a backseat and I decided, for the first time in a year, to just dwell on things in private. When I write these blogs I poke fun at my situation and force myself end on a positive note. By not writing about it, I’ve had a lapse in perspective and lost my sense of humour about it all.

    Also, the longer I left it the more there was to cover and now I’m not entirely sure where to start. With the good news, perhaps?

    The Third Pill Pack

    So I had a painless period. I don’t mean that to sound so nonchalant – it was a huge deal. I was scared to mention it in case I jinxed it. In fact, the painlessness continued for a couple of weeks after that. I was nervous to admit it. Had three months on the pill really fixed things so quickly and completely? No, was the answer.

    A few days before my next cycle I started to get some of my old pain, mostly the stuff that’s localised to my right side and gets dramatically worse every time I use my right leg. My PMS has been considerably worse since I’ve been on the pill but I’ve also noticed a dramatic drop in my mood the moment I am in pain. This didn’t used to happen. While I wait to sort out psychosexual counselling I’ve just got a standard counsellor for now, and since she can’t help as much with the vaginismus stuff, she’s doing her best to help me counter pain-induced mood swings.

    Around this time, my skin decided that a little acne on the pill would no longer do and broke out into the longest, most relentless bout of acne that I’ve had since puberty. Fab.

    The Fourth Pill Pack

    Old habits die hard, and the painful/grumpy premenstrual days foreshadowed a painful period. My periods are definitely less painful, lighter and generally better than they were before the pill and for the last few bleeds I’ve got away without painkillers, which is another huge victory. What was frustrating however, was that after my period ended, the pain didn’t. I wasn’t all that upset at first because I had a follow up scan a few days after and, as always, I applied the logic that if I was in pain then the scan might pick something up. I had built up to this particular scan more than normal because it was a big deal — if the internal ultrasound showed up clear then the chances were that my gynaecologist would declare that the pill had cured me and discharge me from his care. No pressure then, ovaries.

    When I got to the hospital though, there was no one there. It was a bank holiday and the hospital was closed. I had raised my eyebrows when I got the appointment months ago, but I didn’t question it since it had been outsourced to a private healthcare provider. That was a mistake. I wanted the scan to be that week because if the pill has “fixed” me in the sense that I now grow a cyst in my pill-free week and then it gradually goes away over the three weeks on the pill, then it’s not a particularly thorough fix. Having the scan a few days after my period and being in pain was the best possible time to catch *something* in the act. There’s also the added complication that having vaginismus, even though mine is manageable, means that I have to psych myself up for a transvaginal scan.

    The let down from not having the scan was pretty bad. I was upset. What didn’t help was that the bulging pain in my side continued to get worse and worse and was accompanied by some delightful bloating, only convincing me further that if I’d had the scan that day, they might’ve found something. Even though my scan was rescheduled for a week later, I knew my luck would mean it was a no-go. (I was right).

    I’d been looking forward to this particular week (I had a free house, wahoo!) and was planning to cook and eat and write and exercise (more on that another time) but I was in so much pain, riddled with some of the worst acne I’ve ever had, miserable from the non-event scan and generally very lacklustre, so I ended up regressing seven years and lolling about on Sims 2. I didn’t even read. This was all coupled with a vague work crisis, so basically it was a nightmarish shit-storm of a week.

    When I eventually had the scan it didn’t end up being an entirely negative experience. The sonographer and the chaperone were the two women who scanned me both times they found the cysts and were supportive in the fact that they knew that in cases like this, no news is not necessarily good news. Bizarrely, the sonographer, before inserting (is that any better than ‘penetrating?’ *cringe*) the device, gestured towards my vagina and asked, “are you alright with all that now?” and I WISH I had asked what she meant. Had she realised I had vaginismus way back when? I’ll never know.

    I tried to write off *that week* as a bad week and to carry on after I’d had the scan but the pain was stubborn to shift. I just felt a bit like a sick person again, lying down after dog walks and needing to catch my breath after the simplest of tasks. Pain is knackering. I think chronic pain flare-ups are always harder to handle after getting an ‘all-clear.’

    Pain Management 

    Bracing for the inevitable discharge letter from my gynae, I went to my new, new, new GP to discuss what my options were now. Five weeks or so ago I would’ve been happy with how things had improved on the pill but now I know my pain can still flare up just as much as it used to even though I’m on the pill. While the flare-ups are definitely rarer occurrences, I’m not really happy with this as an end point. There’s also the fact that the scan really hurt, penetration still hurts. It’s still intrusive and upsetting and I’d really just like to be done with it all now.

    Because of this, my GP has finally convinced me to focus on pain management. I feel like I’m admitting defeat because I really want to know what is causing my pain, plus I’m scared that if I never find the cause then the underlying problem may never shift. But honestly, I’m exhausted. Even if it’s only for a little while, pain management seems like the right thing to do, especially with the way my mood is correlating with my pain. So for now, I’m on amitriptyline, a low dose antidepressant that *may,* over time stop me feeling pain. It sounds scary and the list of side effects is TERRIFYING (spontaneous lactation?!) but I’m on such a low dose of the stuff that I’m not too worried for the time being.

    Since I’m going to be staying on the pill as part of this pain management programme, and it’s been long enough that my skin should’ve have calmed down or improved, I’m now on a new night-time gel for my acne. These two treatments combined have a load of risk factors that mean I should avoid sunlight and alcohol — fun summer 2018 for me then — but they’re not hard and fast rules. I’ve also been taking Evening Primrose Oil at my mum’s request since it used to help her PMS and acne. My PMS was particularly bad last week so I doubled my dose of EPO to no avail… worth a shot, eh?

    Let’s hope these guys can work together!

    I’ve definitely let things, pain and otherwise, get the better of me over the last few weeks, which is so frustrating because I have some really exciting things going on and coming up. I want to be able to enjoy it all, so pain management seems like the right way to go.

    Check out my latest review for A Younger Theatre here: Consent, Harold Pinter Theatre.