Much needed update

I can’t believe I’ve neglected my blog for over a month. I’ve been feeling rather strange the past few weeks and just haven’t had the discipline to write about what’s been going on with me, or to keep up with my… journey to healing? Recovery? What exactly would you call it?

I’ve been going through a series of ups-and-downs since I last updated, but at this moment I feel like I’ve hit a new low. But let me try and backtrack to my appointment of May 19th. I don’t know if I mentioned it on the last post, but I finally made another appointment with my pelvic pain specialist, since my panic attack at the last attempt back in January.

Overall, I was feeling pretty good about the appointment. I was actually looking forward to being physically examined, which was a nice change from all the talking and analyzing I was going through with my counselor. I had a little bit of anxiety, but I was very happily surprised, and proud, to find that I was able to control it pretty well. I even got stuck in some crazy stress-inducing lunch-hour city traffic on the way over there, but I managed to keep my cool. Once again, my NP was lovely, and sympathetic, and very comforting. She tried the Q-tip test again, and this time, I didn’t panic when the Q-tip touched me. I was able to breathe through it and tell her when I felt pain and when I didn’t. Turns out I did feel pain when she touched the opening, although to this day I’m still having trouble deciphering whether the pain was 100% there, or whether my anxiety is playing a part. The whole thing took about 2 seconds, because she stopped the second I told her I felt pain. Although we didn’t get very far, she seemed really pleased that I didn’t panic and told me how well I did and how far I’ve come in such a short time. We talked about my vag a little and she reassured me that mine looked very normal, which was one of my fears. Although she did say that, at this point, she thinks I may have a mild case of vulvar vestibulitis. If we could do a full-on exam, she would know for sure, but alas my anxiety won’t let me. She put me back on the Elavil (generic name: amitriptyline) that my gyno had put me on previously and also gave me a cream (a special mixture of Estrace) to apply nightly. She also gave me a prescription for Ativan to take before my appointments and before attempts at insertion. I left the appointment feeling elated, thinking how wonderful it was to finally be doing something about this as opposed to just talking about my failed attempts at insertion and overanalyzing my fears with my counselor. I also thought that the medications were surely going to work, and that the next time I went to see my NP, a miracle would occur, and she would be able to insert the Q-tip with no pain or panic.

Well, this is why I’m so hesitant to be optimistic about anything, because when things don’t fulfill my expectations, my whole world seems to come crashing down. After my second appointment this past Tuesday, I couldn’t even remember that elated feeling from the May appointment. We didn’t really get any further than the last appointment, even though I took an Ativan beforehand, which definitely helped to slow my beating heart. She started out by putting pressure with her fingers on the inside of my thighs and around my buttocks. Then she took the Q-tip and put pressure on different parts of my labia. Although that didn’t hurt at all, I started feeling a little panicky. Then, the second she touched the Q-tip to the opening and I felt the tenderness, I started feeling all those panicky feelings of “no-oh-my-god-i-can’t-do-this-stop-it-hurts-i-wanna-jump-off-this-table-i-don’t-wanna-do-this-anymore-forget-that-i-have-a-vagina!!” I tried to keep breathing through it, but I just couldn’t get those thoughts out of my head and I wanted more than anything to curl up into a ball. As much as I want to just GET OVER THIS, I couldn’t bring myself to keep my legs open and keep going. I wanted out. She sensed this, so we stopped. She told me that it seemed like the cream mixture I was using wasn’t working as well as we hoped, since it seemed I was just as tender as I had been the month before, so she wanted to try something else. This time she gave me a mixture of estrogen and testosterone and a numbing agent that I was to apply twice daily. She also gave me some lidocaine gel, which she wants me to use the next time I try to insert my tampon applicator (my ghetto cheap version of dilator #1). I’m supposed to see her again in 6 weeks, with the hopes that there’s some improvement, and that we’ll actually get to some insertion the next time. Just the thought makes me cringe.

Needless to say, I left the building feeling extremely disappointed in myself and more hopeless than I have felt in a very long time. I’ve pretty much been crying ever since, and I just can’t bring myself to feel positive or to even try anything remotely close to insertion. I feel like I’ve backtracked a million steps and I don’t know what to do to keep going.

Go Away, Anxiety!

An hour of yoga nidra, half an hour of restorative yoga, and countless relaxation techniques, and I still can’t get rid of the ball of anxiety in my chest. I have my appointment tomorrow. Although, on the bright side, I don’t think the anxiety is due to my appointment. I’m in the middle of another situation with my drama-queen friend, and that always gets me feeling like I have a nasty clump of nervousness at the pit of my stomach. Plus, this new boy I’m talking to… I just don’t know. Too much anxiety all at once. Perfect fucking timing. I don’t feel at all prepared for this appointment. But maybe it’s a good thing that my mind isn’t too consumed by it. Whatever the case though, the day is here, and I have to be brave. Positive thoughts!

Revelations

I had an epiphany today. It doesn’t really have anything to do with vag, but it’s got a lot to do with my self-betterment, which to me, is synonymous with curing vaginismus. I made up with that friend I talked about a few posts ago, the one who referred me to that awful gynecologist (in her defense, she did not know that she was going to be an awful doctor to me. My friend is “normal” so she’s a great-doctor to her). We’ve had a turbulent 6 year relationship which I thought had ended for good after I said some pretty horrible things to her and cut her out of my life. But alas, good friends always come back and things always work out. I came to the realization that our friendship had become so strained partly due to the fact that I sometimes am a little bit jealous of her. Jealous, because she’s living the life that I wish I had, she has the freedom to enjoy life to the fullest without being tied down by her family (and she can have sex whenever she wants, and enjoys the hell out of it). Although she was partly to blame for our falling out too, I finally admitted to myself that it wasn’t all her fault, and that a lot of it had to do with my attitude. It’s like, literally overnight, this all dawned on me, and I realized I didn’t want to to lose her as a friend. We had a nice long talk over drinks today and updated each other on our lives since we stopped speaking. I told her about vaginismus, and that I finally know the reason why I was never able to have sex or use tampons. When I described all that I’ve gone through since I found out, she started crying and said she couldn’t believe how I was dealing with it. It really touched me to see that reaction because it’s the reaction I’ve been wanting to see that no one had given me. My sister brushed it off and told me not to worry, saying that at least it’s not anything like cancer. My aunt just said that doctors here don’t know what they’re talking about, and that if I went to the doctors in our home country, they’d fix me in a jiffy. She didn’t really understand. My other friends who I’ve told have just acted really surprised that there is a such a thing as this and seemed pretty happy to be talking about something else once I changed the subject. No one has ever expressed concern for how it must make me feel. No one has ever said they feel sorry for me. And I think that’s what I’ve been wanting to hear. I want to hear that it’s OK to feel depressed about it. I was starting to feel like with all the other horrors in the world, I wasn’t allowed to feel like I was suffering. 

In other news, I had my first appointment with my counselor this past Thursday. I’d never been to a counselor before, so I had no idea what to expect, and I have to say, it was a little bit awkward. It’s just strange to divulge so much about yourself to a perfect stranger, and to sit there and analyze how your experiences have had an impact on your life. I didn’t realize I’d be nervous, but I should have figured I would be since I’m always nervous when I meet new people. At one point, I caught myself wringing my hands when I was talking about something. She pointed it out, asked me if I was nervous, and said that if she was asking me anything that made me feel uncomfortable that we could move on to something else. But the fact is, that’s just the way I am. I am so extremely shy and self-conscious that I feel nervous and awkward in situations when most people should feel fine. I also realized that I tend to babble when I’m put on the spot, and lose sight of what it is that I wanted to say. I hope it’s something that gets easier and that I get used to the more I go and see her. The hour that I spent there did go by really fast though, and I found myself wishing our session was a little bit longer. I guess that’s a good sign.

At one point I mentioned something about my fear that this could be some other physical abnormality that I have and don’t know about yet, and she said to me that when we let ourselves get consumed by fear, the body can sort of manifest that physically. That got me thinking about me being shy and nervous all the time, and I’m noticing that I really do get consumed by fear and anxiety a lot, and I find myself really tense and closed-up sometimes, especially in social situations. So it looks like my vaginismus isn’t just about my vagina. It’s something I’m going to need to work on in every aspect of my life.

Q-Tips, Therapists and Vaginas

I wish I had my own office at work. Or at least a soundproof cubicle. It’s really hard to pick up the phone to call a psychosexual therapist when your co-worker is sitting inches away in the next cubicle in an abnormally quiet office. No detail of your life goes unheard of.

But anyway, let me backtrack.

I went on my first appointment at the Pelvic and Sexual Health Institute this past Friday. It’s the first time I’ve felt BETTER after leaving an appointment than I felt going in. Granted, it didn’t go so well in terms of the exam itself, but it was great to finally meet someone who knew what she was talking about and completely understood my feelings. Having my sister with me really helped to calm the anxiety too. I barely thought about the appointment the night before. In fact, I almost FORGOT I had an appointment. No tossing and turning all night worrying.

I got there and did the standard stuff. Signed in, paid my ridiculously expensive co-pay, filled out some paperwork and was interviewed by a nurse/secretary. Positive aspect #1: she didn’t look at me like I was a medical mystery, AND she asked my sister about the book she was reading. This sparked a whole conversation on the amazingly addictive Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris. Turns out she’s a big fan of True Blood, and had no idea the show was based on a series of books. I was kind of glad she had given me something else (and fun) to talk about. But back to my vagina…

The anticipation (and the WAITING) has got to be the worst part of any doctor’s visit. After having felt unusually relaxed, I started to really think about where I was, and what I was doing there, and the anxiety just hit me like a tidal wave. I spent what seemed like the next half-hour or so holding my head in my hands and breathing in and out while my sister blissfully read away. She couldn’t believe how hard my heart was pounding. No amount of deep breathing could calm me down. Finally, the nurse practitioner came in, smiled brightly and asked me how I was doing. I liked her immediately. Her personality exuded genuine niceness. She went on to ask me all the usual questions and explained to me what she would be doing. She seemed to understand my phobia without me even having to emphasize how scared I was, which I really appreciated. She described the Q-Tip test to me, making sure to stress the fact that she would not be attempting any penetration unless I was ready for it. The Q-Tip test consists of the NP touching different parts of the vulva with a Q-Tip to test for pain. If all went well, and I felt no pain, she then would try to insert part of the Q-Tip so that she could test for any other possible physical causes of pain. After all that, she instructed me to strip from the waist down, and her and my sister left the room.

As I sat on the examining table with a sheet over my legs, I felt the anxiety getting worse. I told myself to relax, that there was no reason to panic because there wasn’t going to be any unnecessary poking and prodding. Telling myself to relax never works. By the time she came back into the room, I was still a nervous wreck. I took deep breaths, put my feet in the stirrups and laid back, nearly hyperventilating. She talked to me very soothingly and touched the Q-Tip to my inner thigh. My reaction was a panicked gasp. Almost immediately, I felt the urge to close my legs and sit-up. But I kept taking deep breaths, telling myself that there was no pain. She then touched the Q-Tip a little closer to the vulva, around the pubic mound. More gasping. When she touched the vestibule area, my level of panic reached an all-time high and then I started to cry. I wasn’t sure if I felt pain or just tenderness, or if my fear of pain led me to believe it was there. All I know is that I was too panicked to give her a coherent response, and that was the end of the exam. In between my crying and my apologizing for being so emotional, she told me that I seem to have the classic signs of vaginismus, pointing out how my breathing became shaky and my face flushed even before she touched me. Then she went on to give me an overview of how sometimes the brain can perceive signals as pain, even if it’s not really there, or something to that effect. Basically telling me that I wasn’t a freak and that I shouldn’t blame myself for feeling this anxiety. She suggested that I go see a sex/psychotherapist to try and figure out the cause of my anxiety, before she attempts any physical evaluation or treatment. I completely agreed with her, since this is what I thought I needed all along, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the fact that I could put off any physical invasion of my body for at least a few more months. So she gave me the number to the Institute for Sex Therapy at Council for Relationships (which is conveniently located on the floor right above my NP), I thanked her for being so great, and then I left to go have a fun day with my sister.

So, when I finally got a few seconds alone in the office today, I called the sex therapists, and it turns out they don’t take health insurance! [Insert exclamation of incredulity here]. And unfortunately, the sex therapy specialist my NP wanted me to see costs at least $150 an hour. Well there goes my plan of buying a new car. Fortunately, they charge on a slide fee scale, which means that what you pay is based on your income. Also, they have interns available who work under the supervision of the senior staff who cost a lot less. I have an appointment with one of them this Thursday, so I’m hoping it works out, and that she has had enough training to be able to help me. We’ll see how that goes.

In other news, I found my vagina today! I spent the last 24 years of my life convinced there couldn’t possibly be a hole down there, but sure enough, there is!

The ramblings of an anxious mind

I am a ball of anxiety today. I can’t exactly pinpoint the cause, but I’ve been having to take deep breaths all day to calm my pounding heart and this nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach. It feels like there’s all kinds of slimy things wriggling around in there. I don’t know if it’s due to the stress of car shopping, or the fact that I have my first appointment with the NP at the Pelvic and Sexual Health Institute on Friday. It might be a combination of the two.

I am absolutely petrified and nauseated at the thought of this visit. Thankfully, my wonderful sister is taking the train down from north Jersey to go with me. That calms down my nervousness a great deal. But no matter the amount of support I’m getting in this, nothing can make me feel better about having to put my feet in stirrups again and being poked and prodded in my most sensitive area. All those horrible memories of my gyno’s office come rushing back every time I think about it. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten what the pain feels like, but then envisioning the horror that was my last attempted pap, makes me feel the pain almost as clearly as if I was feeling it at this moment. Just the thought makes me feel lightheaded and nauseous and almost brings tears to my eyes. I know that this NP isn’t going to be anything like my gyno. She’s seen women like me many, many times, and she knows what she’s doing. But no amount of reassurance can stop me from feeling so scared.

I definitely need to see a psychotherapist. Or some kind of doctor that’s going to help me make sense of this fear, to help me find the cause for it, and to help me make it go away. This weekend I was reading through some of the bios of the women in my support group, and I remember reading one where the woman said she went to go see a hypnotherapist who helped her discover repressed memories of incest from an abusive older brother. This really scares me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m harboring repressed memories of some kind of abuse when I was little. I can’t imagine anyone in my life who would have hurt me. I can’t even fathom the idea of having memories so horrible that I wouldn’t remember them. But this woman had no idea she had these memories either, so it is possible. I can’t think of any other reason for why I’m so messed up. I don’t think it was the way I was raised either, since my sister and I grew up in the same environment, as did all of my cousins, and they are all perfectly normal, sexual beings. In fact, they talk about their sexual experiences so much, it makes me want to crawl into a hole. I’m one of the oldest ones in my family, therefore I should be the most experienced. But they all see me as “the virgin.” Don’t talk about sex around L, cause she’s innocent. Some of my cousins say they admire me for still being “pure”. But I know that secretly, they all think I’m weird and that I’m probably a lesbian. I can’t help but feel embarrassed whenever the subject of sex comes up. I know these are all irrational thoughts, but I can’t help but think them once in a while. Like I said, I need to see a psychotherapist.

Moving on.

I wrote some things in my personal journal this weekend that I think are relevant to my blog, so I want to post them on here (with some edits):

“I think I’ve been focusing too much on how this “disability” is negatively affecting my attitude on life. How everything eventually comes down to me having vaginismus. How I’m even more scared than ever before to get close to a guy because I’m afraid he’s only going to want sex. And yet I also seem to want a relationship even more than I did before because I feel so very much alone in this. It feels like all of the women in my vag group have a husband, or boyfriend, or fiance that’s helping them get through it. And I have no one. Not even close. And I keep thinking that if I had such a hard time with relationships before I knew I had this, it’s going to be damn near impossible to find one now. But like someone in my group said to me, I can’t let my vag consume my life. And I think that’s exactly what I’m doing. If there’s even the slightest chance that I’ll meet someone new soon, I can’t go into it thinking that my vaginismus is going to ruin it. I shouldn’t really go into it with any expectations. But most of all, I shouldn’t want to overcome this so that I can be “ready” for when I do meet a guy. I should want to overcome this for myself. So that I can feel normal. Feel like a real woman.”