I just recently picked up a new vagina. It's brand new, shiny, and never been tested by man. You think I'm kidding, but its true: One week ago today, along with other repair surgeries, I had a vaginal reconstruction. I'm 37, but in more ways than one I feel like a new woman, a virtual born-again virgin.
First, I will establish for you that I did not do this "vaginal rejuvenation" as a cosmetic option. I'm not a celebrity millionaire and if I had money to fix an area, there are many other baggy organs urgently pushing themselves to the top of my surgical waiting list. My injuries were due to an emergency forceps birth, which caused significant muscle damage eight years ago. So, the need to be rebuilt, along with receiving a supportive bladder sling apparatus, was of medical necessity. My bladder now has a small nylon hammock (L.L. Bean, Cape Cod stripe, I imagine) that helps it from leaking during sneezes, coughs, and movies starring Steve Carrell. Does this device work? I don't know yet. After a week post op, I feel as though I went from peeing like a 90-year-old woman, to peeing like a 90-year-old man: it takes a good 15 minutes of dribbling to empty this new bladder. I'm hoping soon for a happy medium. Vaginas With Teeth And Other Sex Myths That Bite
Moving on to the vagina; my surgeon repaired and tightened the damaged muscle tissue. As Borat would say, she removed the "sleeve of wizard." I'm selling it on Craigslist if anyone is interested. Now, the reason I was able to wait this long for the surgery is that sex was not effected tremendously by my injuries; my spouse claimed that he did not notice the problem (what a nice man), and although I noticed a definite lack of sensation, I also hit my sexual peak during these past few years where I'm more easily aroused, so I felt satisfied. My problem areas were things like Yoga classes, where in candlestick position my hoo-hoo would bellow and squeak, and the instructor would state, "whomever is playing the blue whale CD, could we please just listen to my Tibetan bowls instead." Also, I could eject a tampon 10 feet during a sneeze, a skill only useful in Dutch porn movies. Although these were isolated incidents, I was self-conscious at these times and no amount of Kegels would free me from the social pain of having queef-itis. Support groups, although loud and disruptive, offered some relief.