Excuse me, Doctor? I may have misheard you...
I'm not a modest woman. I am writing about my vagina, for fuck’s sake.
But still, any time is tough times on the OB/GYN's table, even before getting to the stirrups.
I sit in my miserable paper robe, which the chipper weighing woman refers to as "huge," but barely closes with its mismatched ties, as it doesn’t have enough slack to cover me.
The doctor breezes in.
She is younger than I am. This shouldn't be a surprise, but it is.
She sits on her wheelie chair and leans against the wall casually. She invites me to confide in her.
Here is my list of current concerns: strange growths in private places (I’m so glad I have a husband), leaking pee when I sneeze, cough, laugh or exercise (great excuse to skip the work out), and perpetually lumpy breast tissue (super appealing).
My Boobs And Skin
She shrugs off the bumpy breasts as she feels me up.
Peering down through the neck of my gown, I see that her shiny hair is without even a touch of grey as she assesses my own gardens of growth.
She is complimentary and thorough in describing my skin abnormalities, which she pronounces benign before moving on to the main event.
The pap is the best part. Except of course when she says, “Lots of pressure, lots and lots of pressure,” as I can just barely make out the dull sensation of her prodding.
“Have you heard of vaginal mesh?” she asks, her head between my legs.
“Why yes," I tell her. "I've always wanted to use my vagina as an excuse to both sew and sue.”
“Certainly!” she sings back at me with enthusiasm. “People talk about the mood swings, the hot flashes and the lower libido, but the most pronounced part of menopause is the atrophy of vaginal muscles.”
It is not every day that I feel this sexy.
My first son slipped out seven weeks early, weighing only 5 pounds.
The silver lining of a premature birth is a vaginal lining that remains tight as always. Other than stretchy boobs from nursing, my body felt pretty much as it had before.
It was the second son who created the vast cavern my husband is left to mine. Who knows what treasure awaits?!
I try to remember that it is the big brain in the big head of my beautiful baby that brought me all of this bounty. Most of the time that helps.
I'm also not a vain woman. My makeup consists of mismatched nail polish and haphazardly applied sunscreen. In a world where my dentist offers Botox along with teeth whitening, I still consider it an add-on if I accept the fluoride treatment.
While my friends talk about fixing their vaginal lips and tightening things up with a stitch, I nod in support of their choices ... realizing I myself will continue without it.
The love of my husband and birth of my kids created this excess space in my lady bits.
My fix for the floppiness is to screw my husband AND the scalpel.
Later, when my husband, Steve, has me laughing in (and therefore wetting) our bed — after somehow managing to enjoy himself in my cave of a vagina — I feel grateful for my moderately saggy V and her reasonably small amount of leakage.
I've always prided myself on being a bit of slacker above the belt. I am generally a relaxed person. Now my vagina reflects my true nature!
Soft, easygoing, and utterly without primp and polish.
My Happy Place
Things could be worse.
I could pee more, bring my husband less pleasure, and hold the promise of prosecution in my private parts.
For now, at least, I still get a happy ending.
This article was originally published at Witty Bitches. Reprinted with permission from the author.