“Doc, You’re Never Gonna Believe What Happened…”

Doc, You’re Never Gonna Believe What Happened…

That sounds like a great line from sitcom and, in fact, I think that it is. Or at least it’s a paraphrasing of a “Seinfeld” quote when Frank Costanza has a slight mishap with Fusilli Jerry and has to make a trip to the proctologist. My story isn’t quite like that, but…then again…

Believe it or not, I really don’t try to write posts that give folks a lot of visuals about exactly what goes on when I do my physical therapy. I can’t imagine that it’s something anyone wants to spend a lot of time thinking about. I certainly don’t. So please know that that is never my intent. If you want some visuals, think about cute puppies frolicking through a field chasing butterflies. Think about rainbows or a sunny day at the beach. Think about the Cubs winning the World Series. Think about Keanu Reeves shirtless…oh wait. That one’s primarily for me. Hey, whatever gets you through the day, right? ;)

So yeah, please don’t get what would be the very wrong opinion about why I write these blogs. It’s really another form of therapy for me and, as always, I hope that other folks can find humor in what makes me laugh. Even though it’s often times a wee bit twisted.

Such is today’s story…a wee bit twisted.

I believe I’ve previously described basically what this pelvic health physical therapy I do is all about. Since it is done to stretch the vaginal muscles, obviously something has to be inserted into the vagina and isn’t that what got us into this pickle in the first place? Trying to insert something into the (my) vagina? Why yes, I think it is. Oh, the humanity!

This video has nothing whatsoever to do with this blog post, but it always makes me laugh and contains Les saying, "Oh, the humanity!" So I choose to believe it's relevant.

Since this is, indeed, the case, that means…it means…ummm…yeah, lost my train of thought. Train just jumped the track and headed of somewhere. Woo! Woo! Clear the tracks! Shannon’s Brain Train has run amok!! Save yourselves! Dive for the ditches!! It’s really your only hope.

Ok. Now where was I? Oh yes. Physical therapy involves having to insert a dilator into the vagina to stretch the vaginal walls and I do this 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s in-office PT with my therapist, but mostly it’s something I do on my own. It’s not sexy, it’s not exciting, it’s not something that would turn anyone on. It’s boring, it’s painful (sometimes), and it’s really quite routine after nearly a year. It’s simply part of my life.

That being the case, sometimes…well…accidents happen. I’ve alreadychronicled the fun times that can be had with lube. Things get slippery. It happens. And sometimes things, well, they come part. Whoopsie.

The way that dilator sets are constructed is that you have a handle and then you have various attachments of increasing size that you attach to said handle. The purpose, obviously, being that as you achieve a certain point with one size and stretches then you graduate to a larger size and proceed to work on that level of stretching.

I have been fortunate recently to come to that nice place where, after times of struggle and frustration, the stretches have gotten easier. I’ll never claim it’s pleasant (and in fact it’s damned boring), but it’s always nice to hit the point where you know things are working. Even though I know that means soon enough it’ll be time to step up to the next size and the process will start again, this is a nice place to be for a while.

Except when the dilator comes apart when I’m doing a stretch. That’s right. It totally comes apart. This obviously means that one part is in my hand and the other part is in…well, we all know where it is. Don’t make me say it.

The first time that happened I was stunned. I thought – and possibly said out loud – “What just happened here?!” I couldn’t believe it had really come apart. Neither could my physical therapist when I told her about it. It never happens when she’s doing it and her stretches are a lot harder than the ones I am able to do. (She’s a professional. I’m an amateur. Coming at it from different angles. All that stuff.)

Now, it’s not like I’m worried that I can’t get it out. It’s coming out. The whole reason I’m in this situation is because it’s difficult to get things to go in. That means it’s not going in there to the point where it’ll never come out. It’s coming out. Trust me.

But when it comes apart it’s rather disconcerting, to put it mildly. After the first time that happened, I tried to be extra careful. Do a hard stretch, but not too hard. I’m not trying to break anything – me OR the dilator. Don’t turn it in a strange direction (and I have no idea what that might be, so I’m not going to think about it too much) that will cause things to detach.

It seemed to be working pretty well…until last night. Last night, a different dilator came apart while I was using it. For a split-second I was once again stunned and then I started to laugh. And I kept on laughing for quite a while. How could I not? I have no idea why this is happening! I was doing a hard stretch, but nothing so strenuous that it would cause things to come apart like that. It’s not like I’ve had the dilators for a long time either, so wear and tear isn’t an issue here (and it never really should be because these things are very sturdy and durable).  Maybe God or the universe, or whatever you want to subscribe to, decided I needed a good laugh because I certainly got one. I suspect that my physical therapist will get one too when I tell her about this tomorrow.

You know, I sure didn’t want this to happen to me. I just wanted to have sex. Seemed pretty simple and straightforward at the time. But you know what? If this had to happen to someone, I think I was probably a good choice. Because I’ll talk about it. Because I’ll try to educate people when I can. Because I can laugh about things. And because I’ll get this taken care of. I will not be embarrassed or ashamed or feel guilty. And the next time I try to have sex, it’ll work. Oh, it may take a little trial and error, but I’m pretty sure I’ll have good time trying. But it’s for damned sure I’m not going to be telling you about it! Some things I actually will keep to myself.