What happens at girls' night...

Last night I had a girls’ night with some friends, which is always fun and entertaining. However, much like Las Vegas, what happens at girls’ night, stays at girls’ night.

Well, for the most part anyway…

A few weeks ago, over dinner with a couple of these friends, it was decided that at our upcoming girls’ night, I’d bring my dilator sets. They’d seen pictures of both sets, as well as the particular sizes I was working with, but it’s very hard to get the proper perspective from a picture on a phone.

As I was saying, over dinner with my friends the decision was made, so I packed everything up yesterday and headed to my friend’s house. Now, this isn’t something you just dive right into or whip out as soon as you walk through the door (see what I did there?), so there was no specific plan about doing some show-and-tell, with one exception. I wanted to be sure that my friend’s elementary-school-aged son had gone to bed. I’m pretty sure she didn’t want to have to explain to an 8-year-old kid exactly what the dilators were used for.

After a few hours of laughter and chit chat (and possibly a small amount of wine consumption), it was time. I mean, it took a full hour before the topic of breasts became part of the conversation (we all have them, so it wasn’t a stretch). Then another hour or so before penises came up (see what I did there again?). It figures that vaginas were the next logical topic of conversation. (What? You’ve never been part of a girls’ night?? Nothing is usually off limits.)

Now, it’s a strange thing to me to just pull the dilators out and start laying them on a table, but that’s what I did.

Not lined up on a table, but this time on a counter top. Going from left to right, sizes are 6.25 x 4.75, 5.25 x 4.25, 4.75 x 3.75 and 4 x 3.25. And smaller, of course. but I don't have those measurements.

My only request was to be careful with the pink set I have as one seems to be breaking a little and I still need to keep using it for a while yet. I knew the pink set would be of particular interest since that one vibrates. I realize people will instantly take a sexual connotation to that, but in truth, the vibration is extremely helpful in offsetting the pain of doing the stretching. It’s been helpful in knowing how the stretching with certain sizes is becoming easier when I’m able to dial down the vibration.

Some of the pink sizes match up to some of the white dilators, but some will also fall in between white sizes. It's been beneficial for me to have both sets to use.

I did a very basic explanation of the dilators and showed how the different sizes fit into the handles (because, pardon the need to be graphic, but if part of it goes inside, you still need part of it to be outside because…well, it should be obvious). Having apparently read my blogs before, they didn’t need an explanation of why I was using them or exactly how they work. Mind you, I never make an assumption that anyone has read my blogs, so it was nice that I didn’t have to go into a long spiel over what’s going on with me.

Bahahahahahahahaha Sorry. I have to laugh now that I’ve written that, because when do I have a problem with going into detail and telling people about my vaginismus? I’m just lucky that strangers on the street haven’t had to hear about this. I guess I’ve become passionate about educating people – in obviously very small ways – about this particular issue. Because, as I’ve said before, it matters. If I have to hear about erectile dysfunction nearly every time a commercial comes on the TV, then folks are going to get to hear about this.

Much discussion ensued about which sizes of dilators matched up most accurately with the average penis size. I found this rather educational myself, as I’ve seen a few penises in my time, but short of actually asking someone to do a size comparison, my knowledge might be somewhat lacking. When you have several women in a room together, you get better information.

In the end, the consensus of the women last night is that the size I’ve recently completed working with is, in fact, pretty darned near close to the average penis size.

Well. Good to know.

So, depending on who you ask, I guess my vagina is in good working order and ready to open for business! Woohoo! 

Bahahahahahahahaha Sorry. I had to write that. If you know me at all, then you know that’s not who I am or how I behave. No judgements on anyone else, but my little fling or series of hookups or whatever you want to call it with The Guy last year were an anomaly. That’s not my normal MO. I’m not into casual sex and to be honest, for me it wasn’t something casual. At least, not the decision to (attempt to) have sex with him. Oh, and let’s be clear here, dear readers. We may not have had penetrative vaginal sex, but we had sex. Even if he wanted to call it “non sex”. I was there. I know what we did. It was sex. I think folks need to really have a better understanding of just what that means.

Anyway, there you have it. Based on a committee of four, I’m in pretty good shape these days. I think some of them were slightly traumatized at the thought of anyone attempting to use the larger sized dilators, which are about 6 ¼ - 6 ½ inches long and 4 ¾ in diameter (in case you were wondering). I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I choose to cross that one at all. Cause, y’know, it looks a little painful to me. Just sayin’…

That’s a Long Haul for a Booty Call and Other Things That Can Change Your Life

A while back I was messaging with a friend and during the conversation we were discussing how The Guy and I didn’t live close together (which in situations such as mine can turn out to be a boon and tends to happen when you live in a decent-sized city), so on the occasions when I would go to his place, it was “a long haul for a booty call”. And let’s be real here. That’s what it was. We were hooking up, not having a relationship. I make zero apologies for that, by the way, so feel free not to judge. I had fun. I’m reasonably confident he had fun. No harm, no foul. I’m not claiming I’d repeat the scenario, but I also don’t regret it. That’s such fun, by the way. Being able to walk away at the end of something with no regrets. You should try it some time.

But back to my story…

Today was my last day of in-office physical therapy for vaginismus. In truth, we could have stopped a few weeks ago, but I’d had a bad run of at-home PT before an appointment and really wanted to make sure everything turned back around before calling a complete halt. I knew going in this morning that this would be the end, though. We’d discussed it a few weeks ago and I get the feeling that my physical therapist was waiting for me to bring it up. Not that she wouldn’t have eventually said, “I think we’ve gone as far as we can go”, but she did ask me after each appointment what I thought but it was never quite phrased as “Do you think you need to keep coming back?”

I’d say it was for the best to let me come around to this idea on my own. Just a couple of months ago I’m not sure I could have made that call. The idea of the end of PT freaked me out. Now, however, I’m mentally and physically in a good place, and I think that made all the difference. I’m doing PT on my own 2-3 times a week and working with various sized dilators, introducing larger ones slowly, but surely. Even when there is pain, I realize it’s not always going to be that way and I remember how far I’ve come in the past year. It’s all good. I’ve got this.

I remember in the beginning my therapist said she thought it would take about 8 weeks. Fast forward to today’s appointment and we are 363 days into our association. Hey, I never said I wasn’t uptight! Ha! Probably 6 months ago I was saying that if we were wishing each other a Merry Christmas then it was going to be worrisome, but as that date drew closer, I let that thought go. I started telling myself that however long it took that was just fine and then…I even started to believe it. Yep. I’ve got this.

So now allow me to circle the wagons back around to the beginning and how it’s a long haul for a booty call. Changing the meaning of that a skosh, I laughed – thankfully only in my head and not out loud so that everyone around me would think I was nuts – today when I was thinking about writing something with that title. I realized that, I suppose, it could also be interpreted that this past year has been quite a long haul for, well, y’know, to be able to have sex.

But it’s not about a “booty call” or a “hook up”. I have little-to-no interest in that kind of thing (my involvement with The Guy was a behavioral anomaly, albeit a fun one). This is a quality of life issue. If I’d had sex more recently than…well, I’m not telling you specifics on how long it had been before last year because some things I actually will not share with the masses, but suffice it to say that it would have helped if I’d been more sexually active in the past because then perhaps things would have been working right. Or I’d at least have realized that they weren’t. And it would have helped if any of my doctors over the years had questioned why a pap smear was so excruciatingly painful for me. But I wasn’t and they didn’t.

So yes, in the end, I suppose it’s been a long haul for a booty call. Good thing that’s not really what I’m ultimately interested in. I didn't expect this last year of my life to unfold the way that it did, but as I said earlier, I don't regret it. I've discovered a lot about myself. I'm stronger than I imagined. I have less of a filter than I always thought I did. I've let go of any particular fear about discussing pretty much anything with anyone. And I'm also pretty damned amazing. I think that last one is my favorite.

“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.

You want me to do WHAT with that?!?!

I honestly don’t remember much about my consultation or first physical therapy session. It’s been going on for so long now that it’s simply a part of my life. A part that I hope will be over sooner rather than later, but it is what it is.

The first day I went to consult with my physical therapist, she showed me a model of the pelvis and explained the different muscles and how they connected and worked. Then she said if I felt comfortable, we could do an initial pelvic exam. Nothing says “fun” like having to explain your sex life (or lack of one) to a total stranger and then get naked from the waist down so that they can examine you. Yeah, I think that’s right about the time I lost my filter on discussing all sorts of things and lost any inhibitions I might have had about allowing a stranger to see me naked (at least in a clinical setting). And vulnerable. Let’s never underestimate the level of vulnerability that goes along with a situation like this. But my therapist was (is) nice and it was either trust her or never solve my problem, so I voted in favor of trust and have certainly been proven right.

Thankfully, physical therapy has been helpful to me physically, but also a reason to laugh a ridiculous amount. As a friend of mine said, who suffers from vaginismus and a dermatological condition called lichen sclerosus, (which I actually think I was diagnosed with about 20 years ago) “you get to know someone pretty well when they are all up on your hoo ha”. Since that friend is also a doctor, I guess that means “hoo ha” is, in fact, a medical term. Use it as you will. But back to the laughter…my PT and I laugh ourselves silly sometimes during physical therapy. I’ve shed tears a time or two, but never in the office. We really laugh through PT in the office. Thank God!!

Looking back, however, I can’t imagine how I was ever convinced that this was a good idea. I mean, let’s break it down here. You are in a clinical setting, although it’s set up like a spa room for relaxation purposes with low lighting and soothing colors and paying someone to stick a hard object into your vagina. Depending on the severity of someone’s condition, this can be excruciatingly painful, no matter how hard you try to relax. I was given a set of breathing and relaxation exercises to work on outside of PT sessions, but that doesn’t mean the nerves won’t get you. If you are experiencing pain when something is inserted in your vagina, it’s hard for your mind and body not to have the instant reaction of tensing up when that is attempted.

No one is asking, but here is exactly what is used for the physical therapy. This is a medical dilator set that can be purchased on Amazon.com (and other places, obviously). This is the model that is used by my physical therapist and I have this set at home as well. And yes, they practice safe sex in the therapy office since the dilator always wears a condom. J

This photo was taken from Amazon.com's listing for this dilator set.

This is not the set that is initially recommended by my therapist, which is why I have 2 sets. She tells all her patients about this dilator set since it only costs about $25.

I have both sets because they differ in sizing and if I was going to be able to do the same PT at home that we did in the office, I wanted to have comparable sizes.

I’ve said to many people and I hope it is obvious that there is nothing sexy or erotic about this. Nothing whatsoever. I don’t enjoy pain and had zero interest in the “50 Shades of Grey” books. Pain isn’t fun. It isn’t sexy. It’s pain, plain and simple. Which leads me to another extremely important component of physical therapy – the use of copious amounts of personal lubricant. But that’s a story – many funny stories, actually – for another day. Right now I’m focused more on the dilator sets. And so are you, most likely, since I’ve made you look at pictures.

This physical therapy is something I will always have to do, even when I’m released from office visits. In order to keep the vaginal muscles working well, they have to remained stretched out and this is going to be the best way of keeping them like that. That’s also why I bought the white set of dilators – it’s an investment since I know I’ll be using them more than a few months. I’m fortunate that I can afford to do that. I’m fortunate that I can afford to have the physical therapy that my body needs. I’m fortunate that I’ve got people who are supportive of what I am doing, even if they most likely would prefer NOT knowing about everything happening #allupinmyvagina.

I’m not sure if I have a twisted sense of humor or if things that happen really are funny. I’ve had the dilator fall on the floor. I’ve had the pieces separate while I was using them (still haven’t figured out how that one happened). At least twice the condom has shot across the room while the physical therapist was trying to put it on the dilator. I think we laughed so hard we cried the first time it happened. You can’t make this stuff up.

Twice I’ve even allowed an undergrad PT student to sit in during a session, always on the side where they couldn’t see anything, mind you. I tell them about how I came to be in therapy, what it feels like and how my body reacts during a session; I’ll pretty much answer any of their questions as long as they are interested in learning and not freaked out by the kind of physical therapy that is going on (and they are always female).

I suppose my mantra or my theme for all this is that you can either laugh or you can cry. I continue to choose laughter and am grateful for all the ridiculously funny moments that happen in this journey. We laugh every single time and maybe in this case, laughter truly is the best medicine. ‘Cause, y’know, nobody offered me valium, so…