Philogynae. In A Nice Way.

Or, Not A Misogynae At All.

Fact One

Attentive readers – which is all of you, yes? – will have picked up the fact that Dire Rear is currently doing the rounds of the Hairies. We are not incapacitated or in pain, nor is every visit to the toilet a sickeningly liquid one – yet we have a confirmed collective case of the Runnies. A stool sample from Harry – the most persistently affected and whose bottom skin status is hovering at Precarious – has migrated from its very own shelf in the fridge (because… well, just because) to the lab for testing.

Fact Two

I had an appointment with a consultant gynae yesterday in order to assess quite how much damage my dear child’s head actually inflicted during his emergence into the world.

Fact Three

Fact One impinged on Fact Two. 

I was sat quietly in the waiting room, minding my own Twitter, watching the various clinic nurses materialise from various far-flung corners of the building to summon their victims patients, when the unmistakable sensations began. I have 2 uteri shoehorned into a space that is only really designed for one; consequently I am extraordinarily sensitive to the peristalsis of the last half-foot of large intestine that runs behind my uteri. During period-time in particular, and whenever the uteri are feeling sensitive, bowel-filling (I can hear you clicking away in droves…) is a sensation which curls my legs up in pain. 

Having a crowning head stuck half-way out scores a 10 on my personal scale. The worse of my contractions were probably a 8. This is about a 4, and gets my undivided attention. And it was happening in the bloody waiting room. My appointment was at 3pm,and it was already 3.05pm. What to do?! There was no receptionist. I would have to ask a random stranger to inform any nurse hollering my name where I actually was. And they could disappear for their own appointment any moment – so they’d have to tell someone else! It would be Chinese Whispers! Pass it on: Mrs. Hairy Farmer is in the toilet, folks! And it wasn’t as if I could pretend I was just vanishing for a quick wee; I could tell I had serious business – of uncertain consistency! – to attend to that today (a warm day), of all days, should not be hurried or skimped. Or could I actually get away with putting it off? I’d surely not be in clinic long…? I could hold on…

I had just decided that Out was better than In, turned to my neighbour and braced myself womanfully for the inevitable embarrassment – when my nurse rocked up and announced cheerfully that ‘the doctor will see you now’! Aaaaiiiiee! Too late! I walked briskly behind her, sending stern Be Still! messages downstairs. Sensations subsided. Definitely not a liquid offering; I relaxed a little. Panic over.

So, I sat and talked to Gynae-man, who was lovely, gigglesome, courteous, articulate, and clearly knew his didelphic onions. I explained my various symptoms – I shall spare you the details, any of you that are still grimly hanging on – and then it was time for The Examination.

I have never had a exam from… ahem… the rear before. Being asked to lie on my side and bring my knees up to my chin: I could cope with happily enough. It was the subsequent elevation of my leg towards the ceiling that gave me the cringes. It’s not dignified, is it? At least there was a handy bracket for the anglepoise lamp that I could rest the waving-in-the-air leg on for a while before he decided he needed a… umm… wider angle, and Cheerful Nurse had to earn her money with some sterling prop-work.

The difference between a skilled Speculum Driver and an unskilled… sigh. At no point did I squeak, hiss, draw breath, stifle a groan, or let out a small moan of entirely the Bad Sort. I think I did, however, let out a small and silent fart when he, watching the area in question closely, asked me to cough. My feelings on this would usually be a hot mess of shame, but in the circumstances, considering what I was holding back, I feel the man got away lightly.

The only tricky part came when he asked me to really… push. Push hard. Push like I ‘needed a number two’, God bless his euphemistic heart. I gave it as much welly as I could – a fine judgement call, I assure you – but I feel the full extent of my bulgy bits may have gone undiscovered. Which fact, I consider a reasonable exchange for avoiding abject humiliation in front of a very nice man, for whom I felt a vague moral obligation towards of not instilling a phobia of women’s bottoms.

I left the clinic and managed to get as far as meeting my troughing menfolk in the canteen before a leg-wobbling wave of OMG, PROPER DIARRHOEA NOW attacked me and I was obliged to take noisy refuge in the nearest ladies for 10 minutes. These? Good invention.

The upshot: Harry’s cannonball passage from north to south has caused some mild vaginal prolapsing (*Listens carefully to the deafening silence. Yes, that’s my last reader vanished*) but nothing to be concerned about: he’s confident it’ll go the distance if I attempt another. I need to work on my… ahem!… vaginal muscle tone, apparently. He gave me a mark out of 5 (a test! and I didn’t revise! stuff of nightmares!) that I do not feel quite inclined to share. Hubby will read this and clamour to know what it was. He can bugger off.

The occasions when I – literally – piss myself laughing are too rare and minor to warrant his concern; he advised me to ‘finish my family’ and see how my bladder is coping with life then. He is referring me for an ultrasound scan by a consultant radiologist I have seen a few times before (and trust his wanding ability) to see if the mysterious Kraken that appears on some scans and not others is, or is not, a fibroid. And he is also – and this is the one that makes me gulp – surgically adjusting things a little.

The lovely midwife that stitched my bloody great tear up did a conscientious job. Too conscientious. My topography has changed noticeably; in particular I now have a smallish web of skin that never used to be there; it splits open and bleeds a little at every… ummm… leg-opening occasion. Horse-riding type activity can present a small challenge to vaginal integrity. Sex – and you can probably hear Hubby preening – is a large challenge. Philogynae jokingly said that he’d just do it under a local, as he’d ‘heard I was brave’. I promptly winced, and requested that he do it without an injection altogether, and just bloody get on with it quickly. 

No, I’m not actually mad, or masochistic; I find that local anaesthesia needle infiltration often hurts more than the procedure. I had a particularly awful injection in my armpit once for a skin-tag I’d quite happily have snipped off with scissors myself, had I known what their plan was. Dentistry is an notable exception to this Just Bloody Get On With It rule, but I’m buggered if I fancy a needle being mined about in my perineum. Now, freezing-type gel, on the other hand, I will be enthusiastically requesting, plus whatever other topical assistance I can get my paws on. If anyone has any relevant advice for me here, don’t sit on it. So to speak.

He ummed and ahhhed what to call it on his surgery sheet, and we eventually plonked down ‘perineum re-shaping’ because I was too nervous to suggest ‘Designer Vagina’ – which I find darkly amusing, redolent of the increasing global trend towards absurd-surgery-that-you-dont-ever-actually-physically-require.

Anyways, he’ll be approaching my undercarriage with a scalpel. And no drugs.

That’s to look forward to, then!

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27 Responses

  1. Wow. That was very detailed. Sounds like fun surgery too. Don’t they have a topical anesthetic that they can apply?

    You have my awe for holding back the gurgling intestines. Can you make up one of those cool buttons/awards that people have on their blogs? (I have no talent for that sort of thing or I would do it myself) It should say “I have intestinal fortitude!”

  2. Oh God. I’m hearing ‘very detailed’ as I’VE GONE SUDEDENLY BLIND!

  3. You’ve heard about the new alternative spelling of ‘suddenly’, yes?

  4. I would vote for your method, personally. I’ve had fillings and a tooth out without the needle when anaesthetic was optional. less time and fewer different kinds of pain to deal with, i think. good luck!

  5. Another one who isn’t a fan of the local injections. Like you I think it hurts more! In fact this extends to dentistry, I hate the sensation of the needle going in to my gum and even then it usually still hurts after it’s supposedly taken effect. Can you tell I had a filling today… yes I had the local, yes it still hurt like hell!

  6. This made me laugh so hard I began to wonder about my own perineal integrity. And…vag surgery sans local? You ARE a tough one. But then I had three surgeries on my eyelids while pregnant, and nothing has ever been less fun than the sensation (and sight) of those eighteen thousand lidocaine needles being stabbed into my lashlines. I think I’d choose scalpel-only, too.

  7. I don’t know. I work in a place that prides itself on anesthesia, block-y kind and otherwise. I like the block, if only because it prolongs the “no pain” period. No, it doesn’t feel good going in, but it usually burns like fire for half a second, then goes blissfully numb. Plus, I’m a watcher. I watched my podiatrist extract my bilateral ingrown toe-nails and thought it was cool. I’m just weird like that.

  8. I hung on till the end and boy, what a cliffhanger!
    I’m glad he knew his cervi and didelphi and way around a speculum. I hope he is equally skillful with his scalpel…
    You could write anything and make it sound witty and interesting, even if it does involve the words ‘bowel filling’.

  9. This was truly the most entertaining post I’ve had the pleasure to read in quite some time. Yes, I am sick.

    Bowel-filling. Snort.

  10. I agree w you on the local. Stings like a ****

    g

  11. You are so english sometimes, my friend. What would the nurse have done, I wonder, if you’d said “I just need to pop to the loo first” ??

    Glad things seem to be in ok shape

  12. ” I think I did, however, let out a small and silent fart when he, watching the area in question closely, asked me to cough. ” That one sentance had me snorting with laughter only because it made me remember the poor med student who had the privilage of stitching my small tear after delivery. My little fart wasn’t so little and it most definately was not silent.

    You know you’re going to end up with 10,000 google hits for Designer Vagina now.

  13. I’m astounded no-one pointed out earlier what Thalia now has. WHY didn’t I just come clean to the nurse?!? So to speak.

  14. Funny story!

    I’m a needle-avoider too…but when it comes to, um, “designing” in that particular area, I’d have to succumb. You’re made of much tougher stuff than I am!

  15. BWAHAHAHAAA! Sorry to laugh at your suffering but really…if it makes you feel any better I had to go and get MY undercarriage inspected today rather unexpectedly (well not totally, but it was a “problem” visit, not the annual one) and had done some EXTREME personal grooming and was mortified. See, I hung in doggedly through one wax strip and then decided TO HELL WITH THAT and just used a trimmer on the rest and…regrowth has been uneven. I’m sure it’s not the worst thing they’ve ever seen but I’m relieved no one laughed.

  16. Is it mean to have giggled through this?
    When I had the ERPC the scary Croat doc manged to give me a local in my chuff without me even noticing so it is possible. I can’t imagine a total no anaesthetic option.

  17. You are a trooper and I do hope everything turns out for the best for all!

    The Designer Vagina comment for some reason read to me in a Brooklyn/Long Island/Staten Island accent (they’re different but I always confuse them – think Fran Drescher) which had me laughing out loud at work to the confusion of my coworkers. Heh: “Duhzynuh Vujynuh.”

  18. >> because I was too nervous to suggest ‘Designer Vagina’

    True story:

    Doctors have a lot of lunchtime show-and-tell sessions where one of their number puts up a set of slides summarising the current literature on this-or-that so they can keep up to date while they neck back their sarnies. Most of these sessions are detailed, specific, technical and obscure.

    Anyway, this bunch of surgeons, gynecologists and obstetricians were closeted in a darkened room one lunchtime, while one of their number presented a set of slides summarising the literature, current trends and psychological and technical issues relating to labial and vaginal cosmetic surgery.

    With slides.

    From porn films.

    When the cleaner came in.

  19. Dude, when it comes to things needing to go out, I am really, really reserved. As in: “Please to leave me alone, thank you” reserved. And I’m so freaked out about it that if an exam were to occur during or after one of those great liquid excavations then I’d have to go home. I worry about follow through.

    And now, courtesy of your post and my comment, I feel the need to go wash my hands.

  20. EMLA cream. I don’t know what it is sold as in the UK, but it’s a very effective topical anaesthetic when applied to mucous membranes especially. I have personally used it on my bits and pieces and did not feel any of the procedure that followed, which included a scalpel.

    You apply it, starting maybe 30-40 minutes ahead of the procedure. If you cover with kitchen plastic wrap, it heats up, thus working better/deeper/whatever.

    Get the cream, not the patch. Then you can be as liberal as you like.

    Here is a link to what Wikipedia says about Emla (though I am sure your Googling skillZ are superior and this is unnecessary).

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EMLA

    If you cannot find it or it’s equivalent in the UK, email me and perhaps I can put some in the post. It is sometimes not available in certain countries without a prescription (though you could probably get one!)

  21. Im sorry but I have not laughed like i am now for a very long time. I feel for you, I really do but i will have to come back and show some sympathy once I have gotten myself off the floor.

    Back later I promise!!! lol

    Hugs
    xxx

  22. *Stops giggling hysterically long enough to type*

    Did I ever tell you about the gynae nurse who got my personal fun-fur caught in the screw of the speculum during a smear test? The poor woman had to put her face inches from the, ahem, area while she untangled me.

    I agree about the needles. I had a local anaesthetic for a keloid scar excision once. OW OW OW BLOODY OW. But scalpel in the lady area without anything at all? Dear GOD, you ARE brave. Mental, but brave.

    Glad the consultant was lovely. Hurray for lovely consultants!

  23. I’ve had local in the vag and I totally support your decision to get the Designer Vagina without it. Just bring along a handy leather strap to bite on, or possibly a bullet. You’ll be fine!

    I like the new alternate spelling of suddenly! I use something like it myself on occasion.

    And I really think you should get that “Intestinal Fortitude” button. Hahaha! That was a feat of strength!

    xoxox
    Flicka

  24. Weird, because I’m of the opinion that when I had my massive cyst removed from my back that they may as well have used a rusty spoon and barbeque skewer and it would have been less painful. It was all the local’s fault, I knew it!

    Thank you for this post. I’m sorry it means that you have to have your bits compromised, but it was funny as hell and a welcome return to my blog reading. Your vaginal misfortune is to my benefit, which is as it should be really.

  25. […] move outta the damn way and let its smaller sister have her share of reflected glory daylight. The sadly concertinaed state of my innards following Harry’s bazooka-like launch to Infinity and Beyond, plus internal scar tissue that […]

  26. […] have told you in eye-watering detail about my gynaecologist’s exceedingly narrow escape from being plastered with the contents of my wayward […]

  27. […] I had it in mind that it would be a quick snip of the scissors type-job. I had mentally signed up to a tiny slice of the scalpel and voila! A couple of minutes […]

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