The Dateable Dork

I *wish* I was kidding.  Read on for the gory details…

First of all, let’s just remind ourselves that this all started when I was dating a very nice guy and used a condom EVERY SINGLE TIME.  Think about it.  If you ever find yourself thinking about having unprotected sex without a full STD workup, please, PLEASE read this post again and give it some thought.  Really.  This shit happened to me while using protection every single time.  It can happen to you.  Please be careful.

A quick recap of this never-ending saga: I was diagnosed with an STD last summer and had a minor surgical procedure last fall to take care of things.  In the last nine months, I have had countless doctor’s visits and used countless prescription medications to take care of both the initial problem and the various and seemingly never-ending complications.  I have racked up a pile of medical bills, about two weeks worth of sick days from work, and gone through many boxes of tissues wishing it all would go away already.  Still thinking about having unprotected sex?  Really??

Problem #1: About a month ago I discovered what can only be characterized as a strange “bump” buried deep within the vast darkness of my you-know-what.  Not knowing what it was and trying not to freak out, I waited a few days to see if it went away on its own.  Nope, it actually got bigger and harder.  Shit.  I spent that night lying awake in my bed and made an appointment with the gynecologist the next morning.  The next available appointment was 3 weeks away.  Shit.  I called everyday asking about cancellations or openings, but no luck.  The appointment finally arrived – today.

Problem #2: Remember a few weeks ago when I was fooling around with Chicago Boy and managed to do some damage to the girly bits?  This is not the first time this has happened.  In fact, ever since the surgical procedure last fall, my you-know-what has been very susceptible to this kind of damage, and any type of “action” down there has consistently caused a problem.  I think that the skin healed in some kind of abnormal configuration after the surgery, and now it just doesn’t function the way nature intended.  I have a variety of antibiotics on hand for when the skin inevitably tears and gets infected.  In short, this sucks big time.

So I arrive at the gynecologist’s office this afternoon and tell her all about my issues.  Lucky for me, there is a nurse practitioner in training (or something like that) following the doctor around today, so I have to have this embarrassing conversation with two people instead of one.  Wonderful.  The doctor can’t find the “bump,” so I have to stick my finger up there and find it myself.  Honestly, this was really, really embarrassing.  Think about the number of people who have seen you stick your fingers up there, especially in a very brightly lit room, and with a strange nurse practitioner looking on.  As if displaying your goods wasn’t embarrassing enough!  Then I tell them that I can’t have sex because it’s shredding my very sensitive and mal-configured skin.  I tell them that the whole situation is very frustrating and I can’t fucking stand it anymore and I just wish this drama would come to an end already.  I think they both genuinely felt bad for me because they gave me that “look.”  I almost cried. 

Anyway, here’s the prognosis:

Problem #1: Turns out this bump is no big deal, thank god.  Apparently the vagina is lined with mucous glands (or something like that) that randomly fill up with mucous and then randomly drain, and as long as nothing is bleeding, it’s fine.  You have no idea how relieved I was to hear this, considering I had practically convinced myself that it was cancer.

Problem #2: They sent me home with a prescription, and if I don’t see an improvement in 6 weeks, I’m going to have vaginal reconstructive surgery.  No kidding.  Apparently this involves cutting the skin in strategic places, putting in a bunch of strategically-placed stitches, and hoping that things heal in such a way that my girly bits can finally function as intended.  Let us pause for a moment to think about what it will feel like to have this very sensitive area sliced, diced, and stitched up.  Now let’s think about how I will function for the next few days – getting up, sitting down, using the bathroom, etc.  Wait, maybe it’ll feel like the last round of surgery!  Great – I’m already prepared!

Still thinking about having unprotected sex???  Do I need to climb through your monitor and slap you?

So that’s the story, my dears.  Oh, and I can’t have sex again until this situation has been resolved, unless I want to endure more damage and infections.  No thanks.  And who knows how long after the surgery it will take for everything to heal, assuming that I wind up getting the procedure in the first place.  Whatever.  I’m so sick of this bullshit and just want it all to go away forever.

Let me just say this one more time: I used a condom every single time.  Please, think about that.