I’m Sorry, You Want to Put Electricity WHERE? (Part IV)
Posted by Moose on December 4th, 2007. Filed under: Meat Suit.While having a diagnosis (vulvodynia, for those of you who enjoy details) and a treatment plan is vastly preferable to floundering about in the choppy waters of an HMO that could institutionally care less, now get out of the way of the guy with a broken leg, the one with an actual problem, you’re blocking his path to the plaster and the tender ministrations of a mustachioed nurse, it’s still not a ride into the orange sunset with Tonto. In fact, riding of any kind is really not a good idea and do you have a bicycle? Not any more you don’t. Get rid of it. Preferably by furtively tossing it into the ocean under the cover of darkness.
To the best of my imperfect knowledge, all the muscles in my groin were just plain wore out. The pain receptors had been firing incoherently for years and the muscles were weak with protest – much like I am after using my flabby upper arms to push me to a more alert position on the sofa. Sofa cushions resist such valiant efforts as “sitting up.” It’s in their job description.
One of the first things the doctor did was push on the misbehaving muscles, in an effort to stretch them out. Massage in the hoo-ha. Ponder THAT. They also worked the skin in the general area because, as anyone with back pain knows, once muscles sieze up in one spot, the delight travels. When the physical therapist pushed the pad of her index finger gently along my inner thigh, it felt like she was digging a pointy fingernail deep into my flesh and pulling – that’s how tender it was.
Side benefit to odd ailments: prescriptions for the good drugs. Heavy duty muscle relaxants (hint: before tossing one back, hide the phone) and a course of low dose anti-depressants. Not enough to affect my mood (not that I couldn’t have used it, mind), just enough to tell my vagina to shut up already. I had to do things like deep breathing and relaxation. I KNOW. It seems that my, shall we say, high-strung nature did not help this condition one bit. In fact, I have since decided that a whole lot of things in my life would be a hell of a lot easier if I would just chill the fuck out already. But repeating “chill out chill out chill out” while rocking back and forth does not noticeably chill one out. Those muscle relaxants, on the other hand, THEY will chill you out. Did I mention that you should hide the phone? Have you ever heard someone audibly drool into an answering machine? Not at all pleasant.
Basically, there is a whole arsenal of tricks, we just had to find the right combination. Creams and gels, physical therapy, pills, and…doses of electricity. Oh, yes. Ostensibly, it was to help the muscle tissue regain strength, but I felt like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Your vagina wants a lobotomy.
When they brought out the white plastic wand, the one that PLUGGED INTO THE WALL, I was a bit…wary.
“You want me to put that where? You must be joking.”
They weren’t.
Related posts:
December 4th, 2007 at 6:21 pm
I am speechless – and we know that almost never happens. Speechless. The comments are coming so fast my poor brain cannot grasp just one. It is such a good thing we are friends and I can make hoohoo jokes over martinis.
Ok…ONE!
Your vagina needed BOOTCAMP!
December 4th, 2007 at 9:19 pm
My word, woman. You write a good cliffhanger!
December 4th, 2007 at 10:35 pm
for some reason, i find it amusing that your electrotherapy essentially consists of a violet wand, essentially a hand-held tesla coil in the “wagner’s hammer” configuration. thanks, google (and the BDSM community)!
December 4th, 2007 at 11:37 pm
Wow. That’s what I thought it was, and now I’m trying to figure out how to get my friend to read all this “accidentally”. Hmmmmm.
December 5th, 2007 at 8:58 am
Cliffhanger, indeed.
Sounds harrowing. You poor darling!
I hope your insurance covered the cost of therapy afterwards…
December 5th, 2007 at 11:06 am
Now, I know massages made my neck feel great – once the owowowpainpain part was over – but I’m not sold on this down-under massage yet. Sure, afterwards might feel better, but the owowow-part? OwOwOWOwOW. (I’m wincing as I type. Ow.)
Still, the good drugs are totally worth something at least. The whole floaty-sleepy feeling is nice. Well, plus the secession of pain-aspect. But come on, it’s really all about feeling like you could levitate.
December 5th, 2007 at 11:35 am
I’m somewhere between completely speechless and giggling inappropriately. Oh, the jokes that almost need to be said. (I had a hard time with that when my friend started the therapy too. It’s such a difficult topic to be serious and grown up about, darnitall.)
Oh, and muscle relaxants are totally the good stuff. It’s hard to much care about anything on one of those puppies.
December 5th, 2007 at 9:04 pm
Is it OK to be entertained by all of this? Actually it’s not really entertainment as much as it is intrigue. So I’m intrigued by all of this. I cannot wait to hear what your adventures with the wand will bring.
December 5th, 2007 at 11:47 pm
Mere: I shut you up? I? I feel so…proud. So…worthy. Make all the jokes your drunken frontal lobe can conjure. If I get sick of it, I will stuff your maw with tater tots.
Bethany Actually: Thank you! That is just what I needed today. And, yes, it’s ALL ABOUT ME. And my vagina.
Gas Ho: Google frightens me. Truly. Those ads at the top of my gmail? Prove that Google knows what I am thinking. EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY. Except for the spam recipes.
Maya: Print it out and drop it on her head. Accidentally.
JJ: Oh, Kaiser. They paid for nothing. I thought I had moved past the bitterness. Apparently not.
Sunny: Those drugs were so good, I think I actually DID levitate.
Jhianna & Heather B: Entertainment is always my goal. Sharing knowledge: no. Stunning prose: Ha ha. No. Expanding the mind: absolutely not. Inappropriate snorting: hell yes.
December 6th, 2007 at 5:06 pm
I’m always looking for a good drag queen stage name, so thanks for providing a new one: Miss Vulvo Dynia!
My chiropractor used electrical currents, via wet sponges and in several sessions, to break up scar tissue in my lower back, and the pain and cramps went away, eventually.
. . . this sounds a little different, though.
December 6th, 2007 at 6:58 pm
My, what has happened here?! I leave on vacation and come back to read about pelvic massages and vaginal electro therapy…? What happened to the journal with the picture of the sweet girl, folding her hands under face and peering through her glasses? Rather than an abrupt departure, I need some sort of transition here…Cookies! I need cookies!
Are there any cookies and milk in the house?!
As a guy reader, I don’t know if I ‘m fortunate or misfortunate to read about a vagina needing a jump start! Cookies!
December 6th, 2007 at 7:37 pm
I have never heard of this condition – EVER. I mean…EVER. And I am so glad you are writing about it because I want to be the one to tell some other woman suffering that THERE IS AN ANSWER and it is not all in your head and then point her directly to your blog since I don’t know what the heck I’m talking about.
Go.you.
If someone came toward me with plugged in electricity, I’d be grimacing.
Batteries – those are nice.
December 7th, 2007 at 8:31 am
you and your misbehaving va-jay-jay are hilarious!
December 7th, 2007 at 12:34 pm
I love how they make the diagnosis sound like some kind of vaginal dinosaur village.
(The wand? It wasn’t like, a Hitachi Magic Wand, was it? I’m such a visual learner so I am mildly confused. Was it something you can buy yourself, or some super duper clinical strength something? Wow, these questions would be so inappropriate were they not on-topic.)
December 7th, 2007 at 9:59 pm
Wow… I love a good cliffhanger. And I absolutely love it that your top category is now “broken vagina”. Can’t wait to hear the rest of the story! And, wait… according to your Amazon widget, it broke again! YIPE! Break out the wand!
December 11th, 2007 at 3:57 pm
Oh, but there are lots of fun “wands” that plug into walls. But batteries are better.
ZING!
December 11th, 2007 at 9:48 pm
[...] My always keen avoidance techniques are acquiring a new sheen. Not unlike a classic Porsche owned by a 55-year-old man who breathes on the rear fender before buffing it with a clean diaper. I’m avoiding like mad, y’all. I have designated this post in the Broken Vagina series the emotional one. But I’m not very good with emotions. I prefer to make jokes and repress. Unfortunately, there really isn’t anything funny about a malfunctioning groin. (All right, the electric vagina wand is a little funny.) [...]