New Hope & New Pain

In July of 2006, I fell in love. It was like getting struck by lightning. He was “it.” I have never experienced feelings so strong and so genuine.

Although our emotional connection came easily, our physical connection was much more difficult. The first time we had sex the pain was horrific. I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I hadn’t kept up with my physical therapy and it appeared that my body had regressed.

I was devastated. My pain was back and worse than ever, but that wasn’t the most upsetting part. I wanted to be with that man so much and I didn’t want to ruin our relationship with my sexual dysfunction. It was too soon to tell him. I didn’t want to scare him away with vag talk. This guy was super-masculine and really gun-shy about the thought of beginning a relationship. He would have been out the door at the mere mention of the word VAGINA.

I suffered in silence. My pain was the worst it has ever been. Love hurts and when you’re in love you do whatever you can to make the other person happy.

In a truly pathetic attempt to manage my problem, I kept making emergency appointments with my gynecologist. I was back to square one. Every time I saw her, there was no yeast infection, no bladder infection, no UTI and no signs of inflammation in the area that felt I had scrapped along a mile of cheap, industrial carpeting. It was becoming unbearable.

Then I caught a lucky break. I made another desperate emergency appointment for terrible pain, but my GYN was out of the office. I was given an appointment with a resident. She was eager to learn and eager to help.

I told her the abbreviated version of my pain history and she told me that I there was an expert on pelvic pain on the third floor of the building. I had heard about him and I had even tried to schedule an appointment with him a year before, but when the pile of paperwork came in the mail, I said, “fuck it.” I didn’t want to go to all the trouble. More than anything, I didn’t want to admit that my problem was “that bad.”

The resident said, “do yourself a favor, go upstairs now and fill out the paperwork there.” I did. When I got to the receptionists desk I started crying. I suddenly had to admit to myself that my vulvodynia was completely out of control. I sat for 30 minutes in that office on a comfy couch and filled out every page. I had to pause frequently to wipe to tears off my face. I couldn’t stop crying.

When I handed everything back to the receptionist she reassured me that everyone in the office was really nice and they would take care of me. I didn’t have any faith that I could get better, but I had come this far and there was no turning back. I had to do something. I couldn’t continue to live in that much pain and didn’t want to give up on this most important relationship of my entire life.