I've been planning this post for a while. One of my girlfriends at school was sweet enough and brave enough to read my vulvodynia blog. She enjoy the smorgasbord of names for the pink canoe and suggested I make a list for one post of all the different names I have in my repertoire. I though V Day would be perfect, but I can't be silly right now.
It's stupid Valentine's Day, my husband made me a phenomenal meal, bought me flowers and a sparkly card, but I feel nothing. No desire. No connection. No intimacy. I don't know what's wrong with me or why it seems to be getting worse.
I got my first C in nursing school today and I just don't care. That's a bad sign. I may be coming unglued.
February 14, 2011
February 11, 2011
It's Hurting More...
I've been doing really well with my pudendal neuralgia symptoms, aside from my attempt at Zumba. On the other hand, unfortunately, I've been experiencing more problems with my vulvodynia.
Nursing school and living with my parents have completely killed my sex drive. From the time I turned 13, I've always been an overly sexual being. It feels very strange. I feel like a very big, important part of myself is missing. My husband has become the sexual aggressor, but he's terrible at it. It's my fault, though, I taught him that all he needed to do was tell me he was in the mood and I would jump him. Those instructions came under completely different circumstances, when he had no sex drive.
Having him say in passing that he wants sex is repulsive. I never expected to feel this way. We rarely have sex now and when we do, I have to force myself. I don't want to disappoint him and reject him all the time. I know those are not the right reasons to have sex.
That could potentially be contributing to my increase in pain. It's a new pain. There is a great deal of pain upon insertion and it takes much longer to dissipate. Where my pain was always focused on the base of the vestibule, but now the pain encircles the entire entrance.
Naturally the increase in pain does not help my nonexistent sex drive. I've thought about seeing my specialist about it, but I don't want to bother.
It's sad. I never thought I would be so indifferent to sex.
There are probably other issues I need to address in order to understand what's happened to me.
February 1, 2011
Zumba + Pudendal Neuralgia = Freaky Pain
The spring semester started last Monday. My girlfriends are on what I assume is a New Year's Resolution health kick. They decided to attend a Zumba class at our gym and I hesitantly agreed to join them.
The Zumba class at school was freaky! Our instructor was flipping her hair, gyrating, and shaking her bits and pieces like a pro.
When I was in undergrad, I loved to get freaky dancing at the clubs. Sometimes if I was dancing on a bar or platform, men would hand me nasty, alcohol-soaked dollar bills. Some girls might have found that degrading, but I loved it. Despite that, even I was a little scandalized by the moves in this class. (God, when did I get so OLD! !
Even though I made a conscious effort to keep my moves low-impact my pudendal nerve started to flare. I realized that it wasn't the impact at all that was causing the pain, it was the thrusting and jiggling. I may be a small girl, but I've got A LOT of booty and I know how to shake it. I can only assume that the constant smack of my excessive booty tissue slamming against my pelvis irritated my cranky, prude pudendal nerve.
Only half way through the class I had to stop. I was the only one who couldn't keep up. I sat out one song, then decided to just do the upper body and arm parts of the workout.
I really enjoyed the class. It was liberating! I miss dancing like that. It never used to bother my nerve. I'd really love to attend another class, but I don't think my pudendal neuralgia will allow it.
January 28, 2011
Remembering Florence P. Kendall
Five years ago today, my grandmother died. She fought a short and fruitless battle with lung cancer. She never smoked a day in her 95 years. She dedicated her life to advancing the profession of physical therapy. She was not ready to stop working. She had so much left to do.
It still hurts.
She was my cheerleader, my inspiration and my hero.
I miss her.
It still hurts.
She was my cheerleader, my inspiration and my hero.
I miss her.
December 13, 2010
An Unfortunate Anniversary: 15 Years with an Eating Disorder
I literally just stormed upstairs to my room with tears in my eyes. I've been under a tremendous amount of stress with the end of the semester and my husband just hit a nerve and it wasn't my pudendal nerve.
I've been living with an eating disorder for 15 years! ! ! I just realized that December is the month it all began when I was 13 years old. Happy anniversary to me...
I was text book anorexic during middle school and on and off in high school. I was a very restrictive eater. There were so many things I didn't allow myself to eat. I did always make exceptions for the weekends, but otherwise, I ate very little. If I ate dinner with my parents and felt guilty about it, I simply vomited. Of course that created an entirely different feeling of guilt.
In college I became very, very sick. I got to the point where I didn't even like to allow myself water because it made me feel so fat. After being hospitalized for gastritis and severe dehydration, coincidentally also in December, my therapist wanted to hospitalize me so I could get in-patient treatment for my eating disorder.
I begged her not to because I was in my final semester of college and I couldn't afford to miss school and not graduate on time. We made an agreement that I would go to the student health center once a week to be weighed and if my weight went below 100 pounds I would have to go to the hospital.
I was very sick and a big part of an eating disorder is deceit. I started stuffing my clothes with paperweights, bars of soap, drinking bottles to hide my true weight. I can't stand to be deceitful. It gnaws at me until I break down. It was especially difficult in this situation because I was lying to two women who I respected and admired. Two women who genuinely cared about me when I despised myself.
I eventually came clean with my doctor and my nurse, putting them in an extremely difficult position. They didn't know what to do with me. I should have been in a hospital, but I was so close to graduation that they agreed that keeping me from graduating would be more detrimental to my fragile health.
I continued the weekly weigh-ins, without cheating. I kept my weight around 100 pounds and I saw my therapist tree times a week.
That's how I survived college. Moving back home and having a slightly more stable and less self-destructive life helped, but I never got treatment for my eating disorder. I continued to be a ridiculously restrictive eater. I hardly had any food in my apartment. I would eat a tomato or a piece of cheese for dinner.
I didn't start eating like a "normal" person until I started to get serious with my husband. I started buying cereal, eggs, milk and cheese for him to have for breakfast. When he moved in, we're started cooking together and eating balanced dinners. I discovered that I loved to cook and I loved good food.
I started eating breakfast maybe three years ago. I've even started eating lunch. I prefer to keep it very small: a yogurt or a piece of fruit. I was a "normal" weight.
When I gained 30 pounds from the Lyrica, it was very difficult for me to handle. I had never been heavy, but there I was having to buy all new clothes and try to make peace with my new body. I was in a healthy, stable relationship. I had a good job and a good life. I couldn't completely self-destruct like I used to. I started going to the gym and making healthier dinners to lose weight.
It took two years to get the weight off the healthy way. I won't say it's easier to lose weight through starvation, but you do get results a lot faster.
The purpose of this rambling post is to say that my eating disorder has never left me. I've experienced times of health. I've even gone years without inducing vomiting. But in times of stress or sadness, it's the first place I go. I start fixating on my weight. It feels like the only thing in my life I can control.
Naturally, in nursing school, I am under a lot of stress; and honestly, I don't think it's possible to get through the first semester at my school without experiencing some periods of depression. We work so hard constantly. There's no time for pleasure to balance out the stress. We isolate ourselves from our friends and family in order to stay on top of all the material.
Tonight I awkwardly asked my mother to not bring cookies into the house or at least to hide them from me. It's very uncomfortable for me to ask something like that. I'm ashamed that I can't control myself, but it's the only way I know how to manage my eating disorder is to keep foods like that out of the house.
My mother said, "oh."
"Welcome to my Hell," my husband said.
"Fuck you."
"Stop that! Don't talk like that at my table!" my mother cried.
I launched into a tear-stained tirade on how hard I struggle every day with my eating disorder. I was especially hurt because I had told him the day before that I was having a lot of trouble lately. I excused myself and put my plate in the kitchen.
As I went up the stairs I said, "why don't you try my 13 years of Hell?" I was off by a few years, but I think I made my point.
That brings you up to the present. I've spent the last hour writing this on the night before my last final when I should be studying. I'm nothing if not consistent. My eating disorder is always the first place I go under duress and writing is my second stop. I had to write this down. I don't know if anyone had the patience to read this post, especially since it has nothing to do with vulvodynia or pudendal neuralgia, but I had to write it down.
I've been living with an eating disorder for 15 years! ! ! I just realized that December is the month it all began when I was 13 years old. Happy anniversary to me...
I was text book anorexic during middle school and on and off in high school. I was a very restrictive eater. There were so many things I didn't allow myself to eat. I did always make exceptions for the weekends, but otherwise, I ate very little. If I ate dinner with my parents and felt guilty about it, I simply vomited. Of course that created an entirely different feeling of guilt.
In college I became very, very sick. I got to the point where I didn't even like to allow myself water because it made me feel so fat. After being hospitalized for gastritis and severe dehydration, coincidentally also in December, my therapist wanted to hospitalize me so I could get in-patient treatment for my eating disorder.
I begged her not to because I was in my final semester of college and I couldn't afford to miss school and not graduate on time. We made an agreement that I would go to the student health center once a week to be weighed and if my weight went below 100 pounds I would have to go to the hospital.
I was very sick and a big part of an eating disorder is deceit. I started stuffing my clothes with paperweights, bars of soap, drinking bottles to hide my true weight. I can't stand to be deceitful. It gnaws at me until I break down. It was especially difficult in this situation because I was lying to two women who I respected and admired. Two women who genuinely cared about me when I despised myself.
I eventually came clean with my doctor and my nurse, putting them in an extremely difficult position. They didn't know what to do with me. I should have been in a hospital, but I was so close to graduation that they agreed that keeping me from graduating would be more detrimental to my fragile health.
I continued the weekly weigh-ins, without cheating. I kept my weight around 100 pounds and I saw my therapist tree times a week.
That's how I survived college. Moving back home and having a slightly more stable and less self-destructive life helped, but I never got treatment for my eating disorder. I continued to be a ridiculously restrictive eater. I hardly had any food in my apartment. I would eat a tomato or a piece of cheese for dinner.
I didn't start eating like a "normal" person until I started to get serious with my husband. I started buying cereal, eggs, milk and cheese for him to have for breakfast. When he moved in, we're started cooking together and eating balanced dinners. I discovered that I loved to cook and I loved good food.
I started eating breakfast maybe three years ago. I've even started eating lunch. I prefer to keep it very small: a yogurt or a piece of fruit. I was a "normal" weight.
When I gained 30 pounds from the Lyrica, it was very difficult for me to handle. I had never been heavy, but there I was having to buy all new clothes and try to make peace with my new body. I was in a healthy, stable relationship. I had a good job and a good life. I couldn't completely self-destruct like I used to. I started going to the gym and making healthier dinners to lose weight.
It took two years to get the weight off the healthy way. I won't say it's easier to lose weight through starvation, but you do get results a lot faster.
The purpose of this rambling post is to say that my eating disorder has never left me. I've experienced times of health. I've even gone years without inducing vomiting. But in times of stress or sadness, it's the first place I go. I start fixating on my weight. It feels like the only thing in my life I can control.
Naturally, in nursing school, I am under a lot of stress; and honestly, I don't think it's possible to get through the first semester at my school without experiencing some periods of depression. We work so hard constantly. There's no time for pleasure to balance out the stress. We isolate ourselves from our friends and family in order to stay on top of all the material.
Tonight I awkwardly asked my mother to not bring cookies into the house or at least to hide them from me. It's very uncomfortable for me to ask something like that. I'm ashamed that I can't control myself, but it's the only way I know how to manage my eating disorder is to keep foods like that out of the house.
My mother said, "oh."
"Welcome to my Hell," my husband said.
"Fuck you."
"Stop that! Don't talk like that at my table!" my mother cried.
I launched into a tear-stained tirade on how hard I struggle every day with my eating disorder. I was especially hurt because I had told him the day before that I was having a lot of trouble lately. I excused myself and put my plate in the kitchen.
As I went up the stairs I said, "why don't you try my 13 years of Hell?" I was off by a few years, but I think I made my point.
That brings you up to the present. I've spent the last hour writing this on the night before my last final when I should be studying. I'm nothing if not consistent. My eating disorder is always the first place I go under duress and writing is my second stop. I had to write this down. I don't know if anyone had the patience to read this post, especially since it has nothing to do with vulvodynia or pudendal neuralgia, but I had to write it down.
November 23, 2010
Finally Getting Better
It took the full six day treatment and a few days of rest, but I think my pink taco is free of sour cream! (Like that visual? Sometimes I even gross myself out!) My pudendal neuralgia is keeping the area inflamed, but there are no other symptoms. The pain is dissipating slowly.
November 16, 2010
Out of Commission for Two Weeks
I can usually ascertain the cause of a bacterial imbalance in my lady bits, but not this time. I have no idea what caused it. I started having burning and discharge (gross) about two weeks ago. My first impulse to self-medicate. In the past that has been a problem because by the time I get to my specialist, there's no evidence of an infection and all that I have left is residual burning from my flared pudendal nerve. On those occasions, I got a very stern scolding from my doctor.
This time I decided to be a good girl and schedule an appointment and do nothing to teat my symptoms. Unfortunately, I couldn't get an appointment until Thursday, a full week after the symptoms began. Ugh!
It was a miserable week, but I thought it would be worthwhile when my doctor said, "yes, this time you really do have a yeast infection." Not this time!
After looking at my cells under the microscope my doctor's PA found that I did not have any signs of yeast! So frustrating! The good news is, even if I had self-medicated it wouldn't have helped. The bad news is, I don't know what caused it and the treatment is messy.
I hate using overnight vaginal creams because the whole next day that cream gets all over my squish! Yuck! Obviously, I have to wear underwear on those days, which causes more pain to my poor sloppy moose knuckle!
Hopefully, this clears up soon. It's making me feel gross.
This time I decided to be a good girl and schedule an appointment and do nothing to teat my symptoms. Unfortunately, I couldn't get an appointment until Thursday, a full week after the symptoms began. Ugh!
It was a miserable week, but I thought it would be worthwhile when my doctor said, "yes, this time you really do have a yeast infection." Not this time!
After looking at my cells under the microscope my doctor's PA found that I did not have any signs of yeast! So frustrating! The good news is, even if I had self-medicated it wouldn't have helped. The bad news is, I don't know what caused it and the treatment is messy.
I hate using overnight vaginal creams because the whole next day that cream gets all over my squish! Yuck! Obviously, I have to wear underwear on those days, which causes more pain to my poor sloppy moose knuckle!
Hopefully, this clears up soon. It's making me feel gross.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)