I'll Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

Women seem to say this all the time, but it bears repeating. It is so important for us to have girlfriends. Well, ok. Maybe women don't say this all the time, but we should. Magazines always seem to have articles on the important of having women friends and making time to nurture and cultivate those friendships.

Susan and I on a visit to Louisville, where she and her family live, back in 2010.

To have other women we can laugh with and cry with. Eat with (ummm...I may have a food obsession issue...don't judge me!), talk to and share with and learn from and just have the support that we all need while going through this crazy thing called life. I've really come to realize how much those friendships mean to me in the past few months while I've been dealing with this crazy and inconvenient little health issue of mine (for the love of God, I just wanted to get laid!). I've had more friends than I can count or acknowledge who have been willing to listen to me and be supportive. It also may help that I am paying someone to listen to me every other week, too, before I drive those friends absolutely insane talking about things all the time. Never underestimate the importance of professional help when you can't seem to help yourself. (And before your friends and family no longer want to deal with listening to you.)

With my friends Heather and DD. We could have talked for 3 more hours easily.

This is all in the forefront of my mind today because I was lucky enough to spend several hours with two lovely friends yesterday. I hadn't seen them in several years, but through the "wonders" of social media, it often feels like you've only seen someone a few days ago. We picked up where we'd left off and had the best time together. We could have kept talking for several more hours if we all hadn't needed to get home. And no, I didn't monopolize the conversation talking about all my issues and what's going on in my life. My life really isn't interesting enough to talk about it all day long, no matter how much I wish that it was!

Laughing after dinner with Ilana and Linda in Arizona.

I also had a great mini vacation out west last month to hang out with one of my oldest friends, Linda, where we stayed up late talking and drinking and eating and then playing dress up at 4am. Things are rarely boring with the people who know you so well. Although I refuse to take responsibility for trying on a dress 2 sizes smaller than I am since it really was 4am and we'd killed 2 bottles of wine at that point.


I'm going to try to take a little step back in the future and really try to appreciate the friendships that I am blessed to have. As an adult, it can be so hard to meet new people and forge new friendships since we are all busy with our lives and families and jobs. It can be even more difficult to keep nurturing the friendships you already have. But it's important to try. To remember why we love the people that we love and the amazing value they bring into our lives. It's time for me to be better about that. Starting now.

Two of my best friends from college, Kelli and Cindy, catching up a couple of years ago at Thanksgiving.

The Unmentionables

I made the declaration on social media the other day that I should filter a new list strictly for the status updates I always want to post, but never do because they seem inappropriate. Possibly extremely funny, but not really appropriate.

Several friends seemed enthused by that notion, but every now and then my better judgement prevails.

Or does it?

It’s always a dilemma. But maybe that’s what blogs are for (aside from being a delightful exercise in vanity).

I told my friend Ruby I was going to blame her for this blog post and so I am. She told me that I should start a 2^nd blog with the title “The Vaginismus Chronicles”. I will NOT be doing that, even though all the funny nonsense that seems to come out of my mouth these days is related to my attempts to get healthy. But for Ruby, I’m collecting some of the things I didn’t want to post on FB and putting them here. And then, naturally, posting a link on Facebook so people can read it. I mean, that makes sense, right?

I get so tired of going to physical therapy twice a week. This has been going on since April and while I know time and patience are involved, patience is a virtue I have never possessed. It’s not even about wanting to be able to have pain-free sex – or have sex, period – anymore, but being tired of having to spend so much time thinking about my vagina. I swear, adult film stars don’t spend this much time thinking about their private parts. It really gets old. As does my vagina. Older every day. It's like I'm living in a world I never even planned to visit and now I'm taking up permanent residence.

Much as I am weary of the physical therapy, I do try to have a positive attitude about it because going into a session without feeling positive is only going to make for a bad session. The PT is not cheap and I refuse to waste my time or money. If my mind and body won’t relax, then the therapy won’t work and I may complain a little, but I’m very determined for it to work. I’ve kind of forgotten exactly why now, but I’m sure there is a good reason. What was it…what was it… Gimme a few minutes. It’ll come back to me.

The physical therapy room. It's like a spa for your vagina!

Except, y'know, not.

The therapy room is relaxing, as it is intended to be, and I’ve said in the past that the physical therapist as the perfect personality for the kind of work she does. We laugh all the time, which is dangerous if I drink too much water in the morning before I go and feel the desperate need to pee. Nothing good can come of that. It’s a horrible accident waiting to happen.

The other day after PT, I was cleaning up and thought to myself, “Man, there is lube everywhere!" That seemed like an inappropriate status update to post on Facebook though, but totally funny to me and probably to my PT as she always says that she uses too much lube. But let’s get real here, lack of lube usage is probably part of the problem for some people, so I say the more the merrier. Except, y’know, it’s really messy. That’s something they don’t teach you in sex ed class I’d wager.

This morning I was picking up a bra to put it on and saw something on one of the cups that I couldn’t identify. I just looked and thought, “Oh, there’s something on this. Not sure what it is.” *pausing* “Well, I hope at least I had fun!” When I relayed that to a friend, her response was, “Here’s hoping you did!” and the first response I could think of was, “Well, usually when my blouse is off I'm having a good time, so there's a solid chance that I did.” This. This is what you get from my brain on too many Oreos. The struggle is real.

My counseling sessions with the psychotherapist also continue and progress. Well, they feel like they are progressing, so I hope that they are. Right now she wants me to make an effort to get out and meet more people, be more social. I’m also sure she wants me to take the opportunity to meet more men, making it easier to get over any lasting attachments I may have to the friend I was canoodling with earlier this year. But when someone says you need to ‘get over him’, I usually want to respond with “But I haven’t even been UNDER him recently!!” Buh-dum-bum. Yes, yes, I do fancy myself quite funny.

Thankfully, I have some friends who will check on my progress and how I’m dealing with my situation. It’s not the end of the world or some monstrous health crisis, I know. I get that. But it’s a quality of life issue and that cannot be denied.

One friend is a former boss of mine who I now see once a week. For a while, she kept tabs on me after she’d left our office to make sure I hadn’t decided to up and quit. Even though she, y’know, up and quit and left me there. But whatever. We’re buddies and appreciate the snark in each other and it’s nice to get to see her regularly now, even for a few minutes between her meeting and running back to her new office.

She asked why I was at physical therapy the first time she came around and I told her the whole story. Since I keep saying I’ve lost my filter, I will tell pretty much anyone all about this situation, even if they’d probably rather I did not. But as my friend is a doctor, she was instantly familiar with what vaginismus is and the treatment options and was mostly pleased at first that I might be having sex at all. Gotta love a supportive friend, right?

Still defective, but it could always

be worse.

On her way out the door the first time she said, “I’ll text you and check on how your va-jay-jay is doing!” She hasn’t yet, but I can assure you that eventually she will. This week, however, she simply said, “I’ll be back next week to see how you are doing!” My response was, “I’ll still be defective!”

Ah yes, that’s how it feels. Like I’m defective. I know that I’m not, but those thoughts of negativity and frustration and slight depression still sneak in from time to time. But for now, right this minute, I’m just going to laugh. If laughter is the best medicine, then I’m all set.