My Taboo Disease

When There Was Supposed to be Progress

            The vestibulectomy required thirty stitches and two weeks off of work. The first few days were grueling, just getting up or sitting down caused extreme pain, as well as going to the bathroom, sneezing, laughing, rolling the wrong way in my sleep, standing too long, sitting too long...well, you get the point. However, I was optimistic, ready for the next step to get my problem solved. Though the pain was tough and the two weeks off work caused financial stress, I was relatively happy.
              After the two weeks of healing, I was supposed to start physical therapy as soon as possible. However, when I learned what pt entailed, I became scared and put it off for about three months. Finally, with some encouragement from Nate and my mom, I made an appointment with Dr. Terra Sullivan. Dr. Sullivan works with women who suffer from all sorts of pelvic problems from learning to strengthen their pelvic muscles, or learning to loosen them for those who have vaginismus.
I bought a set of dilators (pictured above) and finally walked into my first appointment, my anxiety at an all time high.
              Dr. Sullivan introduced herself and we spent the first fifteen minutes answering the questions I've answered a dozen times over by now. "Constant pain or just provoked?" Provoked. "Pain with orgasm?" No. "Pain with attempted intercourse?" Yes. "Urinary incontinence?" No. And on and on. Finally, she asked if she could "take a look," and again, I stripped down.
                "Okay, I'm going to start slow," she said, putting her gloves on, "tell me when it starts to hurt." The second she touched me, I went jumping five feet up out of reflex. "Did that hurt?" She asked, looking surprised.
                "No," I said, totally embarrassed, just reflex. She assured me this was common, and tried again as I willed myself to relax. She inserted her finger again and made it about half an inch when the excruciating pain came back to me. Immediately I gasped in pain and tears sprung to my eyes. "It hurts" I was able to sputter, but then I was paralyzed again.
              "Does it hurt when I go in a little further?" She asked as she pushed a little more. At this I was at peak pain, to the point where I could feel myself starting to lose consciousness, and I asked her to stop.
              "Okay," she said, peeling off her gloves, "I think I can help you. Your muscles seem like they'll be able to relax if we can just get your reflexes in control." I nodded, half believing her, but pretty doubtful at the same time; something just didn't seem right. And it wasn't, clearly she couldn't gauge the amount of pain I was actually in, and I don't blame her, she had never come across someone with my condition, and I was still far away from my correct diagnosis.

                Women with vaginismus use physical therapy to heal and control trigger points that cause the muscles to contract. They use dilators to find those trigger points, and become used to penetration. You start with the smallest dilator in the set, and work up from there at your own pace. For about a year, we spent time trying to insert the first dilator.  One single day I was successful and could get half, after that day I wasn't able to get it in at all, and I was experiencing the same blinding pain twice a week. As I continued the assault on my body, my anxiety was increasing by the day, and caused every aspect of my life to suffer.
                 I was a teaching assistant at a Montessori school, and I could hardly focus on anything let alone teaching the kids for 8 hours a day. My grades were suffering because I couldn't focus during class, let alone on the homework when I was alone with my thoughts. And of course, my personal relationship with Nate was suffering the most. I found myself irritated with him when he initiated anything sexual and had zero drive. At the time I felt guilty, but I look back now and realize anybody under my condition would feel the same way. I was visiting Dr. Sullivan twice a week to experience horrid pain with zero results. Anybody under those conditions would feel like that.
                 By July, I was leaving every physical therapy appointment shaking from head to toe, to the point where I would have to sit in my car until I could see straight again. I cried constantly, and fought with Nate the most on those days. I knew in my hear that this wasn't working and that their must be something else wrong, but my mom, Dr. Sullivan and Dr. Brooks encouraged me to keep trying. So, every Tuesday and Thursday, I drove out to my thirty minutes of torture, then sat in my car for at least ten minutes before starting the engine.
               My suicidal thoughts were at an every day occurrence at this time in my life. Sometimes, when I got into my car after an appointment, I would stare at a wall and wonder if I should run my car into it. I walked the isles of a liquor store and wondered where I could get some medications to go along with a nice bottle of whiskey or tequila. I contemplated offing myself with one of Nate's guns, or drowning myself in Tempe Town Lake. Luckily, something inside me held me back. Though I felt totally helpless, deep down I think I still thought something out there may come to me, and it kept me going.
               Nate and I spoke all the time about getting married and having kids, but the idea that I may not even be able to have sex made me feel guiltier than ever being in a relationship with him. I felt as though I was holding him back from finding someone who could give him all that, and I constantly feared not satisfying him enough. So, I started to give in to his advances, and just played along like I was enjoying it. In more ways than one, this damaged me even more, and things got progressively worse and worse. I drove myself into insanity and severe depression, and I knew if I couldn't get help for my mental state, I may never be the same.