So back to physiotherapy we go. I did not know that Physio of the vag was a thing, and somehow I feel my life is better for knowing this. I love that it’s someones job! Luckily for me, Katie was the best lady and a fab physio. When your vagina tenses up at the mere sniff of penetration and you’re frustrated and angry and upset, you need a Katie to help you because she made me laugh and feel at ease.
My new pal Katie spent some time having a look-a-roo inside the ol’ vagina, but she was much more gentle that the other doctors had been. She totally got it. She said it was so tense it could have cut her fingers off. (Imagine having to explain to someone how you lost your hand?!). She agreed with the diagnosis of vaginismus (how the fuck do you even pronounce that?!) and seemed pretty positive that it was fixable. Yaas!
I spent a lot of time almost in tears when with Katie. It felt amazing for someone to believe me that something was wrong and at the same time, to reassure me that it was treatable.
Now comes the fun part. As a fun gift, Katie gave me a garish pink pouch of dilators. I’d have preferred wine or chocolates if I’m honest, but I wouldn’t like to be ungrateful. These are basically white semi-phallic plastic thingies, that attach to a grey handle. They’re not sexy in the slightest.
The idea is that you start small and inset the dilator – not to stretch the va-jay-jay, but to ease it in to realising that things don’t have to hurt. You leave the thing in there for a few minutes, maybe move it around a little to get your body use to it. It’s not supposed to be masterbatory (a fantastic word to use at 7.40am on a packed train to Manchester), just to get your body used to chilling the fuck out.
I was sent away with instructions to try the first two dilators for a few weeks and to come back and update my progress. We were also on a sex ban so as not to undo all my hard work. It was just me and my dilators…