Saturday, May 30, 2009

Notes from the Pot

Oh yes, you have just joined me on the potty.  I ate a bunch of pecans earlier today and I guess that wasn't what I was supposed to do because now I'm sitting on the pot threatening hara-kiri.

Because, as I tweeted, maybe self-dissection is what I'm going to have to resort to, and maybe if I died from vulvodynia-inspired wounds the medical community would give a shit.

I mean, die for awareness?  Okay, fine.  Vvd makes me want to shoot myself in the head anyway, if only 'cause that way I WIN.

I went to the orchestra on a moderate flare.  I was hardly able to walk away.  I seriously felt like I was going to piss myself.  It felt like I was walking with a spike shoved up alongside my urethra.

We went to a bar.  See, the Cavs were playing, and I couldn't quit on Lebron even in massive pain.  Would Lebron quit?  No.  It took way too long to get food -- I thought eating would make the pain better.  But it didn't.  Ridiculous, ridiculous pinching and burning like I can't even describe.  Still not the worst pain ever.  No unstoppable bawling.

My friends were awesome as usual, talked about it, kept asking me questions as if this is somehow a palatable subject -- and to them it is, somehow.  Understood when I was eager to leave.

Now I'm on the pot for that lovely lady exposure chugging water mixed with a little bit of apple-cider vinegar -- been trying it lately, think it helps my flares.  Which makes no sense because baking soda seems to help my flares too, and they are OPPOSITES.

I want to die.


I have an appointment with a naturopath two weeks from Monday.  I've also been wondering if it's time to return to the urologist.  At least with interstitial cystitis, diet change is a KNOWN and ACCEPTED treatment.  And maybe they can, like, swap out my urethra too.

And I've got an appointment on Monday for the hemorrhoids.  At the university health center.  That is going to be SEXAY.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Kubla Khan's Fast Thick Pants

Senior year of high school, we analyzed Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" in our English class, and our teacher told us how a few years prior a (male) student of hers had interpreted the poem as being about a vajayjay.

So.  Below I've copied the poem from here and highlighted it as (a literate) Beavis or Butthead (i.e., me) might (sorry if it's hard to read -- Blogger kinda sucks at these things).
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
  Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

  But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
   Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
  A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
  As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
  By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
  And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
  As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
  A mighty fountain momently was forced :
  Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
  Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
  Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
  Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
  Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
  And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
  And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
  Ancestral voices prophesying war !

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure
  Floated midway on the waves ;
  Where was heard the mingled measure
  From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
  A damsel with a dulcimer
  In a vision once I saw :
  It was an Abyssinian maid,
  And on her dulcimer she played,
  Singing of Mount Abora.
  Could I revive within me
  Her symphony and song,
  To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Conclusion: give me a break.  Like it isn't about a vajayjay.

P.S. Red equals yeowch, "huge fragments" equals cherry poppin', and dulcimers have hammers.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Great Video

This was on a new crotch blogger's blog.  I am ecstatic that there are so many of us [BLOGGERS] and that it's taking different forms.  We KICK ASS sharing our stories with the world.  Together we can make things happen.  Voices, voices, voices!!!

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Why the Terminators are the Best Movies Ever

This is topical.  T4 is out this weekend.  But I'd be watching the T's in rotation these days anyway.

Because the Terminators are the best movies ever, and they are the best movies ever because they depict a world that has more despair than mine.

YES I'm being melodramatic.  It's MY BLOG.

I'm not even talking coochie here.  I'm talking wow the world is a horribly bleak place and I'm not sure what I'm living for.  If you've never been depressed I can't convince you of how real that emotion is, the absolute devastation and futility.  So just take my word for it.

Anyway, the Terminators are the translation of that emotion to film.  Watching them is exactly like being crushingly depressed with robots around.

Plus, in the Terminators, there's a POINT to all the depression.  Skynet is going to BLOW THE WORLD UP.  People are going to DIE IN HUGE NUMBERS.  If Sarah can't protect her son, THE HUMAN RACE WILL END.  The odds against the machines are NOT FAVORABLE.

In my depressions, there's not even a cause, let alone an awesome one.  Oh, boo hoo, feeling sobby wobby today...GOOD THING YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF THE FUTURE.

So, to sum up: me = humans, depression = Skynet, and that's why I love the Terminators.  Also, I will be buffer than Linda Hamilton.

Fuck Doctors

I saw the gastroenterologist today.  I don't even want to go into why she sucked.  It's the same exact story as every other doctor story I have.  "You don't fit in my box and there's no research concluding that what you say is true; what do you want from me?"

You'd think a statement like "when I eat certain foods my crotch hurts" would send up a red flag for ANY doctor, let alone someone who studies digestion.

But no, this is seriously how it is for them: if there's nothing in the medical canon supporting what you say, it's irrelevant information.  Possibly you're imagining it.


Seriously, omigod, fuck them.  Medicine is an amazing thing but the people who do it can be such wastes of space.

She gave me a prescription for Bentyl, which is used to treat IBS.  I filled only part of the prescription...curious, will probably try it but doubt I'll keep using IBS itself ain't so bad anymore...on the other hand if it's the IBS cramping that's paining me, maybe it will work...but if it is WHY HASN'T ANYONE FIGURED THAT OUT YET.

Really, fuck everything.  I think I know what to do about my vulvodynia: eat well and wait.  But OH GOD I don't want to wait seems so fucking absurd!  It's like a fucking allegory, CROTCH PAIN.


Saturday, May 9, 2009

Vagina Dentata

A friend shared this today.  Her husband found that the Wikipedia article about vagina dentata didn't have a picture, so he provided one.  Sadly, it wasn't up there long.

So, everybody with me.  My crotch feels like...
  • Its teeth are inverted
  • It has an overbite
  • It needs a root canal
Your suggestions were awesome, and I want you all to know that even though I haven't been commenting on your blogs, I've been reading them in chunks and I love them all.  Finals is next week and even though I'm certainly not working at every moment (hello), my head is clouded with pipes and sockets and servers and some other stuff that I should probably remind myself of this weekend.  But I do read and I love hearing what you have to say.

My period arrived and my pain has ebbed with it overall.  I also had rice with (gluten-free) soy sauce a few times last week, and that soy, I swear, coochie no like.  So the soy sauce went down the drain, finally.

I feel like I haven't been eating anything lately.  Eggs, potatoes, bananas, rice.  Those things don't add up to a lot of calories.  I'm sure I've been eating other things too, but I can't remember what they are at the moment.

Back to pipes and sockets.  It is really late but damn do I love working at this hour.

Monday, May 4, 2009

How My Crotch Feels

I've been laughing about my "It feels like someone lacerated my skin with papercuts and then squeezed a lemon over it" description from my last blog post since shortly after I wrote it. So here are some more "how my crotch feels" reflecting various forms my pain has taken. Please chime in if you have more.

My crotch feels like...
  • Someone attached a brilo pad to the end of a drill and started scrubbing my vulva
  • Someone is trying to saw me in half with a hand saw
  • Someone replaced my dildo with a cactus
  • I'm peeing a pipe cleaner
  • I rug-burned my rug
  • I salted my vajayjay and then took it suntanning
  • I mistook my coochie for an oven mitt
  • I took a sitz bath in salsa

Saturday, May 2, 2009

KY, Frogs, and Pot

You know those KY commercials with the two different kinds of lube that combined make people's genitals explode with pleasure?  First of all, a pleasure-enhancing lube is without a doubt a terrorizing lube if you have coochie pain.  But secondly, every time I see that commercial I can only think "yeast infection."

Why do people treat their bodies so crappily?  It is a sick accident of our resilience that we can tolerate the things we do, the ten Diet Cokes a day, the weird chemicals on our skin, the douching, the -- god, I never thought I'd say it -- THE BACON.  We're the frogs of the polluted pond who manage to hop around on five legs.  Biology is a freaking miracle.

Vulvodynia makes me want to run away into the bushes, the ones without the plastic bags trapped among the leaves.  It makes me want to dump myself into the purest forest in the world and let nature bathe me in her rightness.  I often wonder if cavewomen had vulvodynia, if present-day tribal women get it.  Is there a wrongness here in this world that my crotch just can't stand?

My pain is so bad these days.  It feels like someone lacerated my skin with papercuts and then squeezed a lemon over it.  My period approaches. has a good overview of hormones and IC.  I believe vulvodynia and IC can have the same origin even if the person only has one or the other.

My dad thinks the commenter who wrote I should smoke up to treat my pain is right.  I don't know, still sounds like being in a coma to me.  If my pain ever went away, ever, if it came in cycles and I just had to be high for the cycle to treat the pain, maybe.  But the pain is there all day long, and I don't understand what pot would do for me in that case.

It's illegal in my state anyway.  But maybe not forever.  If it passes, maybe I will become a grower.