I think about this blog a lot (I think about you a lot, reader), but I'm not up to writing right now. It's that whole talking-about-your-vulva-is-depressing thing. When I was actually depressed about my vulva, it was great to write about how depressing my vulva was. Now that I've demoted the vulva to lesser offender and stripped it of some of its depressive power, I don't want to go writing a blog post and stirring up the cooch onus (huh huh huh).
I do want to say things, though. Like, I've figured out how to take Neurontin (300mg at a time) to ease my pain. If I take one every night, I will be in a pretty good place. If I make sure I take one right after sex and then take another one the next day if I start to flare (and again if I start to flare again, and continue with the nightly doses), I won't have a two-week-long post-sex flare.
Right now, the last week before my period, I am creeping into ugly burny stage, and I've taken two Neurontin today to quell it. It's worked, but Neurontin has a short half-life (fades quickly), and I've been sitting, and I'm in the kind of place where your underwear moving back and forth over your clit as you walk is enough to make you dance. I've always flared before my period. When my period hits, the flare subsides. I think hormonal flares are pretty common for vulvodynia, but I still think it's strange that my coo-coo would rather be bleeding than anticipating blood.
The thing about the Neurontin is, I had several days of pretty low pain, and now that I'm a little flarier I am remembering how much this SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!! This sucks, did you know?!?!? And it's not that I didn't appreciate the low pain. I would have moments of --- ahhhhhh?!?!? What's going on here?!?!? and then do a hallelujah. But the memory of pain is not the same as walking through Joann Fabrics thinking you might pee down your nylons because your urethra is an evil flower.
I still haven't sent that survey to that specialist. I just have to wrap it up, but like the blog, it's too much for me right now. And there are these questions on it about well-being, how does your pain inhibit your life, and of course I answered, it doesn't! It used to, but I'm over it! YOU ARE NOT OVER IT IF YOU HAVE TAKEN THREE MONTHS TO FILL OUT A SURVEY ABOUT IT. You are in a post-acceptance denial.
I want a fishtank. With creepy faceless things, because I have issues with fish dying after I killed thousands in my childhood. I also accidentally killed my three favorites, the longest livers (live-ers) -- Squish, Squash, and Squirt, orange guys with sword tails -- by knocking my hand into the heater dial. I'm still getting over it twenty years later. So if I get a fishtank, it will be home to the faceless only.
Funny how I accuse myself of denial and immediately write about fishtanks. I think I will keep that in there.
No catfish in the tank either. I still have one in my life, FY subtle I, and anyway, I killed one of those back in the day too.
Maybe someday I'll be up to blogging more frequently. For now, I'll just say that I'm working hard at learning to take care of myself in that way that everyone says you should take care of yourself even though they don't do it even if they're professional life-coach bullies. I'm in love with calisthenics because I have a great uncle who is 89 who does (or did until recently...we should ask) his army calisthenics each morning. A few years ago, he was at our house eager to eat chips, and to get them off the coffee table while holding his little plate, he knelt down on one knee, scooped some up, and stood back up. I am in love with that motion. I practice that motion for 55 years from now. And then I read that the longest-living World War I (US) veteran, Frank Buckles, did his calisthenics throughout his life too. So far I'm up to TWO pull-ups.
So that's me right now. Calisthenics, fishtanks, and pu-pu avoidance. Yay, a title for the post. Oh, the fishtank inhabitants also have to be slow-moving so my cat doesn't sense them and pour them onto the floor.