My Journey with my Vagina

By Rachel Deasy Hi. Having a vagina can be hard.I have spent the last ten or so years of my life trying to understand my relationship with my vagina and my sexual health. It has not been an easy road, and unfortunately, I am far from finished my journey, but I have become a lot more comfortable speaking about my experiences. Thus, I think it is important that I share my experiences so that other people who are assigned female at birth know that they are not alone and that sexual health does not have to be a scary or intimidating concept.For many, the idea that sexual health might terrify an individual may seem strange, because at our age we live in a relatively “progressive” society, however, it is important to remember that sexual health does not just start once you begin having sex. For many, sexual health begins much earlier and for me, I became fully aware of the importance of sexual health when I hit puberty. There are also pressures from society on people with vaginas to do, or use, or be certain things. Whether it be shaming people for using pads because they are immature, or not sustainable enough, to doctors not taking your concerns seriously. This is my experience coming to terms with my sexual health.When I was thirteen, I became aware that I had what is called a vaginal band when I began menstruating. A vaginal band is essentially a bridge between the anterior and posterior vaginal wall in the middle of the vagina. At first, I told nobody because I did not know that it was “wrong” (as I would come to refer to it for years). But because I did a lot of water sports, I would need to use tampons when my period came. Inserting them would be no issue, however, removing them could lead to twenty to thirty minutes of pain and wracked sobs as the end of the tampon would get caught on the band and cause it to pull on the sides of my vagina. Eventually, I told my mother who tried to figure out what was wrong but had no idea what to research. A lot of sites were sending her to sexual activity advice pages where it would say “don’t worry, it’s just your hymen, you just need to push past it!”. I went to my GP but because I was so young, they did not want to use a speculum and could not identify the problem. They advised that we see a specialist, but I refused as I was ashamed and terrified. So, I spent the next four years living with this vaginal band. I continued to cry in pain when I had to use tampons. I continued to hide away from discussions about sexual health and sexual activity. I continued to believe there was something wrong with me. As I got older and began making more female friends who were quite open about their sexual health, I began to speak to them about it more. This helped in some ways as I finally began to deal with all of the emotions that I had repressed, however, it also cemented the idea in my head that my body was “wrong”. It was not until I was nineteen and had a partner who loved me regardless of whether I could have sex that I gathered the courage to go to a gynaecologist. This began the process of removing my vaginal band, but it was not straightforward. I ended up having to come to Cork to get it done. I was incredibly nervous because of how private a person I was, and the concept of being in a room, unconscious, with a bunch of people examining me was terrifying but the gynaecologist who did the operation and organised the whole thing was incredible and really helped me through it. He not only explained everything clearly (both what it was but how it could have occurred) but was also exceptionally understanding when it came to my fears. I came out of that surgery feeling exceptionally relieved and proud, but my vagina did not feel like my own anymore. I had to look after stitches for a week or two and spent the whole time exceptionally aware of the fact that there had been a whole team of people encroaching on something that I was not comfortable sharing with people. As time passed after my surgery my outlook on sexual health took a change for the better. I began to encourage myself to be more open about my experience and to look after myself. But I was still terrified of being examined. I know that it is important to get regular check-ups from your gynaecologist, but I could not bring myself to do it. The thought of being back on a gurney made me want to scream in terror and weep like I did when I was thirteen. Hence, it is no surprise that when I experienced spotting during the pandemic I procrastinated going to the doctor for as long as possible.Eventually, fearing an issue with my previous surgery, I contacted my GP and scheduled an appointment with her. She was fully aware of my history and my fears and was exceptionally kind in how she spoke to me. When it came time to examine me, she went to insert the speculum. I had been terrified of this piece of medical equipment since I first saw it at thirteen. And so, when the pain began, I felt like all my fears had been realised but I just told myself to push past it, that I had to do this for my health. But the pain was so intense I ended up screaming and she had to stop despite my attempts to continue. My GP informed me that this was not normal (which I was honestly relieved she confirmed, because if that was what it was meant to feel like, I may never have attended another appointment again). She referred me to a specialist after taking a sample using a simple cotton swab which brought me to tears, making me feel like that same thirteen-year-old girl on the bathroom floor. I was sent to a different gynaecologist in my hometown so that I could be put under and examined without being in pain. My experience with this doctor was the complete opposite of the previous. During my consultation with him, prior to my surgery, he kept trying to put me on birth control and kept ignoring the actual reason for my visit. I was also shocked that he never once mentioned the potential side effects of any of the forms of birth control he wanted me to take. All he wanted to talk about was how the length of my periods was “wrong”, the heaviness of my flow was “wrong”, and my body was “wrong”. I wanted to curl into a ball and die. It was also clear that he had not read the reference from my GP as he was completely unaware that I had been in too much pain to examine while conscious and had no knowledge of my previous surgery. My parents and friends suggested that I go to another doctor but honestly, I could not afford to and knew I would take it as an excuse to delay the procedure even longer than I already had. So, I went for it.On the day of the surgery, he completely forgot the reason why I wanted to have the exam as he was busy planning on putting a contraceptive coil in me which I had decided I did not want. Upon waking up from the surgery he shamed me for not getting the coil before even mentioning the diagnosis and source of my pain. The aftermath of this surgery was not like that of my previous one. While my surgery three years ago felt like a personal triumph, this felt like a personal hell. The diagnosis is one I am still trying to wrestle with and may take me years to fully come to terms with. The doctor told me that my vagina had become so dry since the last surgery that it was bleeding and grazed and cut. My body was trying to protect myself from my fear. Make my vagina as inaccessible as possible so it could not be invaded again. So that I did not have to go through that trauma again. Even despite the anaesthetic, once they began the examination despite being unconscious, I tried to get up. All because I did not want anyone to see what was “wrong” with me.So, if you are struggling, know you are not alone. You are not wrong, your body is not wrong, no matter what anyone, including a doctor, says. We have to be brave and look after ourselves.