You might be wondering why I'm deciding to write a blog about something so racy I feel the need to warn you. Since it's the public internet, I always imagine myself walking up to everyone in my life and telling them what I'm writing. My boss. My boyfriends mom. Grams. Ex flings living abroad. My classmates I haven't seen in years. My more reserved family members (yes they do exist). And people not in my life, strangers, future employers. But I think it's important to talk about, for the same reason I did the Underwear Affair. Awareness. I had friends who had miscarriages, and I didn't know how common they were until I started talking to women around me about them. This is no different. Most of the women I've talked to have had a yeast infection at one point, or know about them. Hopefully they laugh a little, or at least find a little camaraderie in my blog. But also if just one woman didn't, I'm finding the courage to share about my experience for them. And to be selfish, writing is how I deal with things.
Figuring it out.
So earlier this week, I'd have told you I hit my sexual peak. For sure that's what it was...I wanted to be touched...but the itch for intimacy, then just became an itch. And hot. I slept with an ice pack two nights. So then it's brought to my attention I probably have a yeast infection. And talking to a couple girlfriends, it's super common. Just go to the store and get the cream they said. The pill will change your life they said.
Buying the treatment
So I go to the local drugstore, "I'm going to be discreet, I'll buy it from the pharmacy in the back, gawd I'm smart." Until the very moment I walk through the front door, and the alarm starts going off. Not a small alarm, multiple very loud alarms, it gets everyone's attention at the front of the store. I considered running for it. I'd paid for it, right? Who comes to the door to meet me, but the only guy who works for the whole damn company, and happens to come to my work too. I'm mortified. He starts laughing when he sees its me, "did you beep on the way in?" "No." People probably think I look so embarrassed because I stole, until the box comes out. "It's ok" he starts whispering. I almost burst into tears. He deactivates it and I stuff it back in its hiding place before I quickly left the store.
Using the treament
Had I known a little more about the treatment before I used it, I probably wouldn't have used it while at work. But I was super incomfortable, and just assumed it was like taking an Advil. So I came back to work, where I used my lovely box. Remember that experiment in middle school with the giant volcano with baking soda and vinager? That started happening in my pants. I was at my wicket trying to help customers and I was feeling "BUBBLES!! Bubblesbubblesbubbless"
Unfortunately it soaked through everything I was wearing. Like most experiences us girls have had from a young age with our periods, no one could see it. But it's uncomfortable, and I was trying to weigh out if it's worse than the problem it was solving. When you actually read the box instead of skimming, it tells you to use it at night. When you're horizontal. I asked a female co-worker if they could see it. Two of them knew about my disposition because I confided in them about the trauma at the drugstore. "Are you going to tell Kyle?" One said "she has to" the other one said.
Telling the new boyfriend
The gift that keeps on giving. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse for me, I find out that a yeast infection is transmittable. A very small chance, but if he's going to feel a fraction of my discomfort, I want to warn him. A lifesaver in the form of a female friend of mine had dropped off some new clothes for me to wear for the last while at work, so I wasn't still uncomfortable when I talked to him. And of course, he was amazing, like everything else so far. I burst into tears and he just hugged me and told me I was going to be okay. He knew more about it than I did and started educating me about my bits and imbalances and it's nothing I did wrong...I said,"I'm not trying to be overly dramatic about all this..." And he's like, "well.."
I had three offers to go to the bar that night, and finally I couldn't say no anymore.
But I didn't want to see people anymore. So maybe this is why I said yes:
I'm starting not to like the term "bad day" because I feel like it's overused. I know people who have a bad day about once a week. Really? How BAD was it?
I just felt so abandoned by my vagina. How could it do this to me? I thought I'd built a pretty good repor, I thought we had a good thing going.
But this is how I ended my awful day, Pina Collada sangria in hand, wearing another girls underwear, and hopefully more mature than when I woke up. My friends who have had children were laughing at me, "just you wait" they said.