What's Growing in My Vagina?

It all started, well it all started when I was born with a vagina, and my mother, although she would never admit it, must have heaved a sigh of relief because (with some exceptions, yes, yes) no new mother of a second child - the first one being a boy- wants another boy. Oh she will love him, adore him, he is beautiful. But is there not a dread that there will never be that small thread of sanity that links one neurologically to one's vagina that makes being female just a wee bit better, no pun intended? And the fear that within one's household, lest it be a lesbian household, there may never be a full understanding of the vagina experience? (And no insult meant to Big Kid, the Best Ever Son, ever.)


Back to my vagina, though. It all started when I first got one and my mother was probably look oh good a girl and all is right with the world. That worked out well until I was a teenager. The vagina made me mad with lust, menstrual cramps, ovarian cysts, and more lust. Okay, it was not just the vagina, it was the hormones too. Also, I got a crazy yeast infection but I had no idea why I was so goddamn itchy down there. This was not a topic I would discuss with my sweet and pristine mother. "Mom, I got crotch itch?" I just hoped it would go away, like a bug bite. Well, it did not go away, and one night I did indeed wake her up, in agony. Hers and mine, probably. Fortunately, there was an eccentric, home-birthing, lustful-toward-teens ob/gyn guy who lived one block over. He and my Dad were friends since they were both doctors and in those days that meant you were in the brotherhood of we-have-money-yet-we-are-good-people. My Dad went to get something for me while I writhed or something. Years later the gyn guy would leave his wife for a patient and they would show her water birth on public TV. He sat in the water while she had the baby. Gross, man! Wouldn't that infect the area, or something? His beard was way too straggly.


We return again to my vagina. And I know now you are thinking that that was a bad transition - just get that straggly beard outta your mind, because my vagina does not have one. Thirty years pass. I have two kids, a house, a dog, a husband, a tree that fell down, cute little friends, fun job, and an aged, but well-preserved, though slightly scarred, vagina. Now a person can take a pill for a yeast infection. However, I felt some pressure in there and found a little lump. Oh don't go all lumpy on me. It's probably a little cyst my doctor friend said. And I am betting it is, because everything in there feels a bit swollen and it's all part of the general flora and fauna in there, like daffodils in springtime. I am quite sure it is very similar to a flower in springtime.


Here's the rub. actually, don't rub, just consider. One cannot have an issue such as this without feeling
a.) neurotic for having stuck one's hand in there in the first place. Was I bobbing for apples you may wonder? I felt all this pressure - it was irrational, like maybe I left a tampon, a spoon, my napkin from last night's dinner?
b.) hypochondriacal for even going to the doctor. Let's face it - there are tons of lumps in there. I am a product of my upbringing and my experience. My father used to diagnose people when they walked down the street.
c.) slightly nervous. Just cut the thing off and toss it in the trash, will ya? I don't wanna bubble on my cervix. Blood, mucus, icky white discharge, I can handle. Take my little growth, please!
d.) I am not going to write d! Come off it! The thing just grew last week, for crissake. If it's a bad bad thing, well, I just don't think we are in that category.


Prologue: the teen yeasty vagina episode lead to a more open dialogue with my mom. i had a cousin who was even more nervous about sharing with her mother, and by the time she disclosed her own yeasty problems, her vaginal area bled to the touch! Poor bubbela.


Second prologue: Now that I have matured, I realize that it is still better to have a vagina than to have one of those big floppy things hanging off me like some meek amphibian, unsure of exactly what to do next. What a wiener.