It was official, buying prenatal vitamins is just as awkward as buying condoms.
The flashback of the last time,
The cashier was just being polite, but I wasn't preggo, not even close. I didn't even bother to correct her, because explaining why this is the biggest oxymoron of life would take about the length of the average human gestation time. But really, buying prenatal vitamins when you can't get pregnant, it seems cruel in a sense. However, they're exactly the type of vites I need. Plus they help my hair and nails grow- BONUS!
So when I finally walked out of the store, vitamins tucked safely away in my bag, I could breath again. I mean can't a girl just want pretty hair, nails and skin with out having to worry about the stigma attached from assumptions made from one single purchase. But in all reality I was more so mad at myself, because really, who the heck cares. These people don't know me. It's the little reminders that take you out of your world and pull you back down to remind you that you're just a small fish in a big pond, not the fisherman, who every fish is aware of.
Where am I going with this... oh right. Assumptions and judgements. Never assume anything, never judge anyone. You're just opening up the door to have it come right back to you. However awkward moments are becoming the story of my life.
It's no secret with cervical cancer that there is some "rehabilitation" involved after the radiation. For full details see blog post "Accepting Applications" (Or Click Here) but the coles notes goes like this. Radiation makes the lady bits smaller, tighter and all around virginal. This may sound like a loosey gooseys dream but I'm not exactly a goose and forgive the over kill but was already smaller to begin with. (Hello pediatric speculum... awkward)
When my doctor told me there would be an 80% chance I could have sex again, I think I actually choked on the air I was supposedly supposed to subconsciously be able to breathe.
"Um what about the other 20%, I'm only 25."Screw infertility, this is my sex life you're now messing with. My questions/comments at every appointment usually consisted of something along the lines of
"Well I can't bone if I'm not alive! When can I bone again? What are the prospects of a healthy sex life doc?"The answer always involved a vaginal dilator. Well ummm ok, that sounds fun and dandy... not. My one doc was finally straight up with me...
"You know, it will work just as well and probably be more fun to just go and get some sex toys."SOLD! To the doc who realized I am supposed to be just entering my sexual prime! AdamandEve.com and I have become close personal acquaintances. KY jelly is my new best friend. Let the rehabbing begin :D
So- this seems like an easy solution right? I mean orgasms are directly linked to lessening stress. (Semen is reportedly linked to alleviating depression but thats a whole other convo I don't want to 'spew' on about right now that clearly doesn't apply. ::laughing so hard, so proud of that one::) SO where does the problem lay? I mean I like orgasms, I'm well aware of what this rehab involves, I have all the necessary tools.... Oh right I live with my parents. -_-
Vibrators arn't quiet. It's a fact. We also have a dog who loves to sleep with me, and then there is Dexy who I would never not allow in my room. I'm being rehab cockblocked by my pets and parents. My future sex life is resting upon 8 paws and parentals. This has to be some sick joke.
Options... #1 well shut my door. You would think right? The layout of the house has the master bedroom and my bedroom separated by only a small bathroom. Also, we're a tight knit family, who is not opposed to barging in. Plus the animals get separation anxiety from me. (But yes, yes I do shut my door.)
#2 Wait till no one is home, WHY is this surprisingly rare? They both work, a lot! They both have friends and lives and yet... ::Palm to shaking forehead:: it seems like an impossible scenario.
I'm actually about to go pull a highschool and take my car up to look out point for a little alone time. (Not that I've ever done that........) Moving on.
#3 The bathroom... umm what am I a dude? Plus its right next to the master.
Realistically these are a lot of excuses that can be overcome, but I think it comes down to the fact, I'm having trouble mentally getting over the fact that I'm .... pleasuring myself in my parents home. Everybody masturbates. If you don't you're a straight up liar... but really, why can't I get over it. I've even tried looking at it differently.
"This is not masturbation, this is rehabilitation."
"Ummm don't look there, no seriously dad don't!"Guys don't do subtle and he will prod with questions until he'll instantly regrets that decision.
SO lets get down to it, this is doctors orders. 3x a week for at least 20 minutes. (No seriously that's what they said.) Also, if we're taking away the sex element, it's not just so that I can have a future sex life but also so that I can get pelvic exams with out feeling like I'm giving birth. Honestly its more for the sex life.
Now for the cancer part of it, because this whole post couldn't just be... ya know. After each session I also have to insert creams. A special antibiotic of sorts because this is a painful process. It's not all fun and games. I'm prone to infection and tearing is inevitable. I also have to switch it up and occasionally insert estrogen creams to help soften the tissue making it easier to stretch. Its a messy process. Its an awkward process. My vagina and I are at war for Orgasm's which technically should make us both very happy. #ThisIsMyLife
So as far as awkward moments go, it's time to suck it up, throw on my wicked headphones, turn on some porn and give her hell. Either that or my future Plenty Of Fish tagline will be "Only Small Penis's Need Apply!"
Awkward- is now just officially the name of the game :)