So the other thing that happened in Hawaii was that I realized I was hiding stuff from you. Again.
Yes, I know. I am a slow learner. I am also like one of those people with hoarding disorders, but with all these little secrets crammed under my bed instead of more traditional hoarding items like chicken bones or money.
So here it is: I went in for my yearly with my OBGYN (and here is where you should take heed and stop reading if you don’t like things that involve Cootersville, Population: Me) and I mentioned to her that I continue to have small and painful cuts in Anne Land. Or, in more grown-up speak, on my labia.
I don’t think I am into the whole Lifetime Channel Testimony Mode about getting the diagnosis of Lichen Sclerosus, but you can read about it by clicking the link. And then proceed to wash your eyeballs and bitch slap me for taking TMI where TMI should not tread.
All I can say is that for me it is not itchy or terribly bothersome except that about every six weeks or so it is stingy like a paper cut. I have not taken any medication for it since it was previously diagnosed approximately 4 years ago because I was breastfeeding or pregnant or breastfeeding again or consumed with attending to the Cheekbone Implant of Horror.
Also back then, I did not have the diagnostic name so that Dr. Google could tell me about possible scarring. The treatment is super steroids in topical form. I am on the fence about taking them. I mean, you put that stuff on your cooter and you are all happy about the non-pain-non-scarring. The next thing you know, your labia is winning gold medals with Marion Jones.
But eventually? There is an accounting to be had for revving up your twat on hormones. And then it either mugs someone whilst holding a tiny gun*, or you are dragging your cooter to Celebrity Rehab and it looks like Chyna’s little sister. No one wants that to happen.
Also, the doc said if the steroids don’t clear it up, they take a biopsy. Of my labia, people. The process was described to me pretty much like this:
(picture of hole punch used to be here)
1. Insert labia
I am taking recommendations for where to buy genital jewelry if it progresses that far. I ain’t wasting that hole.
And hell, since we are in confessional land, I will say that this puts off baby making for another month until I can make sure of the diagnosis and rule out biopsy. Baby making being just on the horizon of our thinking, and a whole ball of Nucking Futs with which to deal. Because you all may remember how well the last baby’s infancy worked out for me. My husband is totally cheerleading that we will have an easier time this time. Because the future is not predicted by past events, but rather by some grand equation in which a post partumy depressiony year last infancy will be evened out with flowers and sunshine this time.
* Getting back to that whole Lifetime Channel Testimony – it would almost be worth it to be able to see the dramatic recreation of my ‘roid raged labia pistol whipping Tori Spelling in the Lifetime Original Movie, Mother, May I Sleep with Cooter?
ETA: More things you should know about my undercarriage – it does not look like the google images (those must be the most severely afflicted case scenarios). But thanks for making me double check, internet!