I have a very evil bread in my vagina
There was a very timely Jezebel post today that described the total fucking unfairness of women’s health (my post title is from the comments section–I think I said something similar when I had a yeast infection in Mexico). I’ve written about this a few times before–why in the hell should I spend an entire day screwing around with a doctor’s visit, an invasive exam/urine test, a long wait at the pharmacy–oh, wait, they’re out of stock/are closed/hate me, all when I know damn well exactly what is wrong with my and my mystery vagina?! And don’t forget the extra dose of condescending asshattery that is all too common among doctor-types.
For this month’s vaginal woes, I’ve been eating lots of yogurt, taking lots of “so-called homeopathics”, and avoiding the brownies I made with my roommate last night. And let me tell you, I want a brownie so badly right now I could just cry. Since I tend to hoard prescription drugs, I even popped a Diflucan I had laying around (take that, medical institution! You think you can force me to waste my time?) but it hasn’t worked. Again.
In other adventures of the malevolent vag, the stabbity night pains are back! I didn’t miss them at all. Every once in awhile, I’ll be sound asleep, nice and peaceful, and then BAM, awake and writhing in pain. It’s a really sharp burst of stabbing pain, but afterwards I’ll be tense for a long time. Meh. I’m pretty over this crap. But it gives me an excuse to buy really, really good cranberry juice (seriously, Knudsen cranberry nectar?? ilu), since cranberries can probably fix every problem that ever existed. As usual, the moral of the story: my vagina = suxxx, cranberry juice = WIN.