That wildly inappropriate spam comment on my blog yesterday and my rather instinctive response to it served to jolt me from my disconnected state and remind me of the real magnitude of another first that happened to me last night.
And at this point I'll warn you that I'm about to get personal. No, really personal and talk about bodily fluids. 'Cos, you know, you might be having tea and cake or eating a sandwich or something and umm... yik. So if you'd like to back away now...
The big first? The major happening that warrants a whole blog? I mentioned that I have no dignity left? Ok.
I slept for the first time in 7 months without underwear and a sanitary towel/liner. I can't believe it's been so long. At first it was the spotting and bleeding during my pregnancy followed by the maternity pads for the long weeks of bleeding after we lost George, followed by the protection needed for the continuously horrid horrid horrid discharge that my doctor calls an infection and my ob likes to think of as an "overgrowth" of a "naturally occurring" bug "found on the skin". Strep b. Pffffffttt! Yes, normally found on the skin, not welcome in the vagina and a risk to a live baby during birth. (It wasn't found at any time during my pregnancy so I know it wasn't a contributing factor in George's death)
I almost didn't go to bed as nature intended. I'm so used to the routine of wearing some sort of sanitary protection that it's become automatic. I've lost count of the money I've spent finding the right brand at the right price. But last night, day 9 of 14 in my 4 pills a day antibiotic routine I finally finally felt confident enough to skip the other routine. I can only hope that when the antibiotics are done that "overgrowth" doesn't start again. I'll be looking into non-antibiotic remedies at that point. You do what with a garlic clove??? But no, let's be optimistic. And today I'm also going without and my focus is constantly being directed down there to the point where I wonder if I've become obsessed with the goings on in and around my ladyparts. I don't trust my body.
And if you're wondering, and in the interests of brutal honesty, yes, 7 months of wearing sanitary protection and not knowing what would appear therein has meant 7 months without sex. Frustrated? Yoooobetcha! We've managed to make a pathetic joke out of it... sex scene on tv = one or both of us looking puzzled, "what on earth are they doing?" or, gazing off into the distance, "ahhh, I remember sex... I think. How does it go again?". But really? Honestly? Frustrated? Oh yooooooobetcha!
And it reminds me how lucky I am to be with the best bloke in the world.
Don't worry, I won't blog when that first happens. That really will be left private!