I have not been very well lately. A variety of niggling complaints have made me grumpy(er), left me tired and suffering with pain and some "too gruesome for this blog" symptoms in my, well, shall we call it my undercarriage area.
I finally admitted to myself that I needed to see the doctor since the issue was ruining my love live. I say love life. I have seven children and not a lot of spare time. I generally fall into bed too exhausted for anything but five minutes of Dave (the channel not a man) before slipping into an all-too-short coma until DH's alarm goes off at 5.30am.
Early morning fun? Erm. No. Either school run madness ensues or at the weekend the children who normally on a schoolday have to be dragged from their beds of course are up with the lark and piling into my bed. Sorry, our bed.
Anyway, the point is, our romantic encounters are not exactly daily but still, I'm not quite ready to give it all up just yet!
So appointment booked obviously I wanted to be extra fresh for the unfortunate GP who I guessed correctly would have to examine my undercarriage.
Now I need to explain at this point that we have no central heating. It's relevant. We have an oil filled radiator in the bathroom and an open fire in the living room. The rest of the house has panel heaters but they only lift the temp to just above freezing (it feels).
So, imagine the scene. I'm in the shower. I'm hunting for my flannel. I bought a small mountain of flannels fairly recently from Ikea, complete with loops to hang them in the bathroom so everyone had their own flannel. Not only can I not find my flannel, but the bathroom appears to be completely flannel-free.
I'm wondering if there are any in the airing cupboard or if they have accidentally been put in the drawer downstairs where I keep tea-towels and dishcloths. I debate leaving the steamy warmish zone I'm in and venturing into the arctic region of the rest of the house.
My skin puckers into goose pimples at he very thought of it.
So what else can I use to ensure I am squeaky clean for the GP? My eyes alight on a collection of those weird nylon balls which seem to come with every gift set nowadays. Exfoliating I believe. Probably not designed for sensitive lady garden areas. But what choice do I have?
So exfoliate I did hoping the scratchy ball thing would not leave my lower regions covered in the sort of scratches you get on your car when you scrape along the hedge in a country lane.
Shower done, nylon washy-thingy in the bin in case of future face-cleaning forgetfulness and I was clean, slightly tingling and ready for the docs.
So, long story short, I have a prolapsed. A cytocele to be exact where my bladder has collapsed into my vagina wall (apology here to my eldest son who might be reading this and is now probably dry-heaving)
This obviously gets in the way and apparently is due to my decreased oestrogen levels. Oh the joys of the menopause.
The doctor was very helpful and together we made a plan for treating my many conditions. She didn't mention my VERY clean undercarriage.
I finally admitted to myself that I needed to see the doctor since the issue was ruining my love live. I say love life. I have seven children and not a lot of spare time. I generally fall into bed too exhausted for anything but five minutes of Dave (the channel not a man) before slipping into an all-too-short coma until DH's alarm goes off at 5.30am.
Early morning fun? Erm. No. Either school run madness ensues or at the weekend the children who normally on a schoolday have to be dragged from their beds of course are up with the lark and piling into my bed. Sorry, our bed.
Anyway, the point is, our romantic encounters are not exactly daily but still, I'm not quite ready to give it all up just yet!
So appointment booked obviously I wanted to be extra fresh for the unfortunate GP who I guessed correctly would have to examine my undercarriage.
Now I need to explain at this point that we have no central heating. It's relevant. We have an oil filled radiator in the bathroom and an open fire in the living room. The rest of the house has panel heaters but they only lift the temp to just above freezing (it feels).
So, imagine the scene. I'm in the shower. I'm hunting for my flannel. I bought a small mountain of flannels fairly recently from Ikea, complete with loops to hang them in the bathroom so everyone had their own flannel. Not only can I not find my flannel, but the bathroom appears to be completely flannel-free.
I'm wondering if there are any in the airing cupboard or if they have accidentally been put in the drawer downstairs where I keep tea-towels and dishcloths. I debate leaving the steamy warmish zone I'm in and venturing into the arctic region of the rest of the house.
My skin puckers into goose pimples at he very thought of it.
So what else can I use to ensure I am squeaky clean for the GP? My eyes alight on a collection of those weird nylon balls which seem to come with every gift set nowadays. Exfoliating I believe. Probably not designed for sensitive lady garden areas. But what choice do I have?
Shower done, nylon washy-thingy in the bin in case of future face-cleaning forgetfulness and I was clean, slightly tingling and ready for the docs.
So, long story short, I have a prolapsed. A cytocele to be exact where my bladder has collapsed into my vagina wall (apology here to my eldest son who might be reading this and is now probably dry-heaving)
This obviously gets in the way and apparently is due to my decreased oestrogen levels. Oh the joys of the menopause.
The doctor was very helpful and together we made a plan for treating my many conditions. She didn't mention my VERY clean undercarriage.