Pussy Pain
Since Brian is away building bridges or something, let me tell you about why I got botox in my vagina.
The first memories of my vulva and vagina equated to pain. Much too late in my life, I learned that I had something called vulvodynia, vaginismus, and endometriosis—the triple threat causing extremely debilitating pain to anything within a 30cm radius to my witch-cursed uterus.
Since then, my body has been an institutionally medicalised body. Shoving up steroid creams, hormone creams, anaesthetics, dilators and needles up your vagina really doesn’t make you feel sexy. Surgeries to remove my endometriosis and paralyse my pelvic floor muscles with botox have given me a lot of relief, but the idea of penetration makes me want to sink into the earth and never see the sun again.
Psychosexual therapy taught me one particularly piece of useful advice called sensate focus. I was prescribed sessions of ‘nice touching’ with my partner, but as a rule, genitally focused sex was off the table. For once, sex felt safe and present. Genital stimulation was masturbatory, but not necessarily intimate. Hence, I am a huge advocate for queering your sex: moving the definition of sex away from heteronormative ritualistic penis/vagina penetration.
Sexual health is often seen as less important and medically valued than other health issues. Sexual aids, toys and lubricants are seen as luxuries, even though for disabled bodies, they are a necessity. During my journey to tame my pussy pain, none of the medical necessities I needed were publicly funded or subsidised. It’s an added barrier when there is already plenty of fear and perceived stigma around getting help for sexual health. Sexual ill health is debilitating physically and mentally, and with no doubt, affects your relationships. Our institutions of care have the responsibility to honour sexual health with compassion and safety because everyone deserves to have good health and good sex.
Navigating sexual health care can be pretty testing, and for some sad reason, bringing my white male partner to my appointments makes physicians take me a whole lot more seriously. Last year, a piece of my vagina was excised in hospital and I had requested that it be returned to me because I wanted final ownership over it. The hospital ended up losing it and it took me a whole year to file a complaint about it. Part of me felt that it was just a piece of tissue, but a bigger part of me was grieving that a piece of my body had been mishandled by an institution that knew more about me and had more control over me than I did. My report was taken very seriously, but I wish I hadn’t waited that long to say something. It’s always hard to bite the hand that is supposed to heal you.
By no means should you avoid getting support for your sexual health. I recognise that it is challenging and can put you in compromised positions, but while you are doing so, make sure someone else is there to support you.
Yours painfully,
Eda Tang (she/her)
Co-Editor of Craccum 2021
CW: This issue mentions sexual assault and violence. If this brings up any big feelings, please talk to a professional or someone you trust. You can get help here: 1737 – offers free 24/7 call and text services for immediate crisis support from a trained counsellor, or referral to the appropriate service.
AUSA Advocacy – offers free, confidential and professional support and advice, independent from the University: http://www.ausa.org.nz/support/advocacy/
Te Papa Manaaki – Campus Care is a safe, confidential, free and optionally anonymous service that can help you with mental health issues, family violence, sexual harassment, bullying and harrassment, and financial issues: https://www.auckland.ac.nz/en/students/student-support/te-papa-manaaki-campus-care.html
HELP – offers private and confidential sexual violence support services. You can call them 24/7 on 09 623 1700. https://www.helpauckland.org.nz/