*This post is a bit personal & speaks about some feminine problems. If you're not into that, I'd suggest that you'd stop reading.... now!*
I got my first yeast infection when I was 8 years old. I was a complete tomboy, I played with boys, I got dirty and I didn't even THINK about bras and Barbies. So when this happened, I remember being very embarrassed: not only because it was awkward but I was sure that boys didn't deal with these sort of worries. This is when I had to come to terms with the fact that girls were much different than boys.
The years rolled on. I was put on diet after diet to determine what foods would trigger these infections: no milk, no bread, no sugar, extra vitamins, and so on. Finally you just learn to live with it and the doctor always keeps a back order of antibiotics.
My first visit to the gynecologist was a nightmare. The doctor tells me that my cervix looks a bit 'funny' and that he wants to take some cell samples. After a 2" needle was inserted many times into my cervix to insure that it froze properly, he proceeded to take scissor-clamps and cut away a few pieces of tissue. Unfortunately, the freezing hadn't been thorough and I felt the entire thing. I walked out of his office, bow-legged and cried in pain for the following 2 hours in my Mum's car.
At the moment, I get my period for roughly 3 weeks on and one week off. I take my first pill and for the next week, I'm scotch free until day 7 or 8 when I start getting visited by an unwanted guest. This problem ruins me. I never feel comfortable, I feel ashamed and sex sometimes takes a backseat because I am embarrassed. I can count the number of different birth control pills I've tried in the past 3-4 years and it takes two hands. I travel back and forth, from doctor to doctor and hear the same story: we'll try this one, it has such-and-such progesterone levels.My latest visit to the doctor was one of the worst. I told her my problem, I told her that it is slowly ruining my self-esteem, my sex life and my good underwear (haha). She then asks how much I weigh. I tell her and she then asks me if I want to talk to someone about a possible eating disorder! In my head, I envisioned myself reaching out, grabbing her stethoscope and shoving it down her throat. Apparently if you weigh just over 14 stones and like to be active, this is cause for concern. I finally got back on track but knew the rest of the visit was completely useless. I told her that this is such a serious problem that I considering having my ladybits removed so that I wouldn't have to deal with this. After being brushed aside again, I keep quiet, agree to go for some tests, take another 3-month prescription and leave. I have decided to stop taking my pill and and go au naturel. It is going to be me who finally sorts this problem out; not a doctor and not a pill.
I am very thankful for all the fortunate things I have going on in my life: I have fantastic friends (BURROWS!), the most amazing best friend/husband I could ask for, I'm living a life free of war, and am experiencing authentic abundance. But I cannot let this go. When everything in my life is going completely wonderful, I have a dark rain cloud that hovers above my head. Or my pants. Call it what you will.