Saturday, September 15, 2012

Why TAS is a bad person...

So if I was really going to list the reasons that I am a bad person, I'd spend all night writing this post. And tomorrow. And the better part of Monday. And then I'd have a short nap and get back to listing the reasons that I'm a bad person. Suffice it to say that if there is a crass thought, "dirty" joke, or generally a comment you'd expect to be made by an ass, you can bet that I have done or am about to do one of those things. Enough jokes, now on to the story. I need to get this out and I hope you are willing to listen (read?) to my story. I apologize in advance, but I've left a lot of details out to maintain anonymity and to help keep this close to SFW. If you are concerned, treat this post as NSFW. I appreciate your time.

     But this post is going to have a darker, more ominous tone. I wanted to follow up on my initial post and talk about my struggle with vaginismus. But you might ask, "TAS, how do you struggle with vaginismus? What with the lack of a vagina and whatnot." Well dear friends, I struggle with it because SAHA (TAS's beautiful wife, ;) ) is battling vaginismus. Truth be told, my portion of the struggle stems from my inability to talk about the things that are bothering me. I started bottling up my emotions quite some time ago. I thought I had beaten that, but somewhere along the way I slipped back into my "old" ways. Before I started medical school (that seems like an eternity ago!) SAHA and I were trying to start a family. We found out where I was going to school, bought a house, and eight days after closing on the house, we moved all of our crap in and she told me that she was pregnant. I was ELATED! Everything was moving in our direction. It felt like we sat down to play a game of cards with Life and we were holding all aces. And 7 weeks into that feeling, we went for a follow-up dating ultrasound. And we found out that our baby, whom we had already named and for whom we'd started laying out the future, did not have a heart beat. And we found out in the shittiest way possible. The ultrasound technologist, before confirming the imaging with a physician, awkwardly half-smiled and said "Your baby doesn't have a heartbeat." She didn't seem bothered by the news she had to deliver. More than anything she seemed disturbed by delivering the news. And who wouldn't be bothered by that. But she shouldn't have done it at all. Sorry, I digress. After that loss, SAHA wanted to get right back into the business of making a baby, thinking that the pain of one lost pregnancy could be eased by a successful one. I was reluctant, but I can't say that I had a better answer. So we started to try again. And again. And again. And well, you get the idea. We tried, unsuccessfully for quite some time. We crossed the 6 month sans baby mark. For those of you in the field, you'll know that infertility is defined by 1 year without a successful pregnancy, however some practioners don't like to wait a full year because the biological clock, she be a tickin'. SAHA was finally referred to a reproductive endocrinologist and many invasive tests were performed. She had several appointments with her primary obstetrician and the RE. And many pelvic exams. And she continued to feel like a failure because she couldn't get pregnant. Worse yet, she would go on to get 3 consecutive cycles with a positive at-home pregnancy test only to have her period start the next day. She was crushed. Repeatedly.

     All the meanwhile, she wanted a baby. We were fine. I was busy with school, she was working and focused on making a baby, but our relationship was good. Probably even better. Okay, maybe it wasn't as good as I thought at the time. But during this time, our intimacy had dropped off. In an effort to increase the likelihood of pregnancy, SAHA was taking basal temps and using ovulation prediction tests. The only way more sticks could have been peed upon in our house would have been to let the nearest humane society loose in a lumber yard. She also refused to have sex 2-3 days before she expected to ovulate and asked me (politely, but firmly) to abstain from taking care of the problem myself during that time. And it seems, as the months dragged on, that instead of not having sex a few days before ovulation we were only able to make love around the time of ovulation. And it felt forced and robotic. I know, I know. I'm a guy, what do I care how sex feels so long as it feels like it is happening. Well, I'm hear to tell you that it wasn't great. In retrospect, I felt sort of used. And the sex was very mechanical. Like there was a clear objective that didn't involve love, pleasure, or intimacy. The point was to make a baby. And it hurt. I am complicit in that, however, because I allowed it to go on. For months. And just after another ovulation spike, I expected SAHA to tearily tell me that, once again, she had her period. But, as I lie face down on my pillow at 0830 in the morning, she came back to our bedroom and told me to snuggle her and "Carlos." Because we had named our first baby that was subsequently lost, we felt like we couldn't use the names we had selected. And that sucked because they were great names for our child. At that time, we agreed that our next baby would be "Carlos" until arrival. And yes, our inspiration was Carlos of The Hangover. And life was grand. Except that she was worried that we would literally "shake the baby loose." And yes, she knows how crazy that sounds. And so sex was out. And then she was nauseated. And sex was out. And then sex was possible. Her nausea had subsided and she felt (and looked) GREAT! Side note, there are few things that can make a beautiful woman more beautiful than knowing she is carrying your child. Or maybe that was just my experience. And so we tried. And then we stopped. She was in pain. I would imagine that the increase in blood flow to the region combined with her constant worry made for a less than pleasurable few moments and seeing the pain in her face she was trying to hide, I stopped "the act" and sulked off. And after a few more attempts, we realized that the pain was too much. So we halted attempts until post baby. We tried a few other things to stay intimate, but they weren't cutting the mustard. The frequency of these other acts (some sexual in nature, some not) would wane and I would get mad and after a few weeks of sulking I would get mad, shut-down to the point of not talking, argue with SAHA, tell her I was unhappy and things would get better. And then back to nothing. And then, the littlest Pizzle arrived. And things were great.

     We were both so wrapped up in being parents that all of our problems fell to the wayside. Along with sleep. You know, sleep? I seem to remember doing it once, but it has been nearly a year since Sleep, SAHA, and I all had an uninterrupted visit. But that baby is damn cute and worth every second of it. Again, I digress. 10 weeks after our little one showed up, we decided to try sex again. SAHA seemed apprehensive, but she could see how withdrawn I was becoming. So we tried. A few short moments into "the act" and SAHA looked like she could cry. She would later describe the pain as burning and searing. From my point of view, that couldn't be a better descriptor. Despite her encouraging me to continue (I think she hoped it would get better in a few moments), I couldn't do it. She was trying to make it better and the only thing I could do was stop, roll over on to my side of the bed and withdraw emotionally.

     And withdrawn I was. A whole bunch of thoughts would race through my head. None of them pleasant. None of them I am particularly comfortable with. Mostly, I wondered if I was even still attractive to my wife. She would say it, but after enough months without physical reinforcement, I began to wonder. And I discovered that "taking care" of the problem myself had its limitations. Mostly, I was ashamed that as a married man, I was left to masturbate in the shower. Like a teenager hiding his burgeoning development, I was hiding in shame while I satisfied my sex drive. And I hated it. I became resentful. I started to withdraw from SAHA. And I didn't say a word about it. She was make a joke, sometimes one overtly sexual (Remember that part about dirty jokes and whatnot? It turns out that SAHA and I were made for each other. ;) ) and sometimes an innocent joke that would remind me of the fact that I was in a sexless marriage. And I would shut down. Sometimes to the tune of not talking to her for a few days at a time. I was so hurt and so lost inside that I couldn't think of doing anything else to do. And it made me an asshole. And it worried my wife. After several episodes of me being drug into this empty abyss, SAHA and I finally had it out. She told me that she was worried that our marriage wouldn't survive. Not because she was planning to leave, but because she thought I was going to leave. I didn't realize that I had shut down so much that she was worried about our love. We are a team, we are close, and she's telling me that she was worried I'd ask for a divorce. I was lost. I had no idea things had gotten quite that bad. I was miserable. But I didn't know what to do. Anytime I started to hint at the situation, SAHA would tell me that she had tried her treatments previously prescribed and that she was doing what she could do to get better. And I didn't believe her. Deep down, I wondered if she really was. Those creeping doubts about whether or not she found me attractive were accompanied by questions about how much she wanted to get better. I had lived for ~20 months (longer if we include the robotic sex for conception) in a sexless marriage. Doubts happen. I thought and wondered things that I never imagined I would. And I hated myself for it. I became resentful of my wife. Thankfully, I could not and would not allow myself to feel that way about our baby. But SAHA had no saving grace. And truth be told, I was just angry. Angry with her for not getting better. Angry because we couldn't have sex. Angry because I couldn't fix the problem. Angry because I was angry.

     I was angry. And sad. Sadly, I couldn't cry. Many nights I would be up, too angry and bitter to go to bed with SAHA and as I thought about "our situation," I realized that I could not cry. I felt like I needed to cry. But the tears wouldn't flow. There would be no relief for me. Not through crying. Backed into a wall, when we finally had a blow-up, I finally let out what I was feeling. I told SAHA I was sad and hurt. I told her that I hated feeling like a roommate. And mostly, I told her I was sorry. I had bottled up for 20+ months all of the thoughts and resentment and I had slowly tortured her because of it. Sorry didn't begin to describe me. And I'm not just talking about apologetic. I was a shitty husband. Not because I needed physical intimacy and the release of sex. Hell, the fact that I needed those things and only wanted them from my wife and didn't deviate from that makes me a decent husband. At least I think so. I was sorry because I withheld from my best friend that I had basic needs that were unmet. That I was sad and hurting and I didn't trust her enough to share that with her. That made me sorry. A sorry individual and an even sorrier husband. That is why TAS is a bad person. I withheld my basic wants and desires from the one person with whom I'd always promised to share them. And I managed to make her feel like shit in the meantime.

     Thankfully, that meantime is over now. After our huge blowup, we talked openly and honestly about what was going on. SAHA had recently sought out a referral to a center that diagnosed her with vaginismus and they had begun her treatment regimen. It includes exercises, like the ever-popular Kegel and using a what equates to a TENS machine intravaginally. After our blow-up, she decided that because of her continued anxiety she would see a counselor. And after one meeting with that counselor, things are already looking "up," so to speak. ;) And, in promising to her that I would be more open with my feelings, I am using this place as a test run for my thoughts. And I needed to get this out, despite talking with her. So there you have it. This is my battle with vaginismus and my success over my inherent failures. Now if you'll forgive me, I am going to go spend some time with my beautiful wife. And tell her how writing this post made me feel better. And try to apologize again. Thanks for reading and please drop me comments or emails if you have had a similar experience. Or just something to share. I know I have felt much better after talking about it and maybe you can to. Have a good night reader and I promise to keep things a little lighter next time. And probably shorter.




That's what she said. ;)

- The Anesthetized Student

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