Power Of The Pussy – A Pussy Pride Post

By on February 5, 2013.

Last week it was the turn of Heather Cole from Vagina Antics to share her Pussy Pride Post, The Pussy Report, and now, as promised it is the turn of the other half of this fabulous duo, Nikki Blue, to share her piece. I am delighted to have these two fabulous woman featured here on my blog and quite frankly I hope it won’t be the only time as I love the way both of them write with an honest voice often tinged with great humour and self knowledge.

If you would like to read more about the Pussy Pride Project, see how you can join in with the project and links to all the other bloggers who have done so then visit The Pussy Pride page.

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Power Of The Pussy – A Guest Post For The Pussy Pride Project

When Molly asked if Heather and I would contribute to her Pussy Pride Project, my first reaction was HOLY FUCK, YES! Molly wants us! US! But then I was all like what can I possibly say about my vagina that I haven’t already said a bazillion times? I may have even whined a little when I told Heather that readers had grown tired of hearing what a delicate flower my vag is. She disagreed, though. She said that what I had been through was a fact of life for many women and that not everyone is bold enough to talk about it. She said that I should be the one to do it. Again.

My boyfriend says that my vagina is the Wikipedia definition of perfection. Granted, he is a little biased. And I don’t like to argue. It isn’t always sunshine and orgasms though. As a matter of fact, the past six months have been littered with unnecessary doctor visits, lab work repeated countless times and false conclusions partnered with inaccurate medications.

The mounting frustration of my vagina feeling out of sorts led to anxiety that ruled my life. The stress over my body began to manifest itself into nightmares where things such as Preparation-H were used as lube. I woke up in a cold sweat more than once. My sexual impulses slowly diminished and I withdrew from my friends, finding solace in sweatpants and bad tv. Tears became part of my everyday life, which was especially difficult for me because I don’t cry. Ever. I worried that I would never feel normal again.

It wasn’t easy to talk about my problem with anyone but Heather. And for a long time, I didn’t. I even downplayed the magnitude of the situation to my boyfriend. He had enough to deal with on a daily basis and I refused to add to his stress, which in hindsight was stupid. But I didn’t want to be a burden and I damn sure didn’t want him to think my pussy issues were a result of our shared love of all things anal. Truth be told, he didn’t realize the depth of the problem until I wrote about it on Vagina Antics.

For a long time, I thought our anal play was at the root of my pussy problems. But other than the one frenzied moment where we forgot to take the necessary precautions as we transitioned from anal to vaginal, we’d acted responsibly. I did pay a high price for that slip up, though. The result was a wicked urinary and vaginal infection. The thrill ride didn’t end there either. The next stop was a yeast infection from the onslaught of antibiotics. You know, the kind that laughs hysterically while giving over the counter medications the finger.

Something still wasn’t right. And eventually, my urine tested positive for Group B Strep. I was given medication and sent on my way, again. But the infection lingered. I took Heather’s advice and found a new doctor, one who came highly recommended from friends. I donned my paper gown and put my feet in the stirrups with high hopes of a diagnosis, noise-makers and confetti. What I got was “everything looks normal, but here’s a prescription for yeast.” AGAIN. It seemed I was on another path toward an epic fail.

What was it going to take to get an answer? The correct answer. Did I need to run through the halls screaming “something is wrong with my vagina, people!” Did I need to go to medical school? The first one was doable, the second, not so much. I pulled on my ninja gear and scoured the internet instead, reading everything I could find on vaginal Strep B. I spent hours sorting through crap. Lots and lots of crap. But at the bottom of the pile, I found what I needed. I discovered that it’s often mistaken for yeast infections and doctors debate the symptoms so they don’t routinely test for it because it’s only considered an issue during childbirth. Contrary to their opinions, there are health-boards full of women who beg to differ, and I’m one of them. Fortunately for me, my case wasn’t extreme. It wasn’t debilitating and it wasn’t painful during sex. That didn’t make it any easier to live with, though. And I was running out of pretty panties.

I’m better now, but not because it occurred to my doctor to test my vagina for Strep B. I’m better because I came down with sinus trouble and the antibiotic I was given happened to wipe the infection from my urine. And I’m better because the urologist listened to my history with Strep B. He didn’t wait for test results or tell me it doesn’t present symptoms. His medical diagnosis contained, “If it walks like a duck, it’s usually a duck.” Fucking brilliant.

There were times I wondered if I was too in-tune with my pussy, if my Internet Ninja skills were betraying me, overloading me with too much information. I freaked out over every little spot, every little hiccup. Okay, okay, so I tend to overreact when it comes to my vagina. But can you blame me? I’ve developed a deep relationship with my vagina. I know it inside and out. And believe me when I say, pussy is a powerful thing.

*cue noise-makers and confetti*

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Molly Moore - Author, Blogger, Photographer, Speaker
Find me in my corner of the internet at Molly's Daily Kiss
and on Twitter @mollysdailykiss

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  1. Ah yes, the dreaded infections woman are prone to (or at least some are). You could have talked to your man though–some of us are understanding, most of the time;) Nice piece and well said x
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