For as long as I can remember, I have had cysts. I’m lumpy all over, inside and out.
I have PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome).
I have fibrocystic breasts.
I have cystic acne.
And I have Folliculitis that presents itself as genital lymphocysts.
For most women, they will tell you that experiencing childbirth is when you lose all your dignity - with your legs in the holsters and no less than 2 people looking into your steaming snatch. In my case, with the birth of my twins, there was 8 in the room, but who’s counting…
For me, my dignity was lost a long, long time before that day.
I had 12 interns present at my first pap smear at 14, all staring intently and taking notes about my cysts, while one chosen student proceeded to insert the vaginal retractor IN-COR-RECT-LY. Yes, that’s right. I know you’re all crossing your legs right now - and so you should. It was NOT a pleasant experience. Every time I’ve heard the line, “This is a teaching hospital” on shows like ER or Grey’s Anatomy, I do an involuntary Kegel to this day. Goddamn student doctors are forbidden from examining my lady bits forevermore.
Since that fateful day, I had developed about 2 dozen lymphocysts all bordering dangerously close to my clitoris that often it was too painful to walk.
In 2006, a cyst impacted so badly that I had to have an emergency operation…when I was teaching in the UK…and my fiancé had just flown back to Canada for work. I had to call him from my pay-as-you-go cell phone (while extremely high on pain killers) to tell him I was in the hospital.
Try explaining THAT one to a bunch of nosey students who all wanted to know why I had been off school for 4 days and why I was limping. “Why, Miss, why, Miss, why, why, why?”
BECAUSE I JUST HAD MY FUCKING LABIA OPERATED ON - HAPPY NOW?!
(You must be shocked to know that that was my final year teaching. Shocked.)
So, I have done everything to try to help with these cysts. I’ve changed my clothing. My detergent. My soap. My diet (no sugar, no dairy, no grains, etc) I’ve lost weight. I’ve gained weight. I’ve lost weight again. I’ve soaked in tubs with Epsom salts. I’ve seen dermatologists, homeopaths, and even plastic surgeons. Nothing I have done has made them occur any less frequent.
I had a doctor as recent as last year tell me nonchalantly that all I would need to do was lose weight - because the fact that I’ve had this issue since I was 12 (with even a small thigh gap back then, nevertheless) was apparently irrelevant. So, that doctor could take his ‘professional opinion’ and go eat some dicks.
Thankfully, my husband is very understanding and he is so used to the giant band-aids that often adorn my inner thighs that he barely even notices now. He has explained my condition in the most perfect way:
“It’s not the beautiful house that brings the real estate down, it’s the neighbors.”
