I have wanted to start this a million times, in a million different ways. Something inside has stopped me.
But I can't stop it anymore.
I am hoping that somehow, someway to find some healing from this writing, and even better if I can help someone else with it too.
Let's just get it out there.
I am part of the intersexual/transgendered world.
Like thousands of other people, I was born that way.
Weird as it is to say, I made my own vagina, and it's a constant work in progress.
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The Beginning: 1998
So how did I come to this point?
I remember fifth grade, they did the official sex talk. I was actually excited about getting my period. It sounded like a really cool thing because I would be all grown up, and do grown up things (like apply pads-don't ask, I was 10). After we watched a legendary movie called "Dear Diary" which had been shown for many years prior in the small town elementary school I attended. Afterward, we had lecture about sexuality. At the end of the class, we got our own pad and I believe tampon. I remember going home and finding a "discrete" kid's purse to put it in.
I didn't get my period in the fifth grade, sixth grade, seventh grade....or even the twelfth grade...
Periodically in high school, mom would ask me if I was ready to go to the gynecologist about my period. I refused, multiple times. I was a very private person and the invasion of a gynecologist was too much for me to handle.
Personally, I have always been a bit of an introvert, but in high school, I really tried to deny that part of myself and think of myself as an extrovert. I also was not cliquey, so my true friend base was small, but I was friends with everyone. This was hard in high school in a small town.
My first boyfriend, John, was at the age of 16, about 3 weeks after my first kiss, which was devastatingly later than I had planned in my head! I think deep down I already knew something was not quite right sexually with me. Because of the period thing and what I thought that could mean, and the guilt of religion, our relationship did not surpass a certain level.
John had graduated two years prior to me. I was just beginning my senior year in high school. He was my first mutual true love. He lived with his parents far out in the country and he loved me with all he had. He made me very happy, and he was so simple minded in comparison to me. I had my first sexual experiences with him. It was hard for me because I had so many things tossing around in my head. I think at that point I was really truely cognisant of the lack of period, and I knew something was odd with me. We spent many hours cuddling in his bed, but I never took my pants off. I couldn't do it. He was okay with that, though I knew he wanted more so badly.
We had been dating about 7 months by the spring of my senior year. My sister was engaged that April and was going to be graduating college and getting married in August.
Diagnosis
At some point that spring, I decided it was time for me to go to the gynecologist and find out what was up. I insisted on only going to a female gynecologist. My appointment was scheduled that same afternoon as my baccalaureate.
As we drove into town, I remember riding with my sister and crying because I was so nervous about someone looking at me "down there." To comfort me, my sister took me for my first manicure ever.
Upon the beginning of the appointment, to preserve my dignity and self confidence, I refused to let my mom into the examination part of the appointment, but allowed her to talk to the nurse about whatever she wanted. My mom came in to the initial appointment piece for data gathering only. I was very shy and private about my private areas, so I sent her out of the room. She used to say that she hadn’t seen me naked since I was ten. Why should she?
During the exam, I was so nervous, that I bit my freshly painted nails as the nurse practitioner examined the vaginal area. I was wearing this delicate yellow baby tee with feminine detail, which was something I didn’t do too often. I think that there was a part of me that even though I knew something was wrong, I wanted to still feel feminine. I survived the exam, and the nurse practitioner said I was normal in most ways, but she tried to put her pinky up my “vagina” and it didn’t fit. That was a problem, but we didn’t know at the time what the problem really was. I was sent over to the lab for multiple tests and also put on what they called the progesterone challenge. The progesterone challenge is a week long stint on progesterone pills and after that, it was anticipated that I would get my period.
That night I went off to my baccalaureate. Leaving the school and people that I had known all my life was emotional, but by that point in time, I had no more tears left to cry. I had cried out all of my emotions. I was dry. Unemotional.
I graduated a day later, and the summer had begun.
Within a week of my trip to the gynecologist, I learned that I failed the challenge.
That led to a lovely month on birth control. The month on birth control was one of the worst. I was super depressed and the additional hormones from that (as well as my sister's wedding talk) took me over the top. I didn't know what to do with myself. Needless to say, the month on birth control resulted in no period.
That led to an ultrasound. I had prepared for the ultrasound by drinking copious amounts of water. I learned that its really hard to drink a gallon of water and not pee. The purpose of the water was to distend the bladder so that they could see my reproductive system. I distinctly remember the dimly lit room and the vaginal probe they tried to put into my “vagina.” The probe was about the size of a penis (obviously not shaped that way!). I remember looking at it and thinking that from what I knew about my anatomy by then, that thing was not going to fit up there. That was an extremely painful visit, both physically and emotionally. The tech never told me exactly what was going on, but at the same time, I knew they were struggling getting any sound images with what they had to work with.
Then back to the physician...we're looking at over a month later at this point, no diagnosis.
Then I had the worse experience of it all. I would love to name the physician who blew me away and was the worst ever, but I am not. I have worked to forget about her over the years.
Let's call her Dr. H. I insisted upon going to a female MD because I was not comfortable at the time with a man looking at me.
I went into the appointment, which was my second gynecological exam.
There were at least two other people in the room with Dr. H and she opens up this drawer of speculums (those cold metal things they put in your vagina). She proceeds to explain what each of them are for..."This one is for girls who have not had sex" "This one is for sexually active girls" "This is for girls who have had babies." I think you get the idea.
She proceeds to try to put the smallest one in the place one would think a vagina would be located.
No luck.
With all of the people in the room, I was an emotional side show and I was humiliated.
I don't remember any more of that exam other than Dr. H telling me that I could adopt and have kids in other ways.
WHAT?
I cried so much partially because of the invasion and partially because I did not understand the ramifications of this news presented to me while I was laying on the table spread eagle. @#$%^ seriously.
So I left the visit totally crying and not fully understanding what was going on. I was a very private 17 year old girl. Crying was something I did not do in front of anyone other than family. I had to call my nurse practioner to figure out what was going on. She told me that my gynecology did not appear normal. My mom said my doctor was calling all over town to figure out what was going on. That made me feel much less like a freak, not.
I never went back to that doctor.
The nurse practioner gave me the name of this professor in Texas who knew about the condition, but the largest clinic in the metro area I lived in had no idea what do do with it or who to refer to. I didn't make that call to see anyone about treatment at that point. At that point, I just tried to deal with the whole situation emotionally.
I think the most emotionally offensive test was the lab that made sure I was a girl. Seriously.
All of the emotions going through me combined with additional horomones from the testing, I was quite a pleasure that summer. John was a comfort for me through it all. He stayed by my side through the testing and I appreciated that.
So by the time all of these tests concluded, as I mentioned, I was in college 200 miles away. I remember receiving the final test result in September when I was in the first month of college.
Coming to Grips with Diagnosis: Emotion
That's about all I have to say right now for the condition, diagnosis and whatnot. Now it's time for some of the emotional wrangling discussion. That's what I've been dealing with for 13 years now. I'll talk about how and when I made the vagina in a bit...but several years must pass first.
What I failed to mention during the testing really was all of the totally raw emotion and major life events happening before, during and after diagnosis. This is really where the rubber meets the road, so to speak.
One of the most poignant times following diagnosis while dating John that flipped our relationship in my mind was February of my Freshman year in college. We were celebrating what I believe to be the worst day of the year, Valentines day. He had given me a faux diamond studded cross, which I didn't think fit us so well. The following dialog:
John: I know you can't have sex with me, and that's ok.
Me: (sighing in relief and also comfort in the understanding).
John: Since we can't have sex, do you want to have oral sex?
Had I been in the head I am now, I think I would have hung up on John. That basically was the end of our relationship.
It was so difficult for me because I was still dealing with the diagnosis and that was enough. The very thought of intimacy was too difficult for me.
What I can say for John now is that he honestly did as well as he could for a 19 year old guy. What could I expect? He really did care about me with his whole heart, and I recognize that now. But then, I thought he was just thinking about that one part of him. In retrospect, I think it was more.
Counseling
I spent over 3 years in counseling. It would continue really regularly for the first few months of college, and then I was weaned off it.
Amongst those great things I learned, were coping mechanisms to deal with these issues. My head did (and continues to) be a hinderance to full acceptance of this condition.
My mom says that she didn't think I would complete college had I not opted for it.
In counseling, we talked about all sorts of topics. We spent much time talking about relationships and what was normal and natural. I remember some statements she made including that 98% of my friends are having sex, 2% that don't are likely due to religion or some other reason. That was a surprise to me.
I was raised in a religious household. We went to church every Sunday, no excuses unless we were out of town. I was also raised under the guise that sex is only for married people, so I had planned to keep it that way. I didn't talk about sex with anyone either, cause it's something that was never discussed in my home. Dad and mom inadvertently put in my mind (and I later heard my sister's too) that sex is dirty. I had a very skewed view of sex before I found out about this diagnosis and it really made thinking about it all much more complicated than it needed to be.
I was supposed to be having sex?! This is something that rolled around and around in my head. I didn't know what to think. Many other thoughts rolled around in my head (and some still do). Why do so many teens just have the ability to so easily have sex and I have to make my own vagina to do it? Why me? I am responsible. Why do these teens have the ability to have kids and I can't? Is it normal to have sex as a teenager? Can I get on some sort of a board where people who want to have kids need to petition to me and explain how they are qualified to be parents financially, emotionally, etc? Can I become a nun (wait, that came later)? Do relationships revolve around sex? What should the focal point be?
I was very private with who I told. I explained it to my very close college girlfriends, but I was very quiet overall. I made my mom hush hush. I remember mom telling me when she told my grandparents I couldn't have kids, one of them cried. I think they were just sad about the option, that it wasn't there. That was and still is one of my biggest complaints about this condition. It takes away the options that I never would be able to decide on, and I didn't and still do not like that. I talked about all of this in counseling.
Needless to say, I was "mildly" depressed. I had some low, low days. This affected my friendships and my relationships with men. Sometimes I got mad (and still do) about men and their animalistic desires. I am a person!
From counseling, I took away some coping skills for my depression. One, exercise. Two, eat right. Three, do not isolate myself from people. I held on to those like a lifeline.
I ended up seeing the school's psychiatrist, which was one of the biggest mistakes I made. She prescribed to me Prozac, which I took for about a month, until my blood pressure was 80/40. Then I took another drug that I can't remember the name of anymore. I had the worst headache in my life. Needless to say, the other depression advice was much better, and that I stayed with for the long run.
Home
I went home that summer after Freshman year, only to fall back on old habits, and the depression nearly swallowed me.
The summer was a challenge for me. I was away from my support group of friends, working on a new routine. I became pretty obsesive compulsive during the last year. I remember being upset when my mom bought me some underwear that didn't match the others in the drawer. Strange.
Anyways, I had a difficult summer. One of the memories that has stayed with me is my family physician. I went to see him at one point because I couldn't handle my head anymore. I wanted drugs again. I didn't know what to do.
He told me that he didn't have his own kids, that it was no big deal.
I never went back to him again.
Did he not know that the emotional ramifications of all of the other aspects of this was insanely difficult to handle? Obviously not. He was insanely insensitive.
One of my best friends in college (and we had an on and off attraction), Mark, surprised me with a visit. He lived over 200 miles away. Seeing him was the breath of fresh air that I needed. We went out hiking and had a lot of quality time together. It was the blessing I needed to pull me through the remainder of the summer.
I started out my Sophomore year in college in heavy counseling again. I met this great guy who lived on the other side of the hall from me, Matt. He was so much fun. I was myself with him. We were both so goofy together. He was a ton of fun, and a sappy romantic. He made me all kinds of cool little things and dropped them around in places for me.
I was relieved to be back in my circle of good friends. The people I met in college were and still are the best friends I have made in my life. I used to think of myself as very stable, but when I think about all of the things I did and the emotional times, I would have to disagree. My friends helped to keep me grounded, and help me to remember to have fun.
The summer between my Sophomore and Junior year, I went home once again for the summer. This time, I had Matt, who lived in another state, but still we talked all of the time. I went and visited him at one point. We had so much fun. His companionship meant a lot to me. He never pressured me sexually. We messed around a little, but really, it was quite innocent. He was a virgin too.
Junior year was a great year. I lived in the student apartments with three other friends. We had a blast. I remember going to Wal Mart on Friday nights (don't ask!) and having fun there. We did a lot of shopping.
Matt and I held strong through the winter, and fell apart in March. He had told me that this girl, Jen, approached him to have sex with her. I told him point blank that if she asked him that, knowing we were together, he should disassociate with her completely. No one worth time would try to break up our relationship. That was so rude.
So, I don't know what happened, but as I say today, Matt followed his pecker to greener pastures. That's the only way I can explain it.
Our relationship ended, and he followed his dick.
That just crushed me. We didn't talk about sex, but it wasn't that I was not open to it, I just needed to go figure out what to do to fix my problem first...
When I left school that year (and even though this crap happened it was a fabulous year), I had contacted the nurse practitioner who had helped me during diagnosis three years prior, to get the name of the professor in Texas who has seen someone with this condition. I contacted the professor, and she connected me with
another physician who was in the city over an hour from my house. Time to start treatment.
So my mom made me an appointment to go to a specialist about an hour away from home. I was very nervous for this appointment as well. But first, I think I need to explain a bit more about what stirred me to treatment.
It was Matt. I think that the numerous emotions I was going through did not make it easy for him to tell me that he wanted sex, and I understand that now, years later. What bothers me so much about this condition, is the lack of options...I can't have sex until treatment, I can't ever have kids, you know the drill...and I was ready to give myself the option to have sex, when I wanted to do it. So that's why I sought treatment. I was 20.
Now you're probably thinking that is kind of late in the game, since most people have sex earlier, but what I figured with my religious upbringing, was that I was not going to have sex until I was married. When I felt I was in that relationship, I would start the dilation process. That was good logical thinking those days, but as a single 30 year old now, I am somewhat glad I didn't wait...I'll explain the somewhat later too...
So I went to the physician who I will call Dr. X, and he was fabulous. He "prescribed" a set of dilators for me to start the dilation process. For those of you new to this treatment, the dilators come in all sorts of sizes, from pinky to small penis sized. I was to dilate twice a day for 20 minutes.
Honestly, it's a bit of a daunting task to think of going from nothing to having a vagina.
Dilating was difficult for me. It hurt, and on top of that, I was actually mad at men during the time I dilated. I know that probably sounds strange, but it made me mad.
Honestly, it has been hard for me to come back to this blog and write more at this point...it's the emotions of the dilation that kill me.
But I will plug on.
So I started the dilation, and as I mentioned earlier, that was incredibly emotional.
It's hard to hold the dilator in your hand down there, and apply pressure for 20 minutes at a time. It hurt my wrists. There's the physical part of it, but oh the emotional part of it was more difficult. I tried all sorts of different positions, laying on my bed, sitting on it with my underwear and pants on. Sitting in a cozy chair pushing on it with my clothes on and a blanket over me. There is no comfortable position. And may I say that the lubricant stained many of my pairs of underwear with a yellow tinge. A tinge, that whenever I saw them, was just another reminder of my freakish condition (or so I thought). I tried to dedicate certain pairs of underwear to the dilation.
I worked my way up the dilator sizes over the course of the summer, but I was by no means done. I headed back to school for my final semester. My roommate, one of my best friends, knew about what I was doing and she was supportive. It wasn't easy doing it in college, but I managed.
I had no shortage of guys who liked me, but I always wondered if they really knew what I was like, would they really like me? My insecurity reigned, but I still went out a lot. I remember distinctly running into Matt in the stairwell one evening. He said he wanted to be with someone who disliked kids, cause he didn't like them. I'm thinking to myself at that time, just because I can't have kids does not mean I don't like them. I don't know what the heck he was trying to accomplish with that statement.
One of those crazy guy times happened when my friend John asked me to entertain his friend Scott while he worked in Palm Springs. Scott and I went out in John's car, had a great date, and then he wanted to go out to a bar. We walked over to the Sports Tavern, where he proceeded to flirt with a lot of other girls, and I met Mr.T. Mr. T was a Norwegian exchange student who was here learning about American culture. Mr. T invited me to a party a few days later. I showed up, saw him, and then went off with another guy that night. My time with Mr. T was by no means over.
To be continued...
