JoAnn AbrahamI leak! I do. Not all the time. And not much. Just enough to dampen my underwear.
I happened to mention it to a friend, who responded, “Oh, yes.” And then proceeded to go through a list of mutual friends who were back to wearing pads or absorbent panties.
Not comfortable with either of those options, I met with a newly minted urogynecologist. I like going to young doctors because they are less likely to retire before I die.
I’m assuming she thought she was comforting when she said leaking was quite common in women no longer young. She then did a pelvic exam, just to make sure there was nothing obviously wrong, and concluded it by pronouncing that my vaginal tissues were quite youthful for a woman my age.
She also recommended that I have a bladder test, to determine what next steps would be appropriate. So, I set up an appointment for the test, and a follow-up.
I left feeling a bit conflicted. I was, of course, relieved that she found nothing worrisome. But, what do you do with information like that? If someone asks how your doctor appointment went, can you say, “Great! The doc said I have a really young vagina?”
Not really.
I meditated on that for a bit, without reaching any conclusions. Then I went for the test.
If you’ve never had one, here’s the skinny. You sit on a gynecological table, complete with the ever-lovely stirrups, that also has an odd u carved out where your behind would normally go. Below that cut-out sits a bucket. The technician then inserts a cystoscope through your vagina into the bladder, and proceeds to let fluid slowly drip, until you can’t hold any more water. Then you empty your bladder into the bucket.
While the test is far from pleasant, it is nowhere near as obnoxious as a mammogram.
But here’s the kicker: the doctor has now recommended that I get a Botox shot in my bladder. She says it will strengthen the muscle that is causing the leak.
Which brings up a new question: what can I do with my Botoxed bladder? Can I monetize it? Do I include it in my Linked-In profile? If I were in the market for a partner, would I advertise on social media that my crotch is young, vibrant, and Botoxed?
Do I even tell people I have had Botox? My face is so wrinkled that if I say I’ve had it, any reasonable person will conclude mine came from batch that was past its sell-by date.
Years ago, I had a large dog who loved me so much that he ate anything that had my smell on it, including a soap that promised to keep the skin on my face supple and luminescent. That soap was expensive, and in those years, it was more than I could reasonably afford. But I was young and vain. So I kept replacing the bar, thinking each time I’d put it in an unreachable location which the dog invariably got to.
I despaired that, when the dog died, my face would look like crumpled tissue paper and his insides would be as smooth as a baby’s bottom. He left us while he was still youthful. His muzzle never turned grey, and his eyes never got rheumy, but we never found out what his insides looked like.
Meanwhile, my face looks like crumpled tissue paper and my insides are young and vibrant. Maybe I should have eaten the soap.