Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Lab work

“So we’re just going to do the pap and then we’ll discuss your lab results.”

I was a tangle of nerves all the way in. I somehow convinced myself that I wouldn’t actually have to do the pap because the blood work would be so conclusive and we wouldn’t need anything else. Ha. Hahahaha. No.

The nurse was great, let me babble on about my job (I love my job, and am an entrepreneur and maybe a little bit of an expert in my area of specialty.) She kept me distracted from the goings on in my nether regions. It was actually less painful than most of my past experiences. I would even call it “uncomfortable” rather than “excruciating”, and I didn’t even cry.

I got dressed and sat back down. Lab results. I was excited.

Do I have a thyroid problem? It’s very possible! All signs point to possible thyroid problem!

Do I have a hormonal imbalance? It could be hormonal. Maybe I have low iron and a chronic, underlying infection! There are so many potential causes for my low sex drive. At the end of this appointment, I thought, I’ll have a prescription and a little pill to take and all will be well. I was giddy at the thought of a thyroid condition.

The doctor came back in, with my chart.

“Your blood work came back normal. All normal. Thyroid is normal, hormone levels are normal, iron is normal, blood sugar - all normal."

He looked apologetic.

“So I think it’s the depression.”

And wrote me a prescription for Effexor.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Body as metaphor

To say that I am uncomfortable with the inner workings of my body would be a gross understatement. My phobia extends far beyond needles and blood, and as I said to my counselor at one point - “I wish I stopped at the skin.”

“What would be inside you?” she asked.

“Blue goo.” I replied.

I was only barely joking.

I’ve never been able to take my pulse. I skipped multiple mandatory vaccinations in school and I can’t even think about things like a heartbeat or an injection without shuddering. I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. It was a running joke in my family that all you had to do was say “blood” and I’d turn white as a sheet and cringe. It’s ironic because my mom is a nurse and I’m the only one in my family with this issue. I don’t think it’s a learned behaviour, although you could look at unintentional reinforcers such as attention or reassurance for phobic behaviour. More often I’ve been ridiculed for it, though, so I doubt that’s the case.

In terms of costs and benefits, this fear has been extremely expensive. It doesn’t make any kind of sense, especially the more extreme elements of it such as not being able to take my own pulse and anxiety over things like getting my blood pressure checked. Those fears are just ridiculous. Needles, surgery, blood coming out of my body - those fears make some sort of sense, but the rest of it is just wacky. I know that a grown woman should not have this issue, and trust me - if you’re thinking “Damn, Ann. Get over it.” - I’m thinking the same thing and more. I don’t understand the fear, and if I could make it go away by taking a deep breath and smiling, I would.

My plan was to go in and be fearless. I pictured myself laughing and joking, the nurse never realizing there was a problem. This blood work represents an important part of the process for me. If there is something happening with hormones or thyroid or whatever, it needs to be addressed. Making the effort to rule out any medical causes for the low libido and pain during sex is a sign of my commitment to this thing. When I started the process I said “whatever it takes” and I meant it. I want to figure this out. I want to fix it. I want to enjoy sex, and feel sexy, and just feel comfortable in my own body. (Obviously I have my work cut out for me.)

The plan worked until they signed me in, and then I sat in the waiting room and got progressively more upset. Foot twitching, hands clenching and unclenching, jaw so tight I couldn’t pry it open to save my life. I was trying to smile and breathe deeply, but I suspect it was more like grimacing and hyperventilating. The shoulder of the arm that the blood was drawn from (six vials) still hurts from tensing up so much before and during the process. I nearly gagged when I looked over and saw someone gesturing to their veins while talking to a nurse. There are situations more embarrassing than realizing that the five year old next to you is doing about 300 times better than you are, but not many.

I started to cry as the nurse put her gloves on, and when I said “I’m sorry, I don’t do very well with needles” she told me she had sort of gotten that vibe already. Ha. She was fantastic, though. Chatty, encouraging, understanding. I appreciated it.

I suspect that my issues with sex are somehow, at least partially, tied to this fear. Certainly my inability to be “comfortable in my own skin” is connected by my complete inability to deal with my body.

In high school I had an issue with my whole body, inside and out. I wore long sleeved shirts and ankle-length skirts for years. I remember going outside in a short sleeved shirt while on vacation. I had to wait until my family had already left the room, then I got changed, walked out the door, imagined anyone who looked at me laughing, and walked right back in to put on something less revealing. I have thankfully gotten over that particular issue (there were days when I thought I was going to die of heat exhaustion!) but I’ve only ever gotten as far as accepting the outside. The rest of it… well, sometimes I really would prefer blue goo. No systems, just filler. I imagine life as being so much easier without all the inner workings. No pain, no pulse, no bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface.

“Bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface” pretty much sums up my issue, really.

Body as metaphor.

The more I write, the more I realize how small my sexual dysfunction is in the ocean of my general dysfunction. Yikes.

I wonder if that’s true for other people who suffer from some form of dysfunction or disorder. Does it feel like when you start to examine one problem, you just keep finding others?

Sometimes I feel like I’m going down the rabbit hole with this whole exploration of my sexuality, like I’ve opened a door that really should have stayed shut. Despite appearances in this blog, I am a successful, functional person. I have friends, a stable, committed marriage, and I’ve reached many of my personal goals. But there are bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface.

I can only hope that this is one step on the path, and not the whole journey. It always seems like you have to make a mess before you can really clean up. The knots always seem to get tighter before they untangle. Surely that’s what this is.