Page 28 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
A nurse opened the door and called out a name that wasn’t mine. One of the pregnant women stood up and waddled into the treatment area.
I hugged my arms across my chest. I was surrounded by pregnant and postpartum women who clearly had no issues having sex, and eventually I would have to walk back there and admit to the therapist that I was an almost 27-year-old virgin who couldn’t even insert a tampon.
This is mortifying.
“Avery?”
I jolted as the door swung open. The nurse locked eyes with me, and I slowly rose to my feet, my ears ringing as I was led into the treatment area.
Down the hallway, the nurse led me into what looked like a typical exam room, except the “bed” was completely flat, with adjustable pieces for what I assumed were different exercises. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, and not just because it had very little padding.
At least it’s not stirrups.I gulped as I sat down on the bench-bed-thing. It made of think of the first and only time I’d ever been to a gynecologist. It was a year after leaving college, when I was twenty-three years old. I was trembling before I even made it into the exam room, and the cold, impatient doctor had no sympathy for my condition. She shoved her fingers inside me without warning, and my cries were met with a flat, “Stop screaming.”
I never went back. Which meant I’d never had a pap smear, although I doubted I had any sort of cancer. But it also meant that I’d never had my equipment checked to see if my pain was caused by a medical problem.
But after what I’d read online, I doubted it was. My pain was mental; I had a brain full of anxiety and religious trauma.
The door cracked open, and a face half-covered by a surgical mask peeked its way in.
“Hello? Ah, Avery, nice to meet you.” The therapist was a brunette woman, possibly in her late thirties, but the mask made it difficult to tell. Her demeanor was cheerful and nurturing, and as she shook my hand, I realized I liked her better than the gynecologist already.
“So…” She plopped down in a chair, flipping through a clipboard in her lap. “My name is Jane, and I will be your physical therapist. Give me some background on what’s going on.”
Ugh,where am I supposed to start?
Just saying the wordsexfelt painful, as if it burned on my lips, and uttering the proper names of genitalia was impossible. The doctor listened intently, with the occasional nod, as I struggled to spit out my story. As uncomfortable as I was, she was an excellent listener, and her attentive blue eyes reminded me of my mother.
“Alright, so from what I understand, you’re having difficulty with penetration,” Jane remarked, making some notes on her clipboard. “Have you ever had an actual penis inside of you, or just fingers? Toys?”
My whole body cringed at her bluntness. With my upbringing, this was going to take alongtime to get used to. If I ever got used to it at all.
Thankfully, Jane sensed this, and she chuckled, “It’s okay. I know it’s tough to talk about these things with a stranger. But I’m a medical professional, and I need to know these things so I can help you. Why don’t we go back a little further? What sort of sex education did you have growing up?”
“None.” I spat out the word like it pained me.
“Ah, I see. Was it for religious reasons, or…?”
“Yes.”
I swear, this woman can read me like a book.
“Is this common?” I asked, finally mustering the courage to squeak out a question. “Women who grew up in religious households having issues with sex?”
Jane smiled and nodded. “But it’s not just religious households, or ones where there’s no sex education. A lot of young women have trouble with penetration. It sometimes stems from deeper mental conditions, like anxiety disorders. But first, I need to rule out any medical causes. Have you been to a gynecologist?”
My uncomfortable silence gave her the answer she needed.
“Now, I do want you to try and see one,” she instructed. “While there are plenty of exercises we can do to strengthen your pelvic floor, it will only do so much if there’s a medical issue.”
“What medical issues can cause this?”
“Quite a few. Pelvic inflammatory disease, endometriosis, ovarian cysts… that’s why it’s so important that you’re checked out down there. Now, today I’m just going to do an external exam, check you for any painful spots…”
“So you won’t be…insertinganything in me today?”
“I will not.”
Part of me was relieved, but the other part of me felt sick. As terrified as I was, I needed to get over this issue, and it sounded like it wasn’t something that could be fixed in a single physical therapy visit. After five years of putting this off, I had a feeling it would takemonthsof therapy for me to even insert a finger.
