Just because you're paranoid...

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching you." -Kurt Cobain

Warning: lots of discussion about bacteria, vaginas, and various forms of bodily excretions.

Sometime ago, I blogged about bleeding in between periods all of a sudden. Well, actually, it's just during and after sex. Some of my blogger buddies as well as pretty much everyone else I told said "that's normal, no worries". I worried anyway. I had never had this problem before, and now that we were trying to conceive it became an issue.

Granted, I am hyper-paranoid. While off my meds, worrying has been taken on as a new art form for me. I really, really need my meds, so any thought of extending my stay here in Crazyville (due to an inability to conceive) is quite literally terrifying. It's not just an uncomfortable way of living, as so many seem to believe. It's a constant fight to stay alive. I wish I was exaggerating. Lately, I just want to curl up into the tightest ball and fade away into oblivion. I don't want to freak you all out with the "S" word though. That's not quite where I am at, and believe me I would know, as I have visited before. No, I just want everything to go away, especially me. Laziness keeps me from being proactive on this idea though. So please don't worry or send an ambulance. I will survive to post again, I promise.

Back to being paranoid. I finally landed an appointment with a new OB/GYN for yesterday. Initially, I thought I was being ridiculous for going to see the doctor for such a little thing; I was sure he would laugh me right out of his office when I told him that we had been trying for only a few months. He never laughed and took me quite seriously. Once I listed all of my symptoms, he was quick to confirm that I do in fact have a valid concern. I am sure that some of you know the result, but I will outline it anyway because who can resist writing about sex, cooters, and fishy odors.

Here's the run down... Bleeding with intercourse, Husband notices a funky smell coming from my nether reaches after a romp, no conception despite carefully timed frolicks. After a brief ride in the stirrups, I had my answer. I may be paranoid, but there was still something fishy in Cooterville. Bacterial vaginosis. Just rolls off the tongue doesn't it? Turns out the bad bacteria doesn't do so well in my acid bath of a vagina, but once semen enters the room, it's party time. The more basic semen neutralizes the acidity, and the bacteria multiply exponentially (at least somebody is reproducing in there). Those bacteria rage on and make a chemical that results in the same smell as the fish department in our low end grocery store. Not only does it turn my stomach, but that fishy chemical is killing our precious sperm. Bastards!!!!

As you can imagine, I was absolutely thrilled that the doc had an answer and a prescription for me. Husband looked mighty relieved as well. I think he's terrified that we will have to do a semen analysis. I don't blame him, if I had to come to orgasm at the doctor's office to check my fertility, it would never happen. Too much pressure.

Here's the drawback to my new med, no drinking. Crisis. Apparently, my med has that same sneaky little ingredient that they give to alcoholics to keep them from drinking. Just one sip of alcohol and I will be a regular visitor of the most valuable bowl in the house, the porcelain one. Oh how I love my wine with dinner too. Plus, no sex for me either until the infection is gone. Horny and sober, how will I survive?