It’s been a little dry of late. In the dating department and, if I’m to be brutally honest, the vaginal department, too.
The fanny tingles have been amiss, I would say my ‘me’ time is all but extinct, and even the thought of a three-way with Cynthia Erivo and Lady Gaga isn’t enough to get me going. And the longer this goes on, the more I’m beginning to wonder: is this self-inflicted or has my ‘time’ begun?
I’ve never been one to need a wet floor sign but that’s never dampened a pretty consistent inner horn. My labia has always enjoyed a healthy helping of lubricant in the bedroom and that’s just how it’s always been. I remember a time in my early twenties when a one-night stand grumpily stood up mid- finger and declared I may as well leave if I wasn’t enjoying myself. That was the first and last time I let myself feel any kind of shame around my not-so- wet whistle — after all, it’s far more common than you think. Plus if it makes them work that little bit harder to please me, I ain’t complaining. However, over the last few weeks it’s been less gently moist and more Sahara Desert than usual, even for me, and my ‘urge’ is, well, on vacay. So of course I can’t help but think, how have I ended up here?
Well, the last 12 months have seen a string of very dodgy dating decisions on my part. From continuing an achingly dull situationship with an ex to a frightfully frantic on-again-off-again dalliance with a narcissistic ex-boss. Yikes, I know! I mean, now I’m saying it out loud, no wonder there’s not been a lot going on down there. I’ve been up and down and roundabout, being emotionally run ragged is enough to turn anyone off, right? But then there is the case of these fluctuating moods that I’ve been contending with.
A quick Google search and the hits for perimenopausal symptoms are beginning to stack up. Reduced sex drive, mood swings, poor sleep — the math is mathing. Although the late nights could be due to my newfound obsession with American thrifting videos, my health anxiety has begun to peak at this point. The lack of public discussion about the menopause has doused it in so much mystery that I wouldn’t have the first clue of what I should be looking out for. Google says that night sweats are a symptom, but what if I just have my electric blanket on too high? Stiff muscles? Well, I did take the stairs instead of the lift for the first time in…well, I digress!
It’s funny how quickly we jump to the worst conclusions, especially when it comes to menopause and sexual health. Add in a little anxiety and of course, we think the worst. We often blame ourselves, thinking our bodies are turning on us, but sometimes it’s just life throwing us some curveballs — stress, exhaustion, bad dates, you name it. Bodies go through phases, and not every dip in libido means a midlife crisis is looming. As dramatic as I like to be, it might be time to dial it down a notch.
After all my stressing, playing Dr Google and trying to pinpoint exactly when I should have walked away from my most recent situationships, it turns out the joke’s on me. I get a sexual health check every 3-6 months depending on how active I’ve been and this last urine sample pinged back a hit for BV, the common cold of the vagina. The lack of libido and scarcity of tingles is all because the poor thing is in need of a little TLC, not because I’m ‘on the turn’. Hurrah! I’m told a swift dose of antibiotics and she’ll be right as rain in no time — or in my case, a light drizzle.
Give Helen at follow @helenscott
