![]() Within a few minutes, I completed their questionnaire the next day I took part in a telemedicine appointment with an actual doctor where I was able to ask all of my questions about common symptoms, potential medication interactions, allergies, etc. I stumbled upon specialist women’s peri/menopause healthcare provider Winona. It’s no wonder he’d had so little to say! But what really makes me mad is that this whole mortifying situation could have been avoided.Īfter doing some digging online and reading other women’s stories, I learned that most OB/GYN’s have less than four hours of training in treating peri/menopause symptoms during their entire time in medical school. Which is how I ended up in the pharmacy admitting to a room full of people that my virginity was back to the soundtrack of an 80s power ballad. ![]() "I'll prescribe something." I hear the snap of the latex gloves coming off. “Well, it's just menopause,” he says unhelpfully. But given I'm also having torrential night sweats, non-stop hormonal acne, and hot flashes, I’m not exactly at my most alluring?” ![]() And I realize, they really can’t just say “sex" can they? Blah-Blah-Blah doesn’t even know who Polly Pocket is. "Except, he’d have to be quite a pint-sized Lawrence as my vagina feels like it’s shrunk to the size of a Polly Pocket pencil skirt." But Dr. Lawrence of Arabia could come trotting out at any time.” So, I finally say it: “Look, it’s basically the Sahara down there. I could have explained things over the phone. So there I am, feet in the stirrups, and he's not saying a word. With my regular out on maternity leave, I was stuck with her backup, an elderly gentleman physician who is about as dusty as my va-jay-jay. It's not like it was any better earlier at the OB/GYN. “Thanks.” I squint at the checkout guy’s name tag, “Thanks so much, Brian.” And I take the goods. And this time, NO is her final answer,” which elicits a few hearty guffaws. OK, think fast, Jonesy, best to take this in the other direction, so I say to no one/everyone in particular, “Yep! That's me, at 43, my virginity is back with a vengeance. Good God! Did that pastey little twat just call me a dried-up old c*nt in front of all these people? I'm so lost without you.” right as the pimply checkout guy announces over the PA system, “ALISA JONES, your VAGINAL ATROPHY cream is ready for pickup!” gray, flickering fluorescent shampoo aisles, a line of twenty-odd restless customers all staring down at their phones, the 80s band Air Supply crooning mournfully overhead “I'm all out of love.
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