It really is a case of use it or lose it, I’m afraid. Words said by Doctor Andrews that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I’ve just seen her for the last time and I’ve officially been discharged. So why then am I sitting here with my knickers off and Promises in my hand? Well, before discharging me, she informed me that my new vagina requires regular upkeep – news to me.
I waited for her to laugh at her joke, but she didn’t.
Mum coughed. “What does that mean?” she said, alarm noticeable in her voice.
“It’s important to keep up with the vibrator or dilators until Rose is having frequent penetrative sex. It’s highly unlikely to go back to how it was; however, with some of these skin conditions, there is the possibility of recurrence. As Rose doesn’t have an active case of the condition, it should be fine, but it doesn’t hurt to keep everything in working order.”
So, although I should be fine, I’m taking no chances. The plan is to test it out quickly and get back to my revision. But can it really be that simple?
If I was still with Joel, I’d no doubt have checked things out sooner. But I’ve been putting it off because, deep down, I’m worried the operation hasn’t worked.
Out comes the Shame Sack and I get into my usual position. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I push Promises in a tiny bit, waiting for it to hurt. It doesn’t. I keep my breath steady, making sure I’m relaxing as much as I can. I push some more, and then some more. My heart hammers as I watch Promises disappear into me a centimetre at a time. I’m not breathing as I continue to push slowly. What is happening?
It’s in. It’s actually in.
It doesn’t feel pleasurable and it’s tight and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt, and my sheets are still fresh white with no crimson stain to mark a failure.
I pull Promises out and focus on steadying my breath. I want to dance and scream and cry and laugh, all at once.
It worked. I work. Now what?