Chapter One

 

 

For anyone who takes medication for depression and anxiety, like we bipolars have to, one of the most frustrating side effects is that the meds can get in the way of our ability to reach an orgasm. This wasn’t a problem for me until I was around fifty and needed a higher dosage of my anti-depressant. Before then, practically all my husband had to do was blow on my privates and I would cum. It’s not as easy these days. Something that had occurred so easily for me in the past was now causing a lot of frustration in the bedroom. On top of everything else, my body has been changing as I’ve gotten older and gone through menopause. I don’t get as lubricated as I did when I was younger. Not only that, but I kept thinking about this lame joke my family doctor said to me about the results from one of my pap smears. He told me, “Everyone in the office got quite a kick out of how the report said that your vagina had atrophied.”

Ha! Ha! Very funny. Not exactly the idea I wanted to have in my head about my sexual organs. Once my doctor got over his laughing fit, he said, “Obviously, the guy writing the report didn’t take your age into consideration.”

‘He wasn’t the only one lacking consideration,’ I felt like saying back.

I can just imagine Erma Bombeck joking about this happening to her on a doctor’s visit. She’d probably make some crack about how he told her, “You gotta use it or lose it or else it’s going to wither away and die.” It reminds me of her book entitled, “If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits?”