If only we could trade our bodies in for an upgrade.

I had the surgery one hot morning in early August. Everything went fine, and Dr. P assured me that in six weeks my body would be ready for sex. It’s telling that my reaction when I heard “six weeks” wasn’t disappointment or even surprise…it was relief. I would have six blissful weeks of not crying myself to sleep after another failure to perform. For six blissful weeks I would not be inadequate or unwomanly or broken; I would be healing from surgery. No one expects sex when his/her partner is recuperating.

At five weeks, I started dreading the end of my blessed reprieve. I had only seven days left of legitimate sex-free living before my checkup. When I did have to go in, Dr. P did her poking and prodding, asked a couple of questions, and consequently pronounced me free of scar tissue. “As best as I can tell, you should be ready now. Go slowly; give your body some time to get used to the movements. In a few weeks, you’ll be a pro.” She could tell I was still apprehensive, so she added, “Really, Amie. You’ll get there. I promise.” I thanked her and went on my way.

Let’s just say my body wasn’t as ready as she thought. Whereas sex before the surgery had been impossible, it was now excruciating. Try after try yielded nothing but tears and intense pain. We were now in our fourth month of unconsummated married life, and I was at my wits’ end. I went from someone who almost never thought about sex to someone who could think of little else. All day, whether teaching or running errands or having coffee with a friend, my mind churned with thoughts of sex and my defectiveness. I tormented myself with disparaging thoughts about my body, my inability to perform, and my growing hatred of sex. I became angry and then scared…and then a resigned mix of both. One night after another unsuccessful try, I remember thinking, “So this is sex? People lose their minds over this?”

I was told one afternoon by a well-meaning friend that the best remedy for the pain I was experiencing was in fact lots of sex. “It only hurts for the first few times. Just go for it several times in one week, and you should be feeling good by Saturday.” She winked. This was not a winking matter to me. I gave her a courtesy smile and excused myself. Why won’t people listen to me? I thought furiously as I drove home. Do they think I’m whining about nothing? Then, I wondered if maybe I was whining about nothing. Maybe all this pain was in my mind. After all, Dr. P had assured me I was all healed up. I resolved to give it another go and, like I’d decided a few days after the wedding, just power through.

Needless to say, this didn’t work, and I found myself back in Dr. P’s office, exasperated yet again. “Are you sure everything looks alright?” I asked tentatively. I explained the pain I was feeling and the fears I had that this might never happen for me. “Hmmm,” she said. “Well, from a medical standpoint, everything seems to be normal…Perhaps you’d want to consider talking to a sex therapist. He or she could give you some practical suggestions as well as work through your feelings about sex. The mind controls an awful lot when it comes to sexuality, particularly for us women.”

By this time, I hated the way my body looked, the way it didn’t work, and the way it was keeping me from my husband. I distrusted my mind, since it now seemed to be the major source of my struggles. I felt further and further removed from my husband, since our relationship was missing such a vital component. And the slithering, evil voice in my head convinced me I was at once isolated and exposed, that everyone could see my inadequacy but no one could do anything about it.

I came to the end of my rapidly fraying rope and called the sex therapist.