Going to the doctor about sex-related stuff can be scary, and quite embarrassing sometimes. But do not fret, I have a story to share in solidarity to encourage you all to go get your genitals checked if they are exhibiting strange symptoms.
I was experiencing bleeding with penetration for a few years (the Dunedin dating scene is dry as fuck, so my recent boyfriend has been neon pink and from the Adult Toy Mega Store). After one particularly steamy session with him, I looked at my bed sheet. It looked like the parting of the red sea, so I hesitantly booked an appointment with Student Health. The doctor was incredibly polite and reassuring and talked me through the potential causes of post-coital bleeding as I lay down on the bed, legs splayed, to find the root of my problem. He took a few swabs for STD testing, and then opened up the speculum slightly more to see my cervix. Upon doing this, he let out a small (but audible) exclamation: “You seem to have a foreign body in here.”
Brilliant.
The doctor left the room to equip himself with the necessary tools to remove this “foreign body”. The very kind lady who was chaperoning the exam asked me whether I thought it was a condom or a tampon, to which I regretfully said that I didn’t really use either of those things. The doctor then came back with a pair of forceps and told me to brace myself for the extraction. While he pulled it out, he told me to prepare myself for the potential odor the object may carry when it resurfaced. At that very moment, I had a desire to die on the table there and then. A few moments later, I gave birth to a beautiful baby (small plastic object). It was dropped into a dish and me, the doctor, and the chaperone all gathered round to have a closer look.
“What do you think it is?" the doctor quizzed. “Mmm, not sure,” I mumbled. Unfortunately, this was a lie. The object did seem familiar to me, and although it took a few seconds for me to click, I realised it was a small ring from a hairbrush that I had used during Covid lockdown in a particularly desperate moment of horniness. It had made a one way trip into my vagina and became embedded in my vaginal vault (quite literally the term he used in the clinician’s notes – luckily he didn’t have to speak parseltongue to get it out). It was in there for nearly three years. He noted that the object was quite sharp, and any – uh – penetration had been disrupting the object and basically stabbing me in the vagina repeatedly, hence the red sea in my bed a few days before.
“Have you been sexually active with men in the past few years,” the doctor asked. “Yes,” I replied. “They could probably feel this. It is quite sharp.” I would like to think that is the reason they didn’t ever text me back. He also asked if I would want the object washed and returned to me. The New Zealand health system is already underfunded and understaffed, so although I actually did really want to keep it as a memento, I decided to let my vagina-marinated hairbrush piece end its turbulent life in the biohazard bin at Student Health. Thank you for your service.