In this installment of “reasons why I should emancipate myself from my vagina”, I just found out I have a yeast infection. My pap results came back, and it was a good news, bad news situation. Good news–I don’t have cancer. Bad news–I have a fucking yeast infection. I was instructed to cure it with an over the counter 3-day treatment, but I resisted since I didn’t think I had any symptoms relating to a yeast infection, and as was implied by my doctor based on the scant amount of yeast found, I figured it would go away on its own. Of course that wasn’t the case, and I’m clearly missing a few chromosomes for thinking that my doctor was just chewing the fat when she was on the phone with me, you know–trying to fill the awkward silence with a real conversation starter like, “you have a yeast infection.”
I resisted treating myself because I was convinced that my UTI was, as usual, still loitering. I stand by what I said a few months ago about legitimately having a UTI, because my urinalysis came back with a +3 reading of blood, which is apparently as high as it gets aside from “dead.” I was given a week long course of antibiotics, and even though I still experienced a very slight burning sensation when I peed, I shrugged and thought, “Can’t win them all.” I think what happened (and I DID pass Biology with a C so try to stay with me), is that my UTI and subsequent antibiotic treatment seamlessly transitioned into a yeast infection, which just convinced me that I still had a residual UTI. Since I’ve dealt with UTI symptoms for all of my adult life, I got used to it and started popping Macrobid , which considering that I actually had a yeast infection the whole time, was kind of like treating a heart attack with pizza.
It’s my first one (that I know of), and I’m surprised because I always thought having a yeast infection was kind of like having crabs but less taboo. Sure, everyone experiences the symptoms differently, but the Monistat commercials would have you believe that having a yeast infection is the modern way to have a child out of wedlock. This usually means that you’re required to wear cashmere lounge-wear, stare out of the rain soaked window pane of your beach house as you cozy up to a Danielle Steele novel and ride it out with a scarlet “Y” firmly affixed to the front of your Burberry Nova Check robe. Fortunately, I haven’t experienced any clumpy discharge (goodbye forever, appetite), and surprisingly, I haven’t even been afflicted with the meth-addict level itching. I admit to using the vulvar cream that came with my 3-day pack, because there was some itching, but (in keeping with the general theme here of “I’m a dumb ass”), I attributed it to the fact that a week of Spinning had my vagina making babies with a bike seat.
Anyway, I cheaped out and bought the generic drug store brand pack, because when I saw that Monistat was $25 I was like, “What the fuck, I’m not dying.” I really didn’t know what to expect, and when I got home to study the directions for 2 hours, I had flashbacks to the first time I put a tampon in or used a pregnancy test. It was just another one of those things that falls into the sickeningly labeled feminine care category where the commercials are put through a Disney filter and are therefore, so sterile that they could be selling car insurance or Mentos. I know there’s a fine line between selling feminine care products and…porn, but showing the box from 13 different angles and repeating words like “Fresh”, “Carefree” and “Gentle” is doing it wrong. Do you know how I know this? Because when I found out that the ovule had to be pushed into the vagina as far as it will go with a plunger that resembled E.T.’s finger, I felt supremely cheated, wondering why I had to lie on my back with my knees up near my ears to prevent leakage while it seemed that all of the other women who used this got to giggle and take their Yorkie to the dog park while they engineered a way to exercise their new found vaginal freedom by chatting up the cute guy with the Great Dane because of course he has to have a Great Dane since the size difference between the Yorkie and the Great Dane is charming and makes you really root for these two.
It’s the last time I buy generic, that’s for sure.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Dude natural yoghurt is way cheaper by the sounds of things.
But yes, yeast infections are about as sexy as pubes you can plait.
I really don’t think in this case that there is any difference between name brand and generic, at least from what I could tell last time I was in the “feminine” aisle. They both have the same active ingredients, and they both have an applicator. I think the only advantage is that name brand has more options… like 3-day applications instead of a week-long affair.