Editor’s note: This excerpt from Lara Parker’s book Vagina Problems: Endometriosis, Painful Sex, and Other Taboo Topics originally appeared on Playboy.com in 2020.
Vaginas. More than 50 percent of the population has one, but for some reason we’re not talking about them much. Sure, they’re sometimes mentioned in a magazine or on TV, but we’re not talking about them the way we should be. We’re not talking about the fact that an estimated 176 million people worldwide live with endometriosis, and around one in ten people with vaginas will experience some sort of vaginal or pelvic pain in their lifetime. We’re not talking about painful sex, or painful orgasms, or periods that are so debilitating they keep you home from work or school. That’s what we should be talking about.
The products in this article are our own editorial recommendations, but we may receive a commission if you click on any of the links.
I have Vagina Problems. I say Vagina Problems because if I start going into every single thing I’ve ever been diagnosed with, you’d probably try to close out the screen, even though this is a book. What I’m saying is, this shit gets boring. It’s a long list of words that mean nothing to the average person, and it’s all a complicated way of saying that my vagina hurts, among other things. For the longest time when filling out paperwork with a new doctor or trying to explain my pain to friends, I would try to keep it really simple. I’d say, “Oh, I have stomach problems.” It was always easier than trying to explain what the hell endometriosis or vaginismus is. But as the years passed and the diagnoses kept piling on, I was no longer sure what to say or how to say it. It’s not just my vagina that hurts. It’s my legs, my back, my stomach, my vagina, my bladder. And it’s not just endometriosis anymore—it’s endometriosis, vaginismus, vulvodynia, vulvar vestibulitis syndrome, overall pelvic floor dysfunction, interstitial cystitis, PMDD, fibrocystic breasts and probable adenomyosis. And those are just the ones that I’ve actually been able to get a diagnosis or term for. What the hell are all those words I just wrote? I don’t even know half the time, if I’m being honest. And, you know, who wants to hear you list all that stuff in everyday conversation? No one. I promise you. No one.
Years ago, when I was first diagnosed with endometriosis, I had barely even heard of the damn disease. And I wasn’t alone. When I would tell people of my new diagnosis as an explanation for my pain over the past several years, they would meet my eyes with a blank stare. And then they would ask me if I was feeling better yet. No, Carol, I’m not feeling better yet. Do you wanna know why, Carol? Because endometriosis, despite affecting almost two hundred million people worldwide, has no cure. And you know what else, CAROL? Most doctors don’t even diagnose it properly or have any idea how to begin to treat the symptoms. Oh, and one more thing, Carol—a chronic illness means that it is, in fact, chronic. I don’t have the flu!!!! It’s not just gonna go away in the week since you last saw me, Carol!
So for years, in order to avoid the urge to punch five to ten people a week, I continued to just say I had stomach problems and leave it at that. But as the years passed and my pain worsened, I had to figure out new terminology. The pain I was experiencing was certainly not the same as that experienced by someone who ate too much Popeye’s chicken and felt bloated. This pain needed to be explained in a way that made people understand why I often had to cancel plans or miss work two to three times a month.
So I began to describe my issues as Vagina Problems. My Vagina Problems meant that my abdomen was swollen 93.7 percent of the time. They meant that sitting down for an extended period would make my vagina burn as if someone had put hot acid on it. They meant that wearing thong underwear was a death sentence, and that drinking anything carbonated felt the same as drinking poison. And these problems also meant that I was in a state of almost constant cramping. And no, I don’t mean the types of cramps where you can pop an ibuprofen or two and continue on with your day. We’re talking the worst period cramps you’ve ever experienced, but on an almost daily basis. Oh, and just in case you weren’t uncomfortable enough already, Carol—these problems also meant I wasn’t able to stand penetration of any kind, and when I was able to orgasm, it came with a shooting pain to boot. DO YOU GET IT NOW, CAROL????
When I finally started to open up more about my Vagina Problems, I quickly forgot to be ashamed. I had been living with a sore vagina and abdomen for so long at that point that I forgot that my UPS person or my seventh-grade English teacher might not be accustomed to hearing or reading someone talk about their vagina at all, let alone a vagina that hurt. But it all just came pouring out. I had been quiet about my issues for so long that I no longer had the ability to keep my experiences inside. I started talking. And I told everyone. It got to the point where I was saying “My vagina hurts today” the same way someone might say “I have a headache.” And it didn’t stop there. I didn’t just tell my acquaintances and friends. I tweeted about it. I talked about it on Instagram. I said it out loud in dressing rooms and in grocery stores. I wouldn’t shut the fuck up about my vagina then, and I don’t plan to now.
When I first started experiencing my Vagina Problems, I was just fourteen years old. My period had recently started, and so did the pain. It hurt everywhere, but especially in my abdomen and vagina. It was constant, but worse around my period. But if I’d learned anything about periods before I even started my own, it was that you didn’t talk about that shit. Especially not in front of men. When my period came in with a vengeance right off the bat, I mostly just tried to ignore it. I couldn’t understand why my period was making me throw up, pass out and miss school, or why it wrecked an entire week of my life every month while my friends barely even talked about cramps. I convinced myself that everyone must be feeling what I was feeling and that maybe they were just better at hiding it. I knew that my abdomen hurt pretty much constantly, but I had no idea how to talk about it with anyone. And when I did find courage to bring it up to my doctor, she brushed it off and made me feel stupid. “Periods are supposed to hurt,” she said. I just began to assume that the pain I was feeling in my body was normal, because I had never heard otherwise.
Then, a couple of years later, when I decided to have sex for the first time, it hurt like hell. I mean, it hurt so bad that it felt like someone was shoving a knife dipped in acid inside my vagina—and I assumed that was normal, too. In high school when my friends would talk about sex, they always said it was going to hurt. It’s like some unspoken universal rule: If a woman brings up her first time having sex, you must tell her about how it’s going to hurt. A couple of years after that, when I got up the courage to try again, I assumed the mind-boggling pain I still felt was normal, too. Despite trying to convince myself that everything I was feeling was no big deal, there was a small voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe it wasn’t all okay and maybe something was going on in my body. So back to the doctor I went, only this time to be 1) shamed for being sexually active and 2) told that the pain was totally normal the first couple of times and to use lube, duh!
Little did I know that this was only the beginning of a seven-year journey to find out what was going on in my body. It took multiple doctors, thousands of dollars and a refusal to take no for an answer to finally gain some sort of understanding of what was causing me so much pain. But not everyone has the money for surgeries or access to different doctors for multiple opinions. On average, it takes seven to ten doctors’ visits for someone to be diagnosed with endometriosis. And if they are finally diagnosed they are then given just a small handful of options, most of which cost thousands of dollars or come with hefty side effects, and none of which is a cure. The time to start talking openly and honestly about Vagina Problems is long past due.
So here I am, on the other side, well aware of my Vagina Problems and no longer afraid to talk about them. It’s been more than ten years since my Vagina Problems first became a constant in my life, and despite numerous attempts at ridding my body of these illnesses I still have the same pain. I still have doctors not believe me when I tell them my symptoms. People still feel uncomfortable when I bring up my vagina. Viagra is still being easily covered by insurance while people sometimes have to lie and say the physical therapy they are getting for their vagina is actually for their back so that insurance will cover it, and we still don’t have anything close to an accessible treatment plan for any of it. Millions of people live with conditions similar to mine, but stigma, shame, and lack of awareness keep us all from talking about and normalizing it.
One of the main reasons that I wanted to write this book was because it is something I wished I had when I was first learning about my own Vagina Problems. Most of the literature I found on the subject was either from medical professionals or written based on medical studies and therefore included a lot of medical jargon that was mostly over my head. There is a place for that type of literature, and books like that can be helpful at times, but that wasn’t what I needed. What I needed was a book that told me that I wasn’t alone—and one that gave me permission to just be upset about going through this. I didn’t want to be told, “Just do this and you will feel better.” I wanted to be told, “Hey, you’re not alone, it sucks, I’m sorry. Let’s know it sucks together.”
When you have Vagina Problems, it’s hard to think about anything else. And quite honestly, I don’t think we should have to. This book is for everyone who has ever experienced any kind of Vagina Problems. I hear you. I see you. And I believe you.
Excerpted from Vagina Problems: Endometriosis, Painful Sex, and Other Taboo Topics by Lara Parker. Copyright (c) 2020 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Pricing and discounts listed are accurate at the time of publishing and are subject to change.