Putting a Bartholin’s cyst into a hole in the vagina

I love the concept of the divine yoni: the beautiful and powerful nature of femininity, being the creator and giver of life, vaginas are the source and origin of life and the gateway to life. I love that. I do.

Related: My doctor prescribed a vibrator to heal a vaginal tear after childbirth

Can I link, though? Oh, hell no. Don’t get me started on faulty plumbing.

Or, actually, do you know what? Do. Yes. It started, so let’s do this thing.

Two years ago, after putting up with what I was learning was my first miscarriage and my last pregnancy, I discovered that all my reproductive insides were rubbish. I was 32 years old and had two ovaries floating around in my body that contained roughly the same number of viable eggs as your mother-in-law. This means, almost nothing.

My childbearing years had escaped me almost entirely, and it took me every last hour of the next two years to come to terms with it.

Fact: The baby I have — who spent 40 weeks growing inside my body before it flew off me and ripped my divine yoni to shreds in 2013 — is a walking miracle, and not, in fact, someone I had any right to. Just because I had unprotected sex with her father nearly 4,000 times over the course of one 48-hour fertile period. (Oh, why did you have to try and have a baby month after month? I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s not totally a blast.)

So there I was, sterile in my early thirties, having spent most of my twenties walking around the planet as if I owned the place, often running around from flinging a few too many shots the night before.

The shots I kept getting free when I told my best friend every unsuspecting male that day—yes, on that very day! – It was my birthday, shouldn’t we both get a free drink? “Why of course!” They always say.

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