Somewhere between my 50 and 60th birthdays, I began to dry up, like a grape left too long out in the sun. My skin, once radiant (or so I told myself) was cracked with lines, that of my hands thin, almost parchment like, and then's there's "down there." Okay. I'll just say it: vaginal dryness. I'd refer to it as VD, but that conjures up all sorts of other images.
Though I still feel inside like the young girl I'd once been, my body, traitorous vessel that it is, is as stiff and dusty as a piece of shale, holding only the impression of the juicy, warm woman I had been.
To use a popular vernacular, it sucks. Big time.
Still, I try. I slavish cream on my face and hands. I am a slave to sun lotion. But the cracks and age spots refuse to go away. A chemical peel, I wonder. What about laser treatments? Should I try Juvederm?
As for "down there," I am learning to live with it. It makes those yearly pelvic exams a bigger pain than usual. I sigh and remind myself that suffering is a woman's lot!