Commendation for the Nurses

Subject:  Letter of Commendation 

Dear D3 Nurses, 

I had the pleasure of being cared for by several of you on June 29th when I came in to have a hysterectomy.  I think being a nurse is a pretty amazing profession and the amount of patience, empathy, care and knowledge that you have may go unappreciated by some people.  Not everyone is the breath of fresh air that I am (please feel free to add a tone of sarcasm to that...even though I actually was on good behavior) and I imagine there are days you go home and question if what you really need is wine or sleep, or both.  I wanted to take a moment and extend my thank you for making my experience in the hospital as pleasant as possible considering I had a tube up my lady bits for much of my time there. 

First, I believe it was Michele who prepped me for surgery.  At least, I think that was the name she put on the white board.  She was friendly, kind and efficient.  I will say that while she was with me, the dude that came in to take my blood before surgery was very UNPLEASANT.  I don't remember his name, don't remember if he gave it to me, but he came in, no smile, no warmth, no communication with Michele and pretty much, put a band on me and started to look for veins.  I told him the best vein to use, because I am a tough draw sometimes.  He ignored me, and while I was answering questions for Michele, he put a band around my wrist and out of nowhere stabbed my wrist with a needle as if he was harpooning Moby Dick.  My entire body came off the bed and I yelled out.  Even Michele couldn't believe what was happening.  And just like that, he was gone.  He left Michele in a bind because now she had to find a different spot to put the IV in. That guy sucked.  But enough about him, Michele continued to be awesome and she deserves a pat on the back and some ice cream or something awesome. 

The next person I remember took me into the surgery room where a whole pit crew of people immediately started to work on me.  I don't remember a lot about that time, but they were all nice and friendly and I felt like I was in good hands.  And, I don't know who got me out of the purple gauze gown thing and then into the ever-stylish hospital gown, but kudos to you, team, that couldn't have been easy! They also deserve a pat on the back and a round of drinks because Lord only knows what they went through maneuvering this massive form of a body.  I think the medical term is "body habitus" or "morbid obesity" whatever, they earned a drink or three and a massage. 

After that, I remember a nice lady named Linda who was at my side as I was coming out of my anesthesia fog.  She asked how I was doing and I kept telling her it hurt and then she would give me more drugs. This continued until I was feeling more conscious and less painful.  I liked Linda a lot.  She can drug me anytime.  I think she told the person that came to take me to my room that I was "stoned."  I think I remember being hilarious, but I can't be sure.  Long live, Linda.  She deserves a day off and a glass of wine. 

When I got to my room, it was time for Windy (and it's Windy, NOT Wendy, let's be clear) to care for me.  I loved Windy because she is sassy like me. But not like mean sassy, like fun sassy, but still very caring and very on top of it.  She took amazing care of me keeping me comfortable, up on my meds, bringing me food, ice, whatever I needed.  And, while this is her job, she was just so on top of her game, I really never had to ask for anything, she was always one step ahead of the game.  I heart her.  She deserves a gold star and whatever else she wants.  

Alas, Windy had to go home for the night, but she left me with Carie, I think.  I'm a little fuzzy on this name because...drugs.  If I have the name wrong, I'm sorry, because Carie was so sweet and so kind, she also deserves recognition.  I feel like we are close because at 3:30am, Carie took my catheter out.  It was a special moment.  The poor woman has seen things down in the nether region that frankly, I don't even see.  She was awesome and I appreciate her care equally.  She was there encouraging me to walk around and cheering me on.  She also deserves a gold star and a day off for having to deal with the 'ol vagina. 

In the morning, Windy returned and continued taking great care of me until it was time for me to go home mid-day.  She gave me lots of great after-care advice and instructions when I checked out and wheeled me down to the curb for my ride home.   

Since I have arrived home, I've had a slew of issues with a bladder infection, becoming allergic to my incisions, not pooping for five days and riding an emotional roller coaster.  There were several times I thought to myself, "I wish I was back in the hospital where they took such good care of me!"   I mean, who wants to go back to the hospital?  No one in their right mind, that's for sure, but you all made it seem like a really safe place with the best care.  All kidding aside, I truly want to thank your team for being so awesome.  Even the people that I don't remember (because drugs) or don't know the name of. You all are beyond awesome.  You all deserve a raise!  [Side note: Dr. Dau was probably pretty good, too, but he doesn't get the amazing nurse status recognition like you all.] 

I know you take care of a lot of people and you might not remember me, but that is okay, who I am isn't important, who you are is what matters.  However, here is a picture of my uterus in case that helps your memory: 

 

Sadly, I don't have a picture of my vagina while I was in the hospital, so I can't share that. Taking a picture of its current state wouldn't really help you now, so I'm going to hold off on that.  For those that had to see it, I’m sorry. 

I do have this picture that my husband took of me right before surgery: 

That's my excited to get my uterus ripped out face. 

I’m adding this letter to my blog that I do for my own writing therapy so that it can be shared with other nurses that may be having a rough day.  Please know that when you are not having the greatest day or greatest patients, there are those that truly appreciate all that you do. 

Sincerely, 

Cassondra

Uterus Free Since 6/29/18 

https://angry-pony.blogspot.com/ 

"It's A Routine Procedure..."

To be clear, in case there were some of you that didn't know, there are not many "routine procedures" that go routine for me.  It's always something.  I find myself in that small percentage of people where things tend to go wrong or the treatment doesn't work.  That's me.  I am not, however, part of the small percentage of people that win the frigging lottery.  Nope, can't be part an exclusive club of winners, that isn't how I roll.  With all that said, I was doomed from the start on hysterectomy day...that cloudy, cool 29th day of June in the year 2018.

Let's begin the saga. I prepared for this big day by following all the instructions they provided me.  I'd washed with their special soap and had used it in all the crevices with the help of Shark Bait.  I was squeaky clean, I hadn't had food or water since before midnight and I was ready.  I'd done my part.

I checked-in and a nice nurse was taking care of me.  I believe her name was Michele.  She said my surgery time had been moved up so we had to move quickly.  Just then, some random guy with his little blood cart came in.  He mumbled his name and Michele said he was going to take a blood sample for a last minute check.  As he was tapping around looking for a vein, Michele is asking me questions so my full attention is on her.  All the sudden, the Blood Savage  turns into a crazed man stabbing, neigh, plunging into a vein in my hand with no warning.  My entire body came off the bed and I was yelling out in pain.  What the actual fuck just happened?  The look on Michele's face was horror as well.  I laid there with wide-eyes and asked Michele what the hell just happened and she said she didn't know, but it should never have happened like that and the MF'er had taken blood right where she needed to put the IV, which meant now she needed a new vein for the IV.  She, too, was mad and apologized for his lack of bedside manner and judgement.

As things turned out, the surgery before me was put back on the agenda, so I had time to wait, after all.  I chilled with Shark Bait and started watching YouTube videos on Robotic Hysterectomy's with Vaginal Removal. Shark Bait was, like, "what are you doing? Why would you watch that?"  I was like, "meh, why not?"  I continued to watch until they were prying and prying and prying and prying to get the uterus out of this girls vagina.  That's about when I had to stop watching. Let it just be a mystery.


Finally, it was time and they took me to the operating room where about six people all started working on me at once like a Nascar pit crew.  It was intense.  That is all I remember until a nice nurse named Linda was trying to wake me up.  "Cassondra....how are you doing....there she is...she is starting to wake....how is your pain....?"  I mumbled something about there being a lot of pain.  This went on for I don't know how long, but I remember her saying multiple times, "okay, we'll give you a little more..."  Finally, I could open my eyes and started to banter with Linda.  I don't know what I was saying, but I was probably being silly because as the other nurse came to get me to take me to my room, Linda said, "We have a real stoner here...she is totally stoned..."  I'm pretty sure the hilarity continued all the way to my room, but I don't really remember that part.

During the course of my recovery and overnight stay, I met nurse Windy.  She looked like and acted like my pal SassyPants.  She kept it real and was super awesome.  She handed me over to a nurse named Carri (I think) for the night.  I felt like I was in the best care.  They kept coming in ever so often to give me more pills, bring me beverages, helped me walk, etc.  They made me not want to leave.  You never want to leave the people with drugs.  Even after Carri woke me at 3:30 am to pull the catheter out of my junk, I still wasn't mad, because...drugs.  It also came up in casual conversation that apparently I had a bigger uterus than the doctor expected, so there was some tearing as they brought it out and so I had some extra stitches down there... I basically just birthed my uterus, thanks a lot for being bigger than usual.  The only thing that should be "bigger than usual" is a pumpkin in the Jumbo Pumpkin growing contest at the State Fair, you know what I mean?

After all my care at the hospital, Shark Bait brought me home the next day.  He was doing a pretty good job of taking care of me, but let's be honest, he was no Nurse Windy.  I was thankful for him nonetheless. 

After two days home I knew something wasn't quite right.  My throat and tongue were still sore, swollen and angry and I was nauseous all the time. It hurt to eat or drink anything. I had a lot of down south pain, too, but I figured that was just part of the deal. To top it all off, I also hadn't pooped yet. Apparently this is a big deal, which all the nurses warned me about, because my meds cause  constipation.  Concerned about all of these things, I called my surgeon's office.  One of his assistants called me back and we discussed everything going on.  She wasn't really worried about anything except the pooping.  I said, "I'm taking two tablets of stool softener, Miralax, I'm drinking prune juice and eating cherries, it's going to happen..."  She then goes on to tell me that this is mission critical and if it doesn't come out, I'm going to have to use my fingers and pick it out.  I was like, WHOA. I didn't say there was a landslide against the trap door that has caused an impaction, I feel like it's probably like a lazy lava making it's way.  I'm not that worried.  I got off the phone with her and I told Shark Bait what she said.  He said, "Well, we could get you Taco Bell for dinner.  I guarantee you that will work."  I've only eaten at Taco Bell a couple times in my life, so I asked advice on food choice.  It was a unanimous decision, The Burrito Supreme was my answer.  God Speed.

As luck would have it,  I did not have to pick concrete poop out of my butthole.  Thank you, six-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus.  My Fourth of July was an explosive one on many levels, so I was spared further experimentation on my bowels.

The next day, the warm 5th day of this July in 2018, I did end up going to the walk-in clinic about my sore throat.  The doctor also felt it was just normal reactionary type stuff going on with the tube and anesthesia used.  Well, that's great.  I guess I'd just ride it out.

I had now survived all the way til Saturday, July 8th. I told Shark Bait to go fishing with his pal Buck Dooley since he had been locked in the house with me all week. Reluctantly, he went.  I'd be fine.  I didn't feel good, so I was no fun anyway.  I couldn't get over the nausea, I wasn't sleeping well because I had to get up and pee like every 30 minutes, down south was not happy and now all four incisions on my belly were ON FIRE and so itchy I couldn't stand it. I thought to myself, I need to calm down, what could I take to calm down?  (Insert light bulb here) Wait, don't we have special brownies up in the pantry for just this type of occasion?  I'll just take a little bite, just a little to take the edge off...it'll be fine.  Google says it is okay.

I continued to lay there watching TV, feeling calmer. I just kept taking pills and laid there, miserable, watching a long marathon of Say Yes to the Dress.  By the time Shark Bait got home, I was a mess.  I. LOST. MY. SHIT.  Shark Bait rushed over to me on the couch and asked what was wrong.  I started sobbing.  I mean U-G-L-Y, hysterical crying.  Shark Bait didn't know what to do.  He said, "Baby, what's wrong, talk to me!"  I attempted to talk, all the while ugly crying and said through sobs, gasps and all the drama I possessed, "Those Moms are just so mean....those girls just want to be beautiful...and those people are mean...they deserve to be beautiful!!!!!! And, I didn't get to have my Mom with me when I wedding dress shopped because Dad wouldn't let her...and it's just so sad....."  Shark Bait is a champ. He helps me stand up and just holds me as I sob and wipe my face and nose all over his shirt.  He just rubs my back and tells me it's gonna be okay and ushers me to the bathroom.  It's noteworthy to say that when I came back to the living room, the channel had been changed.  I guess no more drama for me on that night.

Shark Bait fed me dinner and then I tried to go to bed.  I couldn't sleep.  My body ached everywhere, no position was comfortable. I had the biggest headache I've ever had. I tossed and turned.  I thought I was dying.  I was soaking wet with sweat, but freezing cold, yet I didn't have a fever. I couldn't let the blankets touch me, but needed them because I was freezing.  This went on all night.

I lived until Sunday, the 8th day of July, in 2018, by the grace of God.  I was feeling only slightly better.  Shark Bait and I decided to go to the walk-in clinic again as my incisions were so red and on fire, I was sure I was dying of some sort of infection.  Get a hysterectomy they said, it'll be fun they said.  It'll be worth it, they said.  Evil-Mother-Trucking-Vagina-Hating-Princesses-of-Pain. Never listening to them again!

After over an hour at the walk-in clinic we discover that I am allergic to my sutures and we have two choices, go in and dig them out, or just ride out the bad times until they fully dissolve and are absorbed into my system.  Well, naturally the first option is out, so she gets me all tricked out with drugs to help me through these trying times.  I ask her if I can get meds for the nausea and she complies and writes a prescription for that.  Then, by luck, she says, "what were you saying about peeing all the time?  That's not a side-effect, let's check you for a bladder infection."  Bingo. Bladder infection would explain why I was feeling so horrible.  Pills for that. She wrote me like 7-8 prescriptions for me and I was scared Rite-Aid was going to put a fraud alert on my account.  Like someone stole my doctor and forced her to write all these prescriptions.

Within hours of taking my new cocktail of narcotics, I started to feel better.  I feel like there are a lot of people out there fighting far bigger battles than I, and this is temporary, but I am not a good sick person. I'm a real pain in the ass and THANK YOU, Shark Bait!  You are THE BEST.  Someone else might have left me out on the corner on trash day.

All my prescriptions...

So, we are a couple days beyond that now and I am still living, still fighting the normal pains of recovering from a hysterectomy, still fighting the incisions and nausea, but I feel like it is manageable now.  I have managed all of this with just a handful of videos posted to Facebook and a lot of TMI about pooping.  I stayed off of social media on the darkest of days, so I guess I'll call it a social win at this point.  I hope from here forward I can just heal.  It's very hard to keep myself from doing naughty things like lifting and bending down to get stuff.  I don't want to turn into a total powder puff princess. 

Thanks to all that have sent messages of encouragement, I appreciate you all.  Everyone else, thanks for listening to my post surgery drama. 

I'm going to leave you with a few thoughts based on my experience...

• Taco Bell should NOT be used in conjunction with actual laxatives.
• If a shady-looking guy with a blood cart tries to take your blood, WATCH HIM.
• Do not infiltrate special brownie recipes into your medication list
• If your girl parts were just tampered with, DO NOT watch a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress
• Don't let your care provider go fishing

P.S. Today I watched a marathon of My 600-lb Life.  That's not really helping my morale either.

Memoirs of My Uterus...

Well, the time has come.  It is the eve of my hysterectomy.  I am feeling a bit anxious, but I know it will be for the best when I am all healed and well again.  I do not believe I will mourn the loss of this empty sack of menstral pain, but if I am to say good-bye forever to this body part that has been with me 46 years, I think it is only appropriate I pay it one last discussion.  One last bitch session.  One last remembrance of the horrible times we had together.

As I recall, I was in the fourth grade, a mere 10 years old, when my uterus introduced itself to my life.  It wasn't friendly.  It didn't just knock on the door and welcome me to womanhood with cookies and biscuits, it grabbed me like a tiger at the circus sucking a little girl into a cage and then mauling it for hours on end.  I was so young, no one had told me about this thing that happens.  There I was, playing four-square on the playground when a girl that I detested asked me why I had red all over the crotch of my pants.  I didn't know why it was there either.  I said, "I have a red sweatshirt that wrapped around my jeans and stained it in the wash."  I was a freaking genius.  The girl with ugly hair and braces just said, "oh." and seemed to move on.  When I got home that afternoon from school, my Dad was home.  I told him my stomach hurt really bad and that I thought I was bleeding to death and I didn't know why.  He told me to go lay down on my bed until Mom got home.  I remember laying there in the dark believing I was dying and the cramps were so bad. Finally, Mom came home, took me into the bathroom and explained what was happening.  What in the bloody hell?  This was going to happen EVERY MONTH? 

And so, throughout my grade school, middle school and high school life I never seemed to know when my uterus would seek its revenge on my body.  The number of times I had wardrobe issues is beyond comprehension.  I was surrounded by girls that wore training bras and wore Garfield underwear in 6th grade gym class and there I am going into the "period shower stall" with my over-active uterus.

Fast forward, and I know you wish I would, to my adulthood.  It's been hell.  Sheer HELL.  I don't want to get graphic, but there is stuff that no woman wants to see in her panties, and I've seen it.  Is that a clot or a bunny that I just passed?  The world will never know.  At any rate, after the fibroids and all the pain and suffering, tomorrow it is OVER you mother-trucking barren over-reacting gut-wrenching sack of cramps and shedding lining. Fuck you.  There, I said it.  As Church Lady said today, after tomorrow, there is no more U-to-us uterus, it's over bitch. 

Ode to my Uterus
by Cassondra White

You are a uterine sack of pain and shredding lining
You took my innocence and left me bitchy and whining.

You have ruined my panties, my pants and a dress or two.
You've taken me by surprise and left me shoving toilet paper up my vagina in the loo.

You've made me spend what must be thousands of dollars on feminine hygiene supplies
You've made me lose my shit, throw a temper tantrum and crave french fries.

You've caused me PMS to the point of taking everyone down with me
It's called Shark Week for a reason, I'll eat anything I can see.

I had to use a app on my cell phone that tracks my cycle all year.
I need it to show those around me and to instill fear.

I'm tired of being this tired, bloated, bloody, cramping and a clotting disaster
It's time for me to take control and become the master.

So get out of my body, take the fallopian tubes and cervix with you, please.
Don't let the door hit you in the ass, as you leave.

Fuck you, you uterine terrorist
Sincerely, the body where you will not be missed.


So, with all that said, I am a little bit nervous about the uterus exit strategy.  They are allegedly doing the surgery "robotic."  This means that my doctor sits at a computer and tells the robot hands what to do in there.  Maybe I'm just paranoid because of where I work and all the computer problems we have, but what if good 'ol Hal the Robot goes ape-shit in there and starts cutting shit up like he's the Swedish Chef on The Muppets?  What if all the sudden it starts chopping up the other organs?  Liver pate anyone?  You didn't need that pancreas, right?  Spleen? GONE.  Holy shit! 

OR, what if I am under the anesthesia and I wake up in the middle of the surgery and I'm awake and can feel stuff, but I can't open my eyes or communicate with the doctors that I can feel everything?  Then what?  The Rug Doctor says that is not likely to happen and she is sure, even if it did, there would be other parts of my body reacting in a way that would let them know.  I shared this concern with Blonde Wonder Twin and she said she woke up in the middle of one of her surgeries.  SEE!!! It can happen.  Of course her eyes opened and they noticed and put her down further, but still.  It is possible.

And, let's talk about what is going to happen in the after math.  There's going to be packing up there, there is going to be nothing holding the vagina in.  All that stuff just gone and the vagina is like a hammock in the back yard slumping between two trees.  I just know I'm going to have to poke it back up in there all the time.  I won't ever get camel-toe in the front of my jeans, it will just look like I'm harboring Jabba the Hut in my crotch.  Look, I have concerns.

Anyway, I have Shark Bait to take care of me and he does a good job of that.  Although, he is prone to video me when I am loopy, so really can't promise I will come out of this with any sort of integrity at all.

My work peeps were so sweet to me today with their well-wishes and gifts to keep me busy after the fact and the good-bye uterus cupcakes.  I heart my peeps.  I was even hugged quite a bit today. It's almost like they don't even believe I'll be back.  But, to their point, it's way better to hug a live person than a dead person.  And honestly, if I'm dead, get off me.  That's gross.


Gifts from my peeps...

The Day My Vagina Falls Out

It's been too long since my last therapy session with The Rug Doctor.  Work and life stuff just got in the way, so it's been a month, I think, since I've had an appointment.  Based on the title of this blog, I think we all know I waited too long to see her.

Today I was feeling all sorts of anxiety, angst and sadness.  One of the things that has me a little anxious is my upcoming hysterectomy at the end of June.  I received a call from the doctor today advising me that my fibroid has not reduced in size at all and is clearly not responding to the Lupron shots I've been getting for months now.  So, we are moving forward with the procedure.  I've talked to many of my gal-pals and I have gotten pretty positive reviews.  Everyone agrees that I won't regret having the baby shack taken out.  Well, no shit.  No more periods, duh.  Who's gonna miss that?  I'm sure no one ever said, "Oh no, I don't need to buy feminine products or worry about leaving a blood kiss on the chair or in my favorite rainbow underpants."  Seriously.  With that said, removing the angry uterus does bring up some feelings.

I told the Rug Doctor about my ultrasound appointment the other day when I could hear the woman in the next room being told she was 13 weeks along.  I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't get a little teary-eyed.  That woman got to hear the allegedly exciting news about the baby growing inside her and here I am putting a definite end to any sort of chance that I would ever carry a child.  I mean, we pretty much took care of that when I took Shark Bait in to get fixed, but still, this is very final.  There is a part of me that is sad about never having had a child of my own.  I feel like I have mourned that over the last eight years or so, but part of being a woman is that junk inside that gives you the ability to spawn offspring.  Will I feel any less of a woman when it's over? I honestly don't know.

We also talked about the procedure itself.  I've done some Googling, I've asked some people and I am preparing questions for the pre-op appointment with the Gyno Doc, but I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit nervous.  I do know we are leaving my ovaries intact, but I think everything else is coming out.  Like my cervix.  I think it's coming out, but I'm not sure.  And if I do take it out, I hear you gotta be super careful, because if you don't heal right, I hear your vagina can prolapse and fall out!!!  What the fuck?  I have all sorts of  questions about this possibility!

• Once everything is out, is my whole vaginal area like a dark tunnel?  A black hole?  Like, an empty parking garage?  
• Is it like standing on the top of the Swiss Alps yelling, "helloooooo..." as it echos back?
• When I pee, is it just going to be like a fire hose on full blast with nothing to slow the flow?
• If it is a windy day, will my lower lady lips make a flapping sound in the wind if I wear a dress?
• Will my ovaries just fall out like marbles on the floor and I'm running around chasing them like that guy in Return to Neverland finding his marbles?  I mean, I know I won't get to fly, but still...
• Will my vagina just fall out one day?  Like, "splatt!" right onto the ground.  I pick it up, dust it off and put it back in?  Put it in my pocket?  
• Will I need a vagina fanny pack that I attach in the front of me and it just rides around in there in case I need it?
• Will my vagina truly become nature's purse and I can carry stuff around in there?
• What about sex, will I just hand it to Shark Bait and say, "let me know when I'm getting close."
• Will I need to wear shorts like guys do at the gym to keep their balls harnessed?
• If I sit down on a bench that is wet with paint, but I didn't know it was wet, so I sat down, will I leave a normal butt print in the wet paint, or will it be a butt print with a little extra splotch in the front for my girl stuff that just hangs loose?
• Will I be able to lay in a hammock without my vagina falling through the mesh netting and trapping me there?  
• Will it fall in the toilet when I pee? 
• Will I be able to slide into a booth at a restaurant?

And those are just some of the vagina questions! What about my hormones?  Will I get facial hair?  Like, big, thick black hairs radiating from my chin?  Will my voice lower?  What about that empty space down there internally?  What goes in there?  Fluid? Cellulite just moves in?  What happens to the ovaries?  They are just hanging out like a couple of bats?

So many questions.  I mean, I know for most people it is a great life change and they are so happy they did it.  But what if I am part of the small percentage of people that has post partum uterus detachment syndrome?  I don't know if it is a thing, but it sounds legit.  Like, one day, I'm like, "Back when I had my uterus, this wouldn't have happened..."  I can't think what that event would be, actually, but it could be a thing.  Maybe I'll think, "I can't blame my bitchiness on shark week now."  Now I will need to like, take accountability for my actions or have a legit reason.  This is bullshit.  I've partnered with this uterus all these years to scare the shit out of people every 28 days and now, I just have to be randomly scary to keep them on their toes.  I mean, I actually think I may already do that, but this sounds like extra effort that my hormones provided naturally.

For the record, The Rug Doctor doesn't think I have anything to worry about, but she does want me to talk to the Gyno Doc to feel better about my choices.  She strongly recommended against utilizing my Google MD research techniques and just relaxing until I have more information from the doctor.  She also said it is normal that I would be feeling sad about losing this very important part of my anatomy.  Even if I made the choice to not have children, it is still a big deal and my feelings are valid.

I'm sorry if this was a little over the top, but vagina placement is a big deal.  I'll keep you updated if it does fall out after surgery, because I am going to make a ton of money on my vagina fanny pack invention.

This is what it will look like as my vagina sucks me in.