Mystery Diagnosis, Part 2

So, picking up where we left off.

I promise, this is it. Just a two-parter. Everyone have the usual poop/sex/ass jokes out of their systems?

Good. Moving on.

So, hydrocortisone suppositories didn't work (surprise) and the GI doc decided to perform a sigmoidoscopy (count is now 8), well-documented here. I managed to live through that embarrassment (it's a problem, I know) and what did he find? Nothing. No reason for this taking over of my life ass-itch. What did he suggest? Take Benadryl pills and rub on the Benadryl cream.

Riiiiiiiight.

Did I mention I had already tried that with no success?

So, I go back home, in tears, scratching like crazy, not sleeping, and losing my friggin' mind.

Then, in steps Dr. Miracle and his diagnosis of surgery on the nethers because the reason for my itching, he says, is a reduced perineum.

Ooooooooookay. I know many other women who have had to have this surgery due to multiple childbirths and such and it wasn't because their asses were itching. But, he is the doctor who gave us the miracles that are our children. Soooooo, he must know what he's talking about.

Meanwhile, the itching has gotten worse. The itching has moved forward. The itching is driving me to the brink of a straight-jacket and a padded cell.

I call Dr. Friggin' who prescribes me Ambien (to hopefully help me sleep through the itch - what a concept!) and tells me to "PLEASE go see a dermatologist" because he didn't see the need for surgery. Bless him.

Off I go to my dermatologist. The same dermatologist who has cut out warts and burned off pre-cancerous.... things. All I can think is that if she comes at my ass with a cannister of that liquid nitrogen stuff, I'm going to run screaming, pants around my ankles, through the streets of Marietta only to get arrested for indecent exposure when all I wanted was a cure for my ass-itch.

Anyhoo. She takes one look at my posterior and says, "Yep, that's lichen sclerosus, here's an ointment for it, you'll be a new woman in four days, apply the ointment for two weeks, and you don't need surgery."

I started crying and there, in her exam room, with pants around my ankles, I grabbed her, hugged her, and smeared tears and snot on her clean, white, doctor coat.

And? Seven years later? Six days of ointment application later? Five doctors later? Eight over-the-counter pills and ointments later? Five prescription pills, ointments, and suppositories later?

I don't itch.
I do sleep.

I. Am. Back.

And my ass? Well, after three kids, a sigmoidoscopy (9), and multiple examinations, it has no problem being exposed to the general, medically-trained public. Or to the Ty-man.

You guys? Sorry. You'll never see it. Unless I reach Britney Spears-like fame and "forget" to wear undies on a social outing. Then, you'll see everything I've got and more!