Ladies, You Have Got To Check Your Expiration Dates On Your Medication For Down There

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First,  if you have younger children in the room please do not read this aloud.  It may prompt questions you are not ready to handle.

Second, if you happen to see me on the street or at a store (when ever we are allowed out and about again) do not point and laugh.

For everything you hold sacred and dear,   please please please clean out your medicine cabinet.   Those expiration dates are placed on those products for a reason. Maybe they lose their potency. Or they become too strong or harmful as we will see in this example.

I was recently over at my mom’s house after being placed on a new medication.   While watching tv and chatting a sudden sensation came over me.   A tingling (and not the good kind) from down under. 

 I remembered how the Dr warned me that this new med often causes yeast infections.   This is something I am not very familiar with, so I thought well this is unpleasant I may need to stop at a pharmacy for some ointment.

Within 2 minutes that tingle had magically changed to an itch as if 1000 mosquitoes decided to snack on my lady bits.

I politely excused myself to the bathroom to see if mom had some anything I could use to fix this.  As I opened the cabinet a ray of light came down as if to highlight the tube of female itch ointment as my savior.   Found a q-tip and applied a generous amount.

Back to TV and chatting I go.  Now I know medicines aren’t instant so I didn’t think I would notice a change right away. 

Wrong. Twenty seconds later I am sitting on the edge of the seat and sweating like a sinner in church grasping a rosary. I am not even catholic.

Hot damn something is burning my baby chute.

I excuse myself to the bathroom again but as I walk I am pretty sure friction is occurring and it now feels like a chemical peel in my panties.

The tube of ointment had expired over 2 years ago.

I can’t hide what I did.  I need an intervention.  So I confess to my mom what happened and let her know I have to leave so I can go to the pharmacy and pick up something..anything.

I walk ever so carefully into the store.   I enter the aisle.   I buy one of everything.  There was one box that said “cooling relief.”   I bought 2.   

I didn’t care about the price….our grocery budget can suffer but my pieces and parts are slowly melting.

I pile it all onto the counter.   I can’t bring myself to look at the cashier in the eyes.  I am sure that sale was a topic of conversation.

I rush home and tear into that cooling relief box like a kid at Christmas opening the one present they know is the “big one.”  It is a spray applicator.  No mess no fuss. Wrong again.

I spray it like there is no tomorrow. It runs down my legs. Finally a cool sensation.   I smile.   For maybe half a second.    The burn is getting worse?!?!?!   What the fresh hell is happening?

I read the little insert that you are supposed to read first.   The first warning is to not use if you have already applied another ointment.

I have now doubled the damage.

I don’t want to look.   I am so afraid my nether regions now look like Freddy Kreuger.

I wet multiple wash rags with cold water and hold it between my legs.

I sit in a cold bath.

The itch is back and I am pretty sure I am never going to be the same.

I don’t want to use a washrag…I want to get friendly with a cactus.

The burn fades after what seems like an eternity.  I am now allowed to spray the spray again.   It helps.   I promise to God and baby Jesus that i will always adhere to expiration dates and read the warnings from now on.

I had to call the Dr for medicine and explain what happened.  After a long time on hold where I am sure she is retelling the whole story to the staff, I was prescribed a heavy duty yeast infection medicine.

The doctor informed me that when I visit the pharmacy I should also pick up panty liners. The medicine is inserted vaginally and can have a slight discharge.

Wrong again. Slight discharge? Panty liner? More like I was calling in favors from labor and delivery nurses for those pads you get after you give birth. If they couldn’t me I was going out for Depends.

After 72 hours of down under depression I finally started to feel human again.

So please don’t mess with expiration dates.    Your vagina will thank you.

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