[Rankin] Uh, maybe. But the more important question would be, "Does the baby care?" If the baby is still a wee fetus, it probably doesn't even notice when the uterus rocks around a bit. After all, the same thing happens when you're running (bounce, bounce, bounce). As the fetus gets older, tickling its head during a pelvic exam produces reassuring signs in the fetus's heart rate. The heart rate rises, resulting in an "acceleration"- a sign of oxygenation that signals fetal well- being. So you might say that the baby likes having its head tickled.
Some couples worry that they will cause psychological damage by having sex during pregnancy. Actually, the fetal mind has no clue what's going on down there. For all the fetus knows, it's being rocked gently to sleep. So rest assured. Having sex during pregnancy will not mess up your baby's psyche. If anything, it will bond you to your partner, helping you endure the rough months of physical recovery, sleep deprivation, and life change that may lie ahead.
[Q] Does having kids really stretch out your vagina?
[Rankin] Yes, if you deliver vaginally, it usually does. And if you have a ten- pound baby or four kids, it may be even more stretched out than normal. How elastic your tissue is depends on many factors: genetics, whether you smoke or have other health problems like diabetes, how frequently you do Kegel exercises, age, and hormone status, to name a few.
I can usually tell whether a woman has had children when I perform a speculum exam. Women who have had children may require a bigger speculum, while those who have not often feel tighter when I examine them. For some women, the stretching caused by childbirth is a blessing. If sex has been a tight fit with your partner, leading to painful intercourse, having a baby may make more room and allow sex to be more pleasurable. And if Pap smears used to hurt, they might not anymore. But some couples complain that the vagina stretches out so much that sex feels less stimulating. If this is the case, Kegel exercises can really help. If this fails to help and if you have other symptoms of pelvic prolapse, talk to your doctor. She might be able to help you by performing surgery or inserting a pessary, which is kind of like a diaphragm you stick in to help hold things up.
[Q] Now that I've given birth, sex hurts like hell. I'm six-months postpartum. Will it ever get better?
[Rankin] Two of my close friends couldn't have sex without excruciating pain for over a year after giving birth. Both were first- time mums, and both tore during childbirth. One had a more serious third-degree tear, through the muscle around the anus. The other had the mildest first- degree tear, injuring only the mucosa of the vagina. Although their tears differed, their pain afterward was similar. In both cases, two factors were at play: The wound in the vagina and the vaginal dryness related to breast- feeding. Both had delayed healing of their tears. Rarely, the process of healing gets arrested, delaying wound healing. By six weeks postpartum, most tears will be completely healed. If not, we docs have some tricks up our sleeves to help finish the process, but it may take some time.
Once the wound heals, the other factor plays in. Because estrogen levels fall so sharply when you give birth and start nursing, the lining of the vagina can become very thin, dry, and fragile, making sex hurt. Using sexual lubricants while you're nursing can help. If your dryness is severe, talk to your doctor about whether estrogen applied locally in the vagina could help.
And yes, it does get better. Wounds heal. Estrogen levels rise when you stop nursing, and, barring some rare complication, your yoni will hit its stride once again. If time has passed and sex still hurts, see your gynecologist. You may have developed a gynecologic condition that needs treatment.
The good news is that things tend to go more smoothly the more babies you have. You're less likely to tear if you've had a baby before, and because the vagina tends to stretch out with multiple births, the vaginal dryness caused by nursing may not bother you as much the second time around.
[Q] Is there anything I can do to prevent breast cancer?
[Rankin] To decrease your breast cancer risk, here are some tips.
1. Have your children at a young age.
2. Breast- feed for at least six months.
3. Minimize the use of hormones after menopause.
4. Maintain a healthy weight.
5. Exercise regularly.
6. Practice monthly breast exams.
7. Eat five or more servings of organic fruits and vegetables per day.
8. Limit your intake of animal fats, particularly red meat.
9. Avoid alcohol, or limit it to no more than one or two drinks per day. If you do drink alcohol, take a folic acid supplement, which moderates this risk.
10. Increase your intake of superfoods high in antioxidants, such as kale, beets, carrots, beans, collard greens, brussels sprouts, and broccoli.
11. Drink green juice.
12. Avoid dairy or use organic butter, cheese, and milk, as they are less likely to be contaminated with human growth hormone or estrogen, which is sometimes used to stimulate milk production in cows.
13. Use extra- virgin olive oil, raw flaxseed oil, and cod liver oil.
14. Expose yourself to the sun, which increases your levels of vitamin D.
15. Get mammograms (or investigate alternatives).
16. Know your family history. If you have a first- degree family member who was diagnosed with breast cancer before menopause, consider talking to a gene tic counselor.
17. Be aware of xenoestrogens, environmental chemicals that act like estrogen in the body and may increase your risk of breast cancer. While you can only do so much to avoid xenoestrogens in your own life (eat organic, avoid plastic, et cetera), heightened awareness and caring for our planet may help save us all.
[Q] Even though my husband thinks I'm super-sexy, I always feel bad about my body and my ability to pleasure him. What can I do about that?
[Rankin] Why are we are own worst critics? We blame men for all the pressure we feel to be thin, beautiful, and sexy, but we women are just as hard on ourselves. I know I'm just as guilty. I get dressed up in lacy lingerie, hearing Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" in my head. I start to wiggle a bit, feeling sassy and sexy. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I become a deflated balloon, with all the air squeaking out of me in one lame hiss. Or I'll be in the middle of going down on my honey when all of a sudden I get self- conscious and insecure. What if I'm not doing it right? What if he's comparing me to his ex-girlfriend? What if he's secretly fantasizing about Jessica Alba? What if he's just wishing I'd get it over with already so he could go to sleep? These intrusive thoughts are enough to knock the sails out of even the sexiest woman. Of course, if I talk about my insecurities with my husband, he looks at me like I have two heads. He thinks I'm gorgeous and sexy and have as many moves as I need to please him and his disco stick.
How can we expect to be sexy when we're busy obsessing about the cellulite on our thighs, our pathetically small (or monstrously ginormous) boobs, our sagging butts, or the stretch marks on our bellies? Even those of us with seemingly perfect bodies will find minor imperfections to obsess over. My friend Laura Fenamore, founder of OnePinky.com, used to be very overweight, with the crappy body image that tends to accompany obesity. Then, she lost over a hundred pounds. But after losing the weight, she still hated her body and realized that the issue was much more than skin- deep. A while later, she met a gorgeous woman with a perfect body, who, as it turns out, despised her body, too. The two women made a "pinkie promise" that they would start to love their bodies by loving just their pinkie finger.
After all, what's not to love about a pinkie finger?
Maybe we can all start, one pinkie finger at a time. After you've made peace with your pinkie, your thumb, and your left elbow, try moving on to more difficult body parts, like your thighs, belly, and butt. How can we expect mind- blowing sex if we can't learn to love our own bodies? What kinds of messages are we sending to others in our lives if we constantly criticize ourselves?
Sheila Kelley recommends this self- touch exercise as a way to learn to love your body:
[Rankin] Put your hands lovingly on top of your head and let your hands drift slowly down your body. Let your mind stop and appreciate each part of your beautiful body. When you hear the voice of judgment, be kind to yourself. If your body were your child, you wouldn't say to the child the awful things you say about your body. It would constitute child abuse. Those negative words live in the bones, in the muscles, in the very cells of your body.
Positively reinforce your body. Spoil your body as if it's a gifted child you adore.
As for your husband, don't worry so much about how you make him happy. Think about how he makes you happy and let your bodies begin to talk in their own beautiful language. If that's not working for you, try some sexy affirmations: "I am luscious." "I bring rapture to my partner." "I am as super- sexy as my husband thinks I am." Say them hundreds of times. Write them on your walls. Leave yourself sticky notes on the toilet.
Over time, you just might start to believe it.
[Q] Why in the world would anyone ever want to be a gynecologist?
[Rankin] I know what you're thinking. We spend all day looking at naked women, so we must be a bunch of perverts, right? Does a woman do it because she's a closeted lesbian? Does a man do it because he's a sex fiend? But it's not like that. I swear. Nobody chooses this field because we get to stare at naked ladies all day long.
My call to medicine came early. I was only seven when I first started nurturing injured baby squirrels back to health, feeding them dog's milk with an eye-dropper every two hours throughout long nights. Plus, my father was a doctor, so I grew up in hospitals. By the time I was twelve, I scrubbed in on my first surgery, a hysterectomy performed by one of my dad's friends, who graciously let me, little punk that I was, don a pair of surgical scrubs and stand back with the anesthesiologist with my washed and gloved hands. When the uterus came out, the surgeon handed me the rose- colored chunk of bloodied tissue and said, "The uterus." I held it in my gloved hands, with a mixed feeling of repulsion and pride, and when we did rounds on the patient later that night I blurted out, "I held your uterus!" She looked at me like I was the fungus on a moldy piece of pizza, but I bragged about it for weeks at school, as if it was something I did every day.
"Oh yeah. I had to do surgery on Friday. Just a uterus. Not heart surgery or anything." So I guess gynecology coursed through my veins early on.
By the time I was a twenty- two- year- old medical student, I decided I would be an ophthalmologist, mostly because every doctor I met tried to talk me out of becoming an OB/GYN. "Terrible hours. No life. Crazy malpractice." The rant rang in my ears. But once I jumped in during my first clinical rotation in labor and delivery, there was no turning back. I became a junkie, and labor and delivery was my drug.
While I loved the adrenaline- pumped hustle of labor and delivery, what attracted me most was that I cared deeply about women and the issues we face. My chosen field is not about vaginas. It's about people. Even after all these years, I sit in awe of the beauty within each woman. Am I vagina obsessed? Well, I'm writing this book right now, so maybe. But really, being a gynecologist is about loving, empowering, and embracing women.
Vaginas are secondary. They just happen to need a little TLC from time to time.
Lissa Rankin is a practising Gynaecologist and lives in the US. She runs the Owning Pink Centre in Mill Valley, California.
Source:http://in.lifestyle.yahoo.com
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