Lying there in that hospital bed, I couldn’t help but think about those words. Not necessarily because they were entirely true, but because of how deeply they had shaped my fears and my understanding of relationships.
That night in the hospital was incredibly difficult. I felt physically sick and emotionally drained. I couldn’t keep any food down, and sleep felt impossible. Every few hours, nurses would wake me to check my blood pressure, take blood samples, and monitor my temperature. I also had a catheter, which was extremely uncomfortable and made me feel even more disconnected from my body.
The next day, I spoke to a gynaecologist and told her, very seriously, that I never wanted to have sex again. She laughed—not in a dismissive way, but gently—and reassured me that what I experienced was not how sex is supposed to feel. She explained that when it’s right—when you’re ready, relaxed, and fully comfortable—it should not be painful like that. I nodded, but I still felt unsure.
