June 20, 2026

There was a time when I was tending to every orifice on my body. I’m not kidding. Every single one.

If we’re friends, coworkers, or this topic makes you uncomfortable, this might be a good time to stop reading. But if you’re still here, welcome. I found that speaking to others about these very embarrassing situations as they were happening was what helped the most with getting through them. The insight and advice I received made it clear that I was not alone and that, with time, I too would heal.

The truth is that at some point in our lives, most of us will face some kind of orifice-related challenge. So, let’s be brave together. Let’s step into the discomfort, be totally immature here and there, and come out a little more prepared and a little less scared for the day you might need to… well… apply ointment somewhere you never expected.

At the time, I was deep in the trenches. The year is 2024. I was a sleep-deprived new mami, flooded with appointments; weekly chemo infusions for four months, an unexpected bone marrow biopsy, a double mastectomy, immunotherapy, and twenty rounds of radiation. And if that wasn’t enough, I also found myself needing to care for six different body parts that were either dry, cracked, bleeding, swooshing, or mysteriously malfunctioning.

I remember thinking, Is this my life now? Is this what mid-30’s looks like? Why didn’t anyone warn me!

It wasn’t that any one issue was horrifyingly bad; most were common and fixable. It was just the absurdity of it all happening at once and needing to medicate, lubricate, or monitor all these different areas daily, on top of everything else. It was incredibly annoying, overwhelming, and sometimes terrifying.

In hindsight, this was mostly the aftermath of cancer treatment, childbirth, and everything my body was enduring. What helped more than anything was opening up to the women around me. I was shocked to find out that many of them, too, had experienced bleeding out of their ass and embarrassing moments in yoga class. At times, their tips were more helpful than those of some doctors. Most importantly, they helped me not panic. They made it through. And so could I.

Somewhere along the way, I lost a good chunk of shame, which is why I can write about it today. When you’ve discussed anal fissures, vaginal dryness, and ear wax blockages with total strangers on the internet (or your mother-in-law), you come out the other side as a more chill and accepting person. If I take myself back to that time, I can vividly remember the pain and frustration. If speaking about it openly here helps others to face their own challenges, I’m proud to be shameless.

So here we go, top to bottom. Every opening had its moment to shine:

Eyes

Since 2014, I’ve dealt with recurring corneal abrasions and severe dryness. This is not new. The only thing that helps get relief is applying a glob of hypertonic ointment (Muro 128, sodium chloride) every night before bed. It WORKS, however, once applied, I can’t see much but a white cloud. The new challenge was getting up for baby care in the middle of the night with poor vision. To see again, I would aggressively blink my way to semi-clear sight, tend to the baby, reapply ointment, go to bed, and repeat. Muro 128 isn’t cheap, and it can be surprisingly hard to find in stores, so I wasn’t thrilled about burning through one tube after another. I started using smaller amounts to stretch it out.

Nose

Dry and bloody from chemo. The care: steroid nasal spray twice per day, and Vaseline for dryness, applied with a Q-tip throughout the day as needed.  

Mouth

A split bottom lip that busted open and bled if you even looked at it. Deep cut, right down the center that refused to heal for months. My immune system was simply too suppressed. So many kind, intentioned people pointed it out: “Hey, your lip is bleeding.”  I tried every balm on earth, including nipple creams. Time was the only cure.

Okay, those are the easy ones. Let’s move on to the good stuff.  

Ears

This one really tested my sanity. Soon after I gave birth, every time I’d lie down to go to bed, I’d hear a rhythmic sound, something like, kun-ku-tu-kun-ku-tu-kun-kun-kun. It sounded like a nightclub next door. I’d sit up, and it seemed to go away, then return when I lay down. I’d toss and turn and finally get up within minutes to ask Bryan to turn it down (he was up on the first shift with the baby). And of course, there was nothing to turn down.

I went to an ENT, and because I now have a cancer history, they ordered an MRI to rule out a brain tumor. What I was experiencing could indicate a growth; sometimes the sound of blood moving around a mass can create a swooshing or pulsing noise in your head. The chances were slim, but we had to check.

The MRI tech jammed earplugs so deeply that wax buildup was impacted on one side, and now, on top of the techno beats that kept me up at night, I had muffled hearing for months. The solution: a few drops of mineral oil on a cotton ball and in my ear at bedtime. This would slowly work the impacted wax out. It was a solid 3 months before my hearing was back to normal.

The MRI came back clear. ¡Gloria a Dios! It turns out that what I was hearing was my own blood pulsing through my veins (or arteries?) as it readjusted from pregnancy to postpartum volume. The beats in my head slowly dissipated over time.  

Vagina

Vaginal dryness is a common side effect of the estrogen-blocking treatment that I am on. Side note: The cancer I had was hormone-positive, and this was a way of starving it and deterring it from returning.

And it’s not just any dryness. It is dryness that causes tears, irritation, atrophy, and pain with basic movements like bending, sitting, or walking. It also affects intimacy and makes for painful intercourse and can cause other things like leakage and random queefing (it’s okay, you can laugh).

The care, a two-part plan.

1. Vmagic Vulva Balm by Medicine Mama. This is a soothing, hydrating balm to apply as needed throughout the day. I keep one at work and at home.
2. Hyaluronic acid vaginal suppositories before bed. This works wonders! The tricky part is getting up in the night to care for our baby before the suppository fully dissolves and doing my best Kegel to hold it in. Luckily, this was not every night, just 2-3 times per week.

And watch out if I get a coughing fit, the suppository jets out, and I have to shove it back in. If you’ve spent time with me, you’ve most likely witnessed one of my violent coughing fits. I’ve unfortunately been dealing with it for years and take a combination of medicines, inhalers, and injections to manage. Sometimes they work, but most of the time the allergens and asthma are stronger.  

For intimacy, I’ve found that coconut oil works best for comfort during sex. It’s gentle, accessible, and doesn’t irritate already sensitive tissue. But shortly after sex, I get this “punched‑in‑the‑vagina” painful throbbing feeling. The only thing that helps is breathing through it and letting it pass. When I stay consistent in my two-part plan above, the pain is not as intense. So, I do my best to stay on top of it. Pun intended.

Butthole

The grand finale: the unrelenting anal fissure. This took months to diagnose, including one horrific ER visit. Every bowel movement felt like passing glass; excruciating and frighteningly bloody. I’d bite down on a towel and scream my way through it. The pain stayed and radiated for hours afterward a bowel movement (BM). I had just given birth, and I did not shed a single tear during labor (not saying it was easy by any means), but I cried nearly every time I had a BM.

After a BM, coming to a stand, walking around, and sitting were all so painful. The ER doctor suggested I take Miralax. I’m not constipated, I said. I’ve had chronic constipation for most of my life. This was not constipation. In fact, my BMs were perfectly hydrated and regular, thank you very much. If you remove the fissure from the equation, they were the best BMs of my life!

At the time, I was receiving chemo, and my white cell count was too low for internal exams because of the risk of infection. So my options were limited.

When I went to the ER, I was also spotting from my period, and that meant I had to prove to the doctors that I was bleeding from my rectum and not my vagina. I had the urgency to go poop, but I was terrified of the pain. I pleaded with the nurses for relief. They could not help until they confirmed the bleeding source.

One nurse handed me a pan. I asked God for strength. It would be over soon. I held on to the metal ADA grab bars in the bathroom, took one deep breath, and roared.

When she saw my bloody stool, she said, “Honey, I’m so sorry.” I was believed now.

I was alone in the ER. Bryan was home with the baby. He could no longer be at my side for every appointment. I’m so grateful he was there all the other times. Self-advocacy is draining when you’re in pain.   

The treatment plan:

1. Nitroglycerin ointment. My jaw dropped at the $700 price tag (thankfully covered) of this three-ounce tube. I had to apply it between the two sphincters twice a day and wasn’t allowed to drive afterward because it relaxes blood vessels and can impair driving.
2. Three, 20-min sitz baths every day for a month. Have you ever set up a sitz bath? Heating water to the perfect temperature, positioning the contraption over the toilet, getting the water flow just right, and sitting there for 20 minutes, two to three times a day. It was tedious, but it probably made the most difference. And honestly, it was nice to have the time to myself! It was the only way I was able to read Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson. Highly recommend.  

The nitroglycerin ruined so many clothes and underwear. I remember the first time I realized it was seeping onto my clothes. We were visiting my husband’s elderly grandparents when my mother-in-law, with complete kindness, asked, “What’s that stain on your dress?” I was mortified as it dawned on me. But if there was ever a house full of people who’d understand, this was it.

Looking back, I think the fissure was caused by one slightly constipated postpartum BM. So, if you, or anyone you love, is told to take Colace or a stool softener after giving birth, or going through cancer treatment, do not skip a single dose.  

I had a postpartum doula, Katie. After our baby was born, Bryan had to return to work sooner than we expected (because medical leaves are for either having a baby or caring for a loved one, but not both), and because I was still in cancer treatment, we needed some extra help.

Pause here for a big shout-out to the Dula Access Initiative in Ithaca!! They awarded me a BIPOC scholarship for doula support. It brought much-needed ease and comfort to those first few months. From the bottom of my heart, my family and I thank you.

Back to our wonderful doula, Katie. I opened up to her about my painful, bloody BMs, and she shared her wisdom with me that helped reduce the pain a little with each passing day until it was gone. I will pass along her solid advice (paraphrased) to you here:

When you go to sit for a BM, elevate your feet (a squatty potty works well) to have knees above hips.

Flatten the spine and lean forward slightly. You can rest elbows on knees.

Take three deep breaths.

Loosen the jaw.

Continue to breathe deeply, and on your exhale, gently push, keeping your jaw relaxed and vocalizing if that feels right.

Note: You do not need to have a history of anal fissures to follow these steps. They are for everyone. The positioning allows the poop to have the most direct path out. And the jaw and vocalization help relax the sphincters.  

I don’t want to calculate how much time I spent on daily maintenance just to function with a little more comfort. And none of this includes the basic self-care; showering and brushing my teeth (silver lining: I didn’t have hair to also care for!). For that, I just did the bare minimum. My daily checklist felt so long that it pained me to spend another minute on myself.

I’m grateful most of this is now in the rearview mirror. At the time, I felt it felt like a cruel punishment. But my body was adjusting, rebuilding, and just getting through it all.

One of the most unexpected gifts from this whole embarrassing chapter is that I lost my shame. No tengo vergüenza. I can talk openly about the messy, unglamorous, profoundly human parts of healing because by doing so, I can help others feel less alone, less afraid, and more empowered.

I am elated to report that these days, I’m only tending to two of those six areas, on occasion, three. How amazing is that!

Celebrating this win.

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