Women’s Health UK – September 2019

Women’s Health SEPTEMBER 2019 | 89

The Big Book Awards

are back and, once

again, WH was given

the difficult task of

choosing the book

that made the

biggest impact in

health and wellness

in 2019. It wasn’t an

easy ask, so after

narrowing it down to

a shortlist, we threw

it out to you – and

a worthy favourite

emerged. In Vagina:

A Re-Education, Lynn

Enright shines a

spotlight on this

under-researched

body part that often

flies under the radar,

and, along the way,

gets to the heart of

some of the most

urgent issues in

female health right

now. Read it (then

pen an ode to yours).

AND THE

WINNER IS...

Gene Eating by

Dr Giles Yeo

Dr Yeo combines hard

science with brilliant

storytelling in a way

that delivers a new

perspective on diet

culture and makes you

reconsider your own

beliefs around food.

Craftfulness by

Rosemary Davidson

and Arzu Tahsin

By combining science

with philosophy,

the authors make

a strong case for the

transformative power

of making things.

extent of the clitoris was only made known

in the late 90s, and scientists are still

arguing over the existence of the G-spot.

 Science isn’t too sure about orgasms,

either. You help us get there, of course,

and we know that we like them. But

what’s happening in the brain and the

body, in the nerves, when any of us orgasm

• it’s not clear. People wonder, is it all
  down to you, the vagina, or the clitoris?
  Psychoanalysts categorise them, arguing
  that clitoral orgasms are less mature, less
  realised. But, really, if an orgasm is good,
  who cares where it came from? I’m going
  to be grateful for it, not upset that it isn’t
  mature enough. Especially now we know
  that a majority of women need direct
  clitoral stimulation to orgasm.

Aside from the pleasure you can give

me, there is pain. And how sad is it that

so much vaginal pain is still – due to a lack

of much-needed research – misunderstood,

misdiagnosed and underestimated?

There’s vulvodynia, which can cause some

women to wince each time they sit down,

and vaginismus, where the muscles

surrounding the vagina contract so that

some women can’t have sex or insert

tampons. And too often, we face baffled or

ignorant or disparaging doctors when we

report symptoms to do with you. Remember

when I had a hysteroscopy? That day

when doctors examined my uterus and

my body convulsed in pain but I felt too

embarrassed, too wimpish, to ask for

pain relief until, finally, through tears,

I begged for a local anaesthetic.

I think we’re getting better at talking

about you – and the pleasure and the pain

that comes with you. I think we’re getting

less squeamish, but progress isn’t entirely

straightforward. We gain new rights

around you, but they’re easily snatched

away. We become more confident in

talking about how you make us feel, but

just as soon as we do, there’s something

else we’re told to worry about.

Labiaplasty – surgery to alter the size

and appearance of the labia – is the

fastest-growing type of plastic surgery in

the world. It makes me wince, just thinking

about it: the act of taking a knife to that

sensitive, delicate area. Of course, I know

some women have their reasons – their

labia might make sex or

sports painful – but most

girls and women who have

labiaplasty don’t need it.

They’ve been told – by a

partner or a peer or

a surgeon or an advert –

that their labia could look

better. There are doctors

who tell women that they

should have labiaplasty so

they look better in tight

leggings. There are doctors

who invent labiaplasty

procedures called ‘The

Barbie’ – and they’re proud

of that, they advertise it on

their websites. I can only

imagine what you think

about all of this. 

As a girl growing up,

I was taught to compare

everything, worry about

everything: my hair and my

skin and my stomach and

my nose. But my vulva?

I’d always thought you were

safe from the scrutiny.

Sometimes, not very often,

if I’m honest, I sneak a look

at you – and, maybe I’m

lucky to be so ambivalent

about your appearance, but

I don’t feel embarrassed

of you. I don’t feel that you

define me. I’ve written an

entire book about you – and

yet, you are not everything. 

It’s simple, really, what

I want for you and from

you. I want to know you

a little better. 

‘I think we’re getting better

at talking about you – the

pleasure and the pain’

How To Come

Alive Again by

Beth McColl

More than just

a mental health

memoir, this is

a user’s guide to

living with poor

mental health.

THE BEST OF

THE REST...

B

O

OK

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