Preoccupation.

For someone who spends as much time as I currently do preoccupied with my nether regions, you'd think I'd be having a much better time in life. I'm not though, and neither are any of the doctors who can't diagnose me, won't diagnose me or believe that the symptoms I'm describing are all in my head.

I know the difference though. My fantasy relationship with gold-medal winner Michael Phelps is indeed, all in my head. The near constant pain in the crotchal region is not. And yes, crotchal is now officially a word.

For almost a year now I've been experiencing daily pain in places too impolite to mention in public. On a good day the pain consists of a dull ache, like I was kicked in the crotch by a donkey. On a bad day it feels like I'm wearing barbed-wire underpants two sizes too tight. Nobody can tell me why, or what I can do to make it go away.

It's starting to take a toll. For one, I have no outlet to complain. While I've done some research online and found that there is a condition in existence that translates into constant pain, and doctors have no idea what to do about it or how to help the women experiencing it, this is not a problem that lends itself to charity walks or ribbon pins.

Tell somebody you have breast cancer or MS or tennis elbow and you get some sympathy. Tell somebody your vagina feels like it's on fire and you get...well...I'm not even sure because I have yet to just tell the truth when somebody at work asks me how I'm doing.

I'm not counting on pledge forms for an annual, "Charity Walk for People With Inexplicably Painful Vaginas," so I'm having to look for help on my own. (Although if this walk were to happen - what colour would the T-shirts be?)

There are several theories as to why I'm experiencing these difficulties, but each theory ends with the doctor shrugging his or her shoulders as if to say, "I'm as stumped as you are. Glad it's you and not me honey."

The most popular theory involves my pubic symphysis bone having separated, causing nerve damage and injury to the surrounding soft tissue. This is a great theory, but nobody can tell me what to do about it. Now that my bone has separated...should it try counselling? How will my pubic bone divide the assets? Who gets the house? And for the love of God - what now??

I spent more than $200 on a chiropractor hoping that if my back was in place my pelvis would smarten up and get back together. I spent an additional $35 on a torturous belt I was to wear every hour of every day.

The belt was to be cinched tight around my lower hips, with rubber pieces on either side ensuring I didn't move. The chiropractor assured me the belt could not be seen underneath my clothes, as she had to wear one after the birth of her ninth child or whatever. She may have less than nine children but I had stopped paying attention when I realized I couldn't sit down properly in the belt.

My chiropractor is a size zero, despite having 17 children or whatever. I'm sure the belt did not show under her clothes because she has no actual flesh. I, on the other hand, am slightly more well-endowed in the pudge department. Having this damnable belt cinched around my hips didn't just give me muffin top, it gave me Big Mac top. The cinching gave me a whole extra bun in the middle.

I threw the belt on my floor after one day of squeezing myself like a sausage link and I haven't put it back on since.

My pubic symphysis bone separating is just one theory, but no doctor is willing to refer me to an orthopedic surgeon, neurologist, gynecologist or any other kind of 'ologist' who might be able to help. At this point if a zoologist stepped forward with a theory I'd gladly sit down and listen.

The constant pain has made me tired, and very, very irritable. And I mean more irritable than usual. The uncertainty surrounding what the problem is has made me fearful and anxious and the frustration after having confounded so many supposedly medical professionals has made me bitter...but as always, there's a silver lining.

I've been told I need to avoid sex. Sex makes the pain worse, and so certain positions should be avoided if I'm to try it at all. This isn't the silver lining. This is not turning out to be difficult, but it's not the bright spot in an otherwise dark little trip.

The bright spot came when the last doctor I saw suggested that from now on if I want to be with a guy he just has to be good at oral sex. In case I was unaware, she went on to explain that a lot of women prefer it anyway, so for me it's my best option.

This is still not the silver lining. Oral sex has never been what gets me out of bed in the morning, but if I have to look on the bright side it's what I'm going to get to inscribe on a MedicAlert bracelet should this continue.

Never mind penicillin allergy or diabetes - if I'm to be revived off the floor then the instructions as to what to do with me are going to be much more explicit.