A Japanese Itch

I woke up one morning on my tatami bed with the itchiest discomfort between my legs. I knew it had to be a yeast infection. The trouble was I had no idea how to find a Japanese version of Monistat or some other over-the-counter fix.

Even the canned goods at the grocery stores were like opening Christmas gifts—-a surprise each time, but I wasn’t prepared to be as adventurous with my womanhood.

I crawled out of bed after an hour or so debating with myself what to do and finally succumbed to the idea of trotting off down to the pharmacy.

The walk was quick and well maneuvered to relieve an itch or two along the way-—very discreet, yet effective.

The pharmacy door opened with an electronic ding and a soft female voice greeting me, “Irashimase.”

The clinical smell hit the same time as my relief of seeing the female pharmacist.

Thank god, it is a woman. This should be less embarrassing for the both of us.

“Ego o hanashimasu ka?” with the oh-so-perfect Japanese intonation I asked, hoping that she knew some English.

“Iie, gomenasai,” shaking her head no which was quickly followed by a polite bow. I watched her perfect bob fall upon her cheeks with a purposeful dip and as her head came back up her hair was perfectly back in place. I could see the apology in her eyes.

I smiled. Shit! How am I going to do this?

I left the counter to pursue my own search. Wandering the aisles; condoms, razors, cough syrup, creams and gels, but still no brand or label that I could recognize.

Damn, damn, damn! I wonder if mom could fed-ex stuff to me? I mean it can't be more difficult to send Monistat than the boxes of Kraft Dinner and tampons. Bloody ridiculous! Would take to much time! No, I can do this...just think, think!

Brainstorming, thinking, sorting the language files in my brain to figure out a way to explain that I have a yeast infection, that I need relief when all I wanted to do was frantically itch.

Itchy…I know this adjective—"kayui". But what was the word for vagina? Of course! I knew it. I could do this.

I left the health drinks and energy bar aisle and took a quick look around the pharmacy to make sure that no one could possibly eavesdrop and what I knew was going to be a crude attempt to communicate.

The pharmacy was empty and I approached the counter. The pharmacist bowed again, politely and I bowed back uttering what felt like a thousand sorry’s.

“Gomenasai, gomenasai,” I said, bowing deeper and deeper.

The pharmacist nodded, encouraging me to speak. I could feel my face turning red with embarrassment knowing what was about to come out of my mouth.

“Watashi non omanko wa ichiban kayui desu,” I said. [Translation: My cunt is the number one itchy.]

I added a few more ‘gomenasai’s’ and deep bows, but the stone-faced pharmacist just nodded and quickly disappeared into the back behind the brown polyester curtain.

Did I offend her? But she barely batted an eye. Is she in the back giggling to herself about my itchy 'nether-regions' or my choice of vulgarity?

I was left standing there watching the polyester curtain stop swaying. I was tempted to scratch but instead a quick shift with my legs gave temporary relief.

The pharmacist reappeared carrying a medical book thicker than her tiny waist. She pointed to it and I saw that it was in both Japanese and English. She lifted the cover, opened the book to the English section and pointed for me to search for my problem in print.

I looked under 'Y' hoping to find something related to yeast, but didn’t. I shook my head and began a game of charades.

I wrapped my hand around an imaginary mug of beer.

“Beiru,” I said and pointed inside the mug. But no comment, no feedback.

What else has yeast in it? Ah ha, bread.

“Pan,” I said, imagining my hands were clustered around a dough ball, kneading it. I showed it to be the size of a baseball and slowly expanding and moving my hands to simulate the rising of my make-believe wad of dough.

There was a glimmer in the pharmacist’s eyes and a nod. I think we were communicating now. She turned the medical book to the Japanese section and looked up her interpretation from our game.

And there it was, medical jargon followed by ‘also known as yeast infection’ with a detailed description of all my symptoms.

An ecstatic smile leapt onto my face, followed by a dozen, ‘hai’s’.

She smiled back, probably with relief, and walked me over the proper aisle. She grabbed a box with indistinguishable characters and in her simplest Japanese and her rendition of charades instructed me to use the suppository once.

We walked back to the counter. I bowed and as graciously as I could I said,“arigato.”

She scanned my relief-in-a-box, I slapped down my yen and appreciated that the yen to itch would soon be over.

(hoping to submit for "Sand in My Bra" - a collection of tales written by adventurous women)