There are moments in a woman’s life when dignity becomes a fairly theoretical concept. Childbirth is one, smear tests are another.
And then there is sitting, naked from the waist down, in what looks a bit like a dentist’s chair while a gynaecologist prepares to insert an enormous radiofrequency probe into your vagina.
I was sitting there because, after three children and menopause, things Down There felt loose and floppy and I’d heard this treatment could work wonders to tighten up my internal membranes. Also, girlfriends whispered, it could make sex more, er, satisfactory.
Increasingly, women are starting to talk about vaginal laxity,
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