Childbirth in the Middle Ages was a dangerous endeavor, often leading to the deaths of both mother and baby. The Chamberlens’ invention saved innumerable lives, yet the family so feared the repercussions of meddling in women’s work (midwifery) and meddling in God’s will (saving a soul doomed to death) that they hid their beneficial gyno gizmo from the critical eyes of the world until attitudes about medical interference in childbirth improved. Interestingly, despite the fact that the vagina was supposed to be a precious and protected asset, there was quite a bit of probing, speculation, and tweaking through the use of medieval forceps and other gyno gizmos. Reflecting on past practices makes a post-modern trip to the gynecologist seem much less traumatizing. Ironic, isn’t it, that a bunch of Peters would find their place in history… in a vagina?
The Medieval Douchebag
“Without permitting anyone else to lay a hand on him, the lady herself washed Salabaetto all over with soap scented with musk and cloves. She then had herself washed and rubbed down by the slaves. This done, the slaves brought two fine and very white sheets, so scented with roses that they seemed like roses; the slaves wrapped Salabaetto in one and the lady in the other and then carried them both on their shoulders to the bed… They then took from the basket silver vases of great beauty, some of which were filled with rose water, some with orange water, some with jasmine water, and some with lemon water, which they sprinkled upon them.”
Keeping the lady parts clean and fresh was not a priority to medieval women. Heck, they weren’t even that concerned about keeping any part of their bodies clean. While regular bathing was en vogue in Roman times, people in the Middle Ages shunned showering. Of course, there are certain bodily odors, aside from everyday B. O., permeating from the unwashed female body. But this didn’t seem to be a turn-off. Au contraire! A really strong, female scent was akin to oysters to a medieval man… a sexy smell that stirred sensual desires. Or, perhaps the constant barrage of body odors dulled their sense of smell.
The passage from Giovanni Boccaccio’s Decameron that appears at the beginning of this chapter details how young lovers go to great lengths to appease each other with pleasurable scents before their roll in the sheets, but they seem to be the exception to the medieval anti-bathing rule. They seem to actually seek out cleanliness and lovely odors as a means of heightening their sexual experience. Too bad their eroticism didn’t catch on. At least, it didn’t in most of medieval Europe, particularly in England. Despite the lack of routine bathing and personal hygiene in the personal area, some medieval women did choose to douche. We know that cleansing the vagina has been done for centuries, via various methods and for various reasons, but, as we will see, consideration for their lovers certainly wasn’t one.
Archeologists unearthed an ancient Egyptian papyrus scroll on which a 1500 B. C. douching recipe was written. The writer suggested women rinse their southernmost cavity with a mixture of garlic and wine as a means of curing vaginal infections. We are doubtful if that would really cure an infection, and garlic certainly wouldn’t solve the odor issue. Other reasons for douching included washing away menstrual blood, washing away semen to prevent pregnancy, and washing away pus from their STD-ridden sexual partners.
As for the douching agent itself, garlic wasn’t the only choice. Water and vinegar, naturally, were top contenders. But French prostitutes in the Middle Ages believed any acidic liquid to be most effective, thus hookers praised the wine-filled douchebag. Proto-gynecologists recommended squirting acacia, olive oil, pomegranate pulp, tobacco juice, honey, and ginger up the vagina. Luckily, these were common ingredients found in the medieval kitchen. It makes us wonder if most women douched in the kitchen or hauled the ingredients to the bedroom or outhouse.
Steam douches were also used. Technically, they were called vaginal fumigators. Several gallons of water were heated in a special vessel, and herbal medicines were boiled until a nice rolling steam was produced. The steam’s only means of escape was through a tube that was inserted into the vagina. It was thought that the medicinal steam would aid in healing women’s health issues. We guess it never occurred to them that boiling hot water vapors may aid in causing other women’s health issues.
We should remember, though, that the vast majority of these medieval physicians were men and, therefore, they were only slightly more knowledgeable about female genitalia than the rest of their gender. When prescribing these curious remedies, they were really just using known penis salves and ointments on their non-penis-bearing counterparts with a what’s-good-for-the-goose-is-good-for-the-gander philosophy. One reason for this, aside from pure ignorance, could be the belief that the vagina was anatomically similar to the penis. Actually, it was thought that the vagina was simply an inverted penis — like a pouch pocket. Instead of hanging out in the open, it was flipped inside out and tucked up inside the garment, only accessible through a slit in the fabric. Viewing medieval vaginal health this way, it is understandable that doctors would treat vaginal infections the same way they would treat male genitalia troubles.
So to recap, medieval ladies, if they douched at all, didn’t do it because they wanted to feel fresh. And they certainly didn’t talk about it with their mothers during long walks on the beach. They didn’t douche to improve the smell of their vaginas either. Enhancing the sensual experience of their lovers was not much of a concern. Rather, douching was an erroneous means to prevent pregnancy or rid the vaginal orifice of disease. Among the great unwashed of the Middle Ages, personal hygiene for personal pleasure was non-existent.
Deadly Cells: Cancer Goes Medieval
“Hote and moist, beninge, sanguine I hight.”
Medieval women were not immune to the negative effects of cancer. Gynecological health care practices being what they were (meaning, non-existent) left ladies in the Middle Ages vulnerable to untimely deaths at the hands of the same gang of cancers that still plague us today — cervical cancer, ovarian cancer, uterine cancer, and, even though it deviates from our focus on the vagina, breast cancer. But their prognoses were much bleaker than those of modern women who benefit from early detection marketing campaigns, oncology specialists, and tailored treatment options. In medieval times, when medical advancements occurred at a snail’s pace, cancer was often undiagnosed until it was at a very late stage, if it was even diagnosed at all.
Records on causes of death were kept intermittently throughout the Middle Ages, and many of these documents exist today, giving us a glimpse into the everyday ailments of people living — and dying –in the medieval era. Yet these records are fraught with errors, inconsistencies, and ambiguity. If the cause of death was not obvious, it was often chalked up to some kind of catch-all phrase, like “malady” or “malaise”. This was most likely the case with medieval women suffering from an undiagnosed form of gynecological cancer.
To understand the medieval mindset on gynecological cancers, we first need a basic understanding of the Humoral theory. The Humoral theory was developed by Hippocrates, the father of modern medicine, around 400 BC. Hippocrates stated that health depends on a delicate balance of four bodily fluids: blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile. If the balance got out of whack, disease resulted, so the theory went. Cancer, Hippocrates thought, was the result of too much black bile in the body. Hippocrates’ theory was viewed as scientific fact all the way through the Middle Ages, until the Renaissance era, when medical science in general advanced and practitioners felt safer to contest conventional beliefs than their predecessors did.