Let’s get straight to the point: my pelvic region is in disarray. My intimate area feels like it’s been through the wringer. What was once a well-kept secret is now akin to a neglected alley in a sketchy part of town. If you remember the scene from the classic film Money Pit, where Tom Hanks and Shelley Long gaze into a gaping hole in the floor, that’s how I feel about my pelvic floor. Sure, you might think it’s an outdated reference, but hey, the internet is always there to help.
I had hoped that delivering my daughter via C-section would spare my body from any lasting damage. One might think that opting for a surgical approach would be the gentle way out, right? Wrong. I was left swollen and sore all over, which, surprise surprise, comes with major abdominal surgery. Once the tears from sneezing and bathroom visits subsided, I was introduced to the delightful reality of urinary incontinence when I sneezed. It left me questioning whether my pelvic floor was ready for renovation.
Fast forward three years, and I was ready to bring my son into the world the “natural” way. Let’s just say my body wasn’t prepared for the challenge. After what felt like an eternity of pushing, it seemed like everything was coming out except for the baby. His stubbornness required extensive medical intervention, and my recovery was more than messy—it was downright spectacular. As he made his entrance with a suction cup adorning his head, one nurse even remarked that it was one of the most chaotic births she had ever witnessed.
The first shower I took post-delivery was a revelation. Gently washing myself as instructed by a well-meaning nurse, I realized that I was stretched, cut, and sewn back together like a patchwork quilt. To my alarm, I discovered a small balloon-like object trying to escape through my vagina. While this was disconcerting, I shrugged it off since I was instructed to avoid any intimacy for at least six weeks due to the stitches.
Eventually, I found myself in an exam room, clad in a flimsy paper gown, legs spread wide. After some poking and prodding, my OB delivered the diagnosis: I have a prolapsed bladder. Yes, you read that correctly—my bladder is literally falling out of my vagina.
While this might sound alarming, it’s mostly manageable. It can be uncomfortable, and I’ve become accustomed to shouting, “Hold on! Mommy’s about to pee her pants!” as I rush to the restroom. Despite countless hours spent doing Kegel exercises, my pelvic floor is still a work in progress. Thankfully, it doesn’t interfere with intimacy, so I consider myself lucky.
In fact, having a prolapsed bladder has its perks. When someone claims that leggings aren’t pants, I can confidently retort, “They absolutely are if you have a prolapsed bladder!” My insides feel like a squished tube of toothpaste, and I find that real waistbands add unnecessary pressure. Instead, I stick to leggings for some much-needed relief.
Sometimes, I just need a little personal space. As much as I adore my children, the constant physical contact can be overwhelming. Whether it’s my toddler climbing onto my lap or my older child draping herself over my shoulders, I often find myself in a game of human Tetris. On days when I feel particularly squished, I’ll excuse myself with a simple, “Mommy has a boo-boo right now!” It’s not a lie; the jabs from tiny elbows can lead to unexpected wardrobe changes.
I also carry a secret weapon in my pocket: the ultimate guilt trip card. Someday, when we’re preparing for family photos and chaos ensues over outfit choices, I’ll pull it out and say, “My bladder hasn’t been where it should be for years. I’m a grown woman who has peed my pants in public. I’ve suffered through this for you, so put on that carefully coordinated outfit and smile!” We all have our own guilt trip cards; don’t judge me!
Living with a prolapsed bladder has certainly introduced its fair share of challenges. From mastering the use of a menstrual cup to sneaking away for wardrobe changes, I’ve become quite adept at navigating this new reality. I look forward to the day when a skilled surgeon can restore my pelvic health, but until then, the Kegel exercises will continue!
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Summary:
Navigating life with a prolapsed bladder can be a challenge, but it also brings humor and unique experiences. From childbirth mishaps to the joys of leggings, this journey is filled with ups and downs. While I look forward to a future procedure to address my condition, I’m learning to embrace the quirks of motherhood along the way.