So that’s basically how I felt after I popped out my first kid nearly seven years ago. I had a forceps delivery with a third degree tear. Of course at the time I had no idea. I thought the resident just REALLY enjoyed perineal needle point. I did know this: things “down there” were NOT THE SAME.
I remember coming home from the hospital clutching four pieces of paper the nurses had given me: one a picture of the perfect breastfeeding latch (like that ever happened!), another on how to count the baby’s pees and poos, a list of emergency phone numbers and a reminder to sign up for baby massage class (BABY massage? Where’s MY massage?). But not one piece of paper about ME. I rifled through my hospital bag after we got home desperately looking for something, ANYTHING, to explain just what was going on “down there”. But nothing. Not even a microscopic legal disclaimer saying: Psst, due to the use of forceps you may have sustained an injury to your pelvic floor. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
At the six week follow-up with my gynecologist, I was looking for the BIG EXPLANATION but all I got was “You’re fine. Everything will heal in time.” In time? Like what kind of time? Seconds? Days? Months? This millennium? When? No answers came from the clammed-up doctor. In hindsight, I wish I had taken some forceps to his prostate!
Not even the moms wanted to talk about stuff “down there”. In my mother’s group it was all about the babies. I do remember one day we were having coffee and someone opened up about a broken tail bone and someone else complained about painful sex. It felt like we were having an illegal conversation, as if at any moment we would be arrested by the Motherhood-Is-Pure-Bliss-And-Don’t-You-Dare-Think-Otherwise Police. Someone finally said, “We should write the X-rated version of Motherhood!” We all had a good laugh and that was it. The moment was gone. Vanished. Back to talking about our babies!
But, but, but…..I still don’t feel right “down there”? Googling at 3am between breastfeeds was frustrating to say the least. I didn’t even know WHAT words to search: down there, postpartum, body after baby? And all that ever seemed to pop up was ANOTHER photo of some movie star’s perfect body out jogging two seconds after delivering triplets!
Then one night, in the haze of exhaustion, squirming from sore boobs, I discovered the words PELVIC FLOOR. What the hell’s that? New linoleum? Fancy tiles? And so began my journey. Over the years, I’ve uncovered a ton of important stuff about moms and childbirth – stuff that for some reason, no one wants to talk about. It’s like the whole world took a secret oath: Don’t mention ‘pelvic floor’ to moms. Frankly, I think it would be easier to find Bin Laden then to find a doctor or physiotherapist to talk about my pelvic floor!
And so my journey continues as I try to take the “Omigod, don’t go there!” out of talking about a mom’s pelvic floor. And I’m determined that when (and if) my girls have babies, they’ll come home from the hospital with a piece of paper ABOUT THEM, about how to look after themselves “down there”. And if all that piece of paper says is “www.afterbabybody.com”, well at least that’s a start in the right direction.
