Let’s be real: my pelvic health isn’t what it used to be. My intimate area is a bit of a disaster zone. What was once a cherished part of my body now feels like a neglected back alley. Picture the scene from Money Pit where Tom Hanks and Shelley Long discover a gaping hole in their floor—well, that’s basically my pelvic floor situation. And yes, I realize that’s a somewhat dated movie reference, but you can always look it up!
I genuinely believed that opting for a C-section to bring my daughter into the world would spare my vagina any damage. You’d assume that choosing the ‘easy’ route (sarcasm) would save my anatomy from trauma. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. I was awash in swelling and soreness. It turns out that a C-section is major abdominal surgery—who would’ve thought? After recovering enough to sneeze and use the restroom without shedding tears, I found myself grappling with the delightful experience of peeing a little when I sneezed and pondering whether my pelvic floor was in need of some serious repairs.
Fast-forward three years to the birth of my son, which I delivered the traditional way (again, sarcasm). My vagina was put through the wringer, and it didn’t hold up well. I pushed with all my might for what felt like an eternity, and despite my efforts, I was left feeling like everything was falling out except my baby. After a lot of intervention and some surgical assistance, my son finally made his entrance—complete with a suction cup stuck to his head. Not to brag, but I was informed by one nurse that it was one of the messiest deliveries she had ever witnessed.
The first shower after giving birth was a revelation. As I gently washed my area under the guidance of a caring nurse, I felt like I had been stitched up like a patchwork quilt. That’s when I noticed a small, balloon-like protrusion trying to escape through my vagina. It was alarming, but considering my doctor advised against any vaginal activity for at least six weeks due to stitches, I opted to ignore it—for the time being.
Eventually, I had to confront this balloon situation. Standing in my OB’s office, clad only in a flimsy pink paper gown, I received the diagnosis: I have a prolapsed bladder. Yes, you read that right—my bladder is literally falling out of my vagina.
While it’s not a life-threatening issue, it can be uncomfortable. If you’ve never inadvertently pinched your vagina and bladder simultaneously while trying to sit down, consider yourself fortunate. My children have become accustomed to hearing me yell, “Just a second! Mommy’s about to pee her pants!” as I attempt to engage my pelvic muscles and rush to the restroom. Despite countless Kegel exercises, I’m still navigating these challenges. Thankfully, it doesn’t impact my sex life, so I’m managing, thank you very much.
In fact, having a prolapsed bladder can have its perks. For instance, there’s a scientific rationale behind why leggings are appropriate pants. When someone insists that leggings aren’t real pants, I counter with, “They sure are if you’re dealing with a prolapsed bladder!” My insides feel like toothpaste, and my pelvic floor is the tube. While I enjoy a good pair of skinny jeans, they aren’t practical for everyday wear.
Every time I sit down, it feels like I’m being squeezed in the middle, pushing my pelvic contents against my unreliable muscles, creating uncomfortable pressure. So, I stick to leggings, which provide the space I desperately need.
Motherhood is full of love, and while my kids adore me, I crave my own personal space. My two-year-old will climb onto my lap while my five-year-old drapes herself over my shoulders. When cuddling one, the other often bulldozes into my space. To escape this game of human Tetris, I sometimes have to declare, “Mommy has a boo-boo!” and take a breather. It’s the truth; my pelvic floor is sensitive, and jabs from little bodies can lead to an urgent need for a wardrobe change.
And yes, I carry a special guilt trip card in my leggings for those moments when family photos require precise outfits. When someone decides they don’t like their chosen attire, I can pull out that guilt card and remind them, “My bladder hasn’t been where it’s supposed to be for years. I’m a grown woman who has peed my pants in public for you. Now, wear that outfit and smile!” Everyone has their own guilt card; don’t pretend you don’t.
Life with a prolapsed bladder keeps things interesting, to say the least. I’ve had my fair share of learning experiences, including the art of using a menstrual cup effectively. Sneaking away to change my underwear has become second nature to me—you probably didn’t even notice when I slipped out! I look forward to the day when a skilled surgeon can help fix my situation, but for now, it’s all about those Kegels!
For more insights on pregnancy and family planning, feel free to check out this excellent resource on pregnancy at Healthline. If you’re interested in at-home insemination options, you can explore our guide to artificial insemination kits here. For a deeper dive into related topics, visit this authority on the subject.
Summary:
In this candid account, Jessica shares her experience with a prolapsed bladder, humorously detailing the challenges and changes that come with motherhood and pelvic health. From the aftermath of childbirth to the daily realities of managing her condition, she navigates life with grace and humor while emphasizing the importance of self-care and pelvic exercises.