Later on, in a quiet private room (the only perk of having a traumatic birth) I decided to consult Dr. Google and see what had happened to me. Big mistake. Huge. I was already in shock from having produced a baby and to find out from the internet that I had literally just been ripped open from front passage to back was a lot to process. Still, I had a beautiful, healthy little boy so that was all that mattered, eh?
I was discharged after a couple of days with an A4 print-out of some pelvic floor exercises, hobbling out the door like John Wayne, my husband holding the car-seat in one hand and supporting me with the other. Over the next week I ended up back in hospital with complications from the injuries I sustained during birth. It was a deeply unpleasant and upsetting experience, but once home again and starting to heal I put it to the back of my mind. I focussed on enjoying my baby with his dad and we even laughed about the fact I had to sit on rubber ring seat meant for people with piles. After a month or so I was out and about like any new mum, on the hunt for good coffee and like-minded pals. My birth story became a kind of horror show I trotted out to new friends, focussing on the drama but not how it made me feel.
18 months passed and I became pregnant again. When the time came to start thinking about the birth I started to freak out. It was like a box that I’d locked away had burst open and I realised I was terrified of tearing again and being left with more serious postpartum injuries. I decided I wanted a C-section and asked to be referred to a consultant. I had heard stories of women being refused elective Caesareans on the NHS and came to the appointment armed with my well thought out rationale. In fact, I didn’t get passed the first couple of lines before I burst into tears and she told me I could have whatever type of birth I wanted (It didn’t turn out exactly as planned due to baby number two arriving 5 weeks early on my way to work, but that’s a story for another time).
So now I had two gorgeous boys and a funny-feeling fanjo. Knowing that I was done with childbirth, I decided to seek help. An understanding GP referred me to a gynaecology clinic and the doctor I saw there changed my life. I told her about the births I’d had and tried to explain what it felt like, feeling foolish when saying that I felt much less uncomfortable with pants on than without. She listened and then told me that I had nerve damage from my first birth, that nerves heal a lot slower than everything else and the reason I felt better clothed is that nerves only allow one signal to reach the brain from a particular body area at any given time so the pressure from my knickers was overriding the damaged feeling. Like when you stub your toe and rub it to make it feel better.
I was so overwhelmed that she could pinpoint what I’d been going through for the last four years that I burst into tears (again, it’s an emotional topic). She told me that nerves needed stimulating to heal and the best way of doing that was sex or pelvic floor exercises but seeing as I was a busy mother of two small kids she knew I wouldn’t have much time for either. Instead she said to buy weighted vaginal cones from Amazon and stick one in for 20 minutes every morning while I was getting ready. You don’t have to ‘do’ anything, your body works to hold it in, no effort required. She also referred me to a physio who explained to me what my pelvic floor muscle actually is (turns out my ideas were quite vague).
After three weeks the funny feeling I thought I was going to live with forever was gone. Like I said, life changing.
My boys are now 5 and 7 and I still have physical reminders of their birth. Perineal scarring means smear tests are even less pleasant than before and when I’ve got to go, I’ve still got to go, but it doesn’t negatively impact my life. I do think a lot about the fact that I sought help and was lucky enough to get it. What if I had seen a different gynaecologist who didn’t recognise I had nerve damage? What about all the women who don’t ask for help and think their suffering or discomfort is to be endured as an accepted part of having a baby? Why isn’t there more emphasis on postpartum care?
Which is why I tell my story now to encourage any woman who has been left feeling ‘not right’ after childbirth to not just grin and bear it. You don’t have to be in agony to seek help. It might just be as simple as sticking a plastic cone up your vagina for 20 minutes a day.
