There is no way of putting this politely. Despite a near-perfect birth and a pretty perfect baby, I have another not quite so fun legacy of my recent childbirth experience: my backside is in bad shape. For those of you who know me personally I’M SO SORRY TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU and please feel free to stop reading right now. But – I write about the truth about motherhood here, not some glossy, sanitised, media-type version of it and today it is all about what childbirth can do to your ass. Or more accurately, to my ass.
The pain ‘down below’ after delivery can be, for the uninitiated, quite shocking if you’ve had any kind of trauma to your perineum, including to your labia or sphincter, or if you’ve had a tear or episiotomy or had an assisted delivery with a ventouse or forceps. This time I had a tear and some pretty shocking piles so I wasn’t surprised to be in quite a bit of pain for a couple of weeks. Then the pain subsided but not the pain in my ass so I was prescribed some better suppositories. The post-delivery bleeding subsided but the toilet bowl would still be full of blood after every bowel movement. And, holy crap, if it didn’t feel like I was shitting broken glass. Still, I persevered, because I’m a mother and that’s what we do. Also I was kinda busy what with four children and I was lucky if I got so much as thirty seconds to myself. There was, quite literally, no time to worry about my behind. Except how big it was getting what with all that sitting around breastfeeding. Eventually, after about four weeks, I took a look because I could not bring myself to do so sooner unless it was absolutely necessary. The whole area was ulcerated and weeping and bleeding. There were things hanging down, and out. There were tears in the skin. I honestly recoiled in horror.
So I tried barrier creams which helped a bit but then after a couple more weeks everything down there started itching. I treated myself for thrush. The itching got worse.There was no way round it – I’d have to visit the doctor. Having been through the indignity of childbirth four times you’d think it’s hardly like I have any modesty left but actually the opposite is true. The labour midwives don’t expect to see anything but your fanjo and butt. But your average GP/doctor probably hopes for a patient with a mild, lingering cough or, at worst, a mute but scabby child. Present them with the pleasure of having to examine your ass on an otherwise pleasant Tuesday morning and most will shudder inwardly as they don the latex gloves.
But I went, and my very lovely doctor poked and prodded (ouch) and referred me to the colo-rectal department at the hospital. Now there’s one department I hoped I wouldn’t need to see until I was seventy and needing a colonoscopy or some other such lovely age-related ‘procedure’. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the Sister in Charge at the department was called Sister Fee.ly. Luckily I had the baby with me as sufficient distraction from the thought of where Sister Fee.ly’s hands would shortly be.
So I had an examination and a camera stuck up my bum and a discussion with the incredibly nice consultant whom I could hardly look in the eye. I have ‘large and varied’ skin tags which need to be removed. I have anal fissures which need to be repaired. I have piles. I have a sphincter which needs ‘attention’, as he kindly put it. And I have skin which is very fragile. So fragile he may not even be able to operate.
But the plan is that, in a few weeks, he will stick needles where the sun don’t shine and inject me with Botox to deal with the sphincter and remove the skin tags and these things will hopefully stop the leakage which is causing the itching and ulceration and pain.
And then when all that is done I will be referred to Obs & Gynae to deal with a whole set of other problems, including the need for a non-cosmetic labiaplasty and more itching.
When I’m done I’m going to look like a million dollars in all the places where it doesn’t count.
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So tell me, what has pregnancy and childbirth left you with? Leave a comment or link back from your own post. Other mothers (by which I mean me) need to know they’re not alone.
(picture from jilbean3 on flickr.com)
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