On my back, I lay and lean into this sleepy wisdom — we all have pain — every single one of us humans.

It may be heart-sting or a bruised ego or a bruised body. We all have pain.

I turn 43 years old this summer. For years my back would hurt so bad people could read on my face something was wrong. They’d say, “Aimée, are you okay?” I’d rub my lower back, which felt on fire with pain, and say, “Yes, I’m fine. My back’s just a little sore.” It hurt so much I needed to sit down. Standing hurt. I didn’t know what to say or how to explain this.

I was supposed to be fine. A genetic specimen of good health. 

My dad has a genetic disease called Gaucher. It can cause weakening of bones, intense pain, and myriad other problems.

My knees feel raw and tender as I lay still, wondering when and if sleep will overtake the nagging feeling of persistent pain cues from my body to my brain. At 10:00 pm I took some cannabis tincture. It’s 2:16 am. I hurt. 

I know I’m not the only one.

Yesterday when I typed, my stiff fingers ached. My back started to scream. My wrists firmly demanded, “Be careful. Be gentle with us.” 

I tried to listen. I tried to gain ease knowing I’m not the only one. We all have pain. 

In the world of Gaucher, many carriers have been asking if we could have pain associated with being gene carriers. For decades the answer was a definitive “No.” 

Why are so many carriers expressing symptoms of pain if that’s true?

There are new tests with more precision to identify carriers. In the late 1970s, they thought the carrier test was reliable. 

After the past year, in which I finally shared my pain with my family and friends, my mom began to wonder if there might be a connection between my pain and my being a Gaucher gene carrier. She researched and forwarded the information to me to share with my doctor. For example: 

There are more than 400 genetic mutations known to cause Gaucher disease. Not all of these were known decades ago, nor do all screening tests today cover every single one of them. In rare cases, it is possible for genetic screening to miss a mutation. An enzyme test called a beta-glucosidase leukocyte (BGL) test will almost certainly show if you have Gaucher disease. Find out about testing for Gaucher disease.

In the late 1970s, my mom got a test to see if she was a Gaucher gene carrier before my parents conceived me. They didn’t want to pass on the disease. They thought they were free and clear when her test was negative. They thought I wouldn’t have pain. 

We all have pain. 

My hip still stings this morning. My ankles, knees, and wrists are nagging, “We hurt. Go easy. Be gentle. Please.”

Yesterday I heard my husband in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. He sounded annoyed. How do I know? 20 years together. The clanking of dishes. I just know.

I’d told him I’d been flaring and exhausted for days. I don’t think I’ve conveyed what that means very well. Or maybe I don’t give him enough credit. Maybe I feel guilty and ashamed and misinterpret the clanking of the dishes. 

It takes all my energy to get out of bed. Running a load of dishes feels like running a marathon. 

Yesterday, I felt guilty, so I got up to run a load of laundry. I opened the garage door and heard the machine already whirling. I checked the dryer. Empty. I picked up my clean clothes off the back of the dining room chairs and hung them up. I didn’t touch the kid’s clean laundry; I handed David a pile of his clean shirts and pants. I knew I couldn’t do it all. Or rather that the pain would start screaming if I did too much.

Determined to do something useful, I grabbed plastic bags and headed into the sunny June day to pick up the dog poop in our backyard. 

The sun heated my back and shoulders. It felt like a gentle massage. Heat therapy. I am thankful for our pets. They are my pet therapy. I wandered the yard and repeated the stooping motion to pick up Nugget’s small poop piles (Chihuahua and Jack Russel Terrier mix) and Juno’s huge poop mounds (Chow, Staffordshire Terrier, Weimaraner, Akita, Rottweiler). 

Near the Red Haven Peach Tree were scattered fallen peaches that never got the chance to ripen. I picked up the peaches to add to the bag. The tree is diseased or has a pest problem. Or both. The tree’s buds swell and bloom. Peaches set and begin to grow. But, about a month into their growth, the fruit begins to ooze clear gooey sap from their flesh and out of their skin. I wonder if peaches feel pain. We all have pain. 

I tied up the bag of dog poop and tossed it in our outdoor trash can. I washed my hands. Washed the faucet. Washed my hands; realized a little bit of my OCD was creeping back in.

We all have pain.

I know this will shock you, but I’m not perfect. Caffeine and sugar likely contribute to my pain flares. I drank coffee yesterday and had a Payday candy bar and a bag of chewy Sprees. I quit eating processed sugar like that over a year ago, but last night I indulged.

My pain hadn’t abated and I wanted a sugar high. The hug of candy. I told my husband. He doesn’t usually indulge me with my candy cravings. I don’t usually ask for candy anymore. He went to the gas station and bought me some.

Earlier in the day, my intuition told me I needed to drink cold water, so I asked him to go get me ice. He grabbed a huge gas station cup of ice and brought it to me. I added electrolytes and sipped the icy water. I felt a wave of relief wash through my brain, my body. I thanked myself for leaning into my intuition. I was thankful I asked my husband and my husband went to get the ice. Lately, even driving anywhere feels like a monumental task. 

I didn’t chastise myself for this. 

I asked for help. 

I was honest with myself and my husband. 

I was gentle.

I’ve felt pain since I was a child. I don’t remember exactly when I realized my body talked to me through pain signals. I do remember being a teenager and feeling intense pain. I told myself I shouldn’t feel pain. That I was young and healthy. That I should tough it out. My dad was the one in real pain. Not me. I tensed up and barreled on — exacerbating the pain, I’m sure.

The scent of BenGay triggers memories of my dad in excruciating pain, rubbing the minty cooling ointment onto his skin, his tender screaming pains, searching for some relief. 

My pain isn’t the same as my dad’s. Over a year ago, a doctor finally confirmed I am flare-y. I show symptoms of someone in chronic pain. She sent me to a rheumatologist. After a slew of tests, nothing was found, except I might have some arthritis in my hands. I failed (passed?) the fibromyalgia pain points test (though I’ve read this information from Mayo Clinic that this is no longer the best or only way to diagnose fibromyalgia). 

My PCP advised me to accept my pain and to focus on treating my symptoms. She told me that research hasn’t caught up to autoimmune disorders that cause chronic pain.

She told me she believed me.

You see, for years I thought I might be crazy. I might be making this up. It might all be in my head. I might be over-reacting to my aches and pains.

When I was diagnosed with OCD, I was informed that Cymbalta helps with the treatment of faulty pain processors (what happens with fibromyalgia) and OCD symptoms. It has helped alleviate my symptoms of both OCD and pain. I think it’s more effective for OCD, anxiety, and depression, but it also puts a dent in the pain. For that, I am thankful. 

We all have pain.

Getting the genetic tests ordered has taken several weeks. On June 17, I go to see my doctor to pick up a prescription to bring to a special lab. That’s when we’ll start looking at whether or not my pain is related to being a Gaucher gene carrier or if further tests are required to see if I have a version of Gaucher disease. This could only happen if the 1970s test my mom took was incorrect and she is a gene carrier. 

My feelings are mixed. Most people might think I want a result that clears Gaucher from having anything to do with my pain. 

In my family history, there’s osteoporosis, arthritis, mysterious chronic pain. It’s not exactly shocking I live with pain when I think about my family’s health history.

Part of me wants the test to say, “Yes! Gaucher is the reason for your pain. Here are some treatments to try.” 

Because then there’s an answer instead of a mystery.

I can’t get comfortable as I type this, laying on my back, in bed, thumb-typing on my phone. My hips are stiff and sore. My shoulders and neck ache. My husband came in to check on me. He squeezed my leg and asked how I was doing. I tried not to cringe. All my pain receptors seem to be on overdrive. 

“I’m still flare-y,” I said. 

He nodded and let me get back to thumb typing.

Now I’ll make some coffee — espresso and oat milk. I’ll add some cannabis tincture. I’ll wonder when this flare will pass. My aunts come to visit us from out of town in a few days. Will I still feel like this?

I’m done tensing and barreling through pain and crying behind closed doors. If I feel like this, I’ll be honest with them, with myself.

When I finally drifted off to sleep last night, it was with this wisdom I knew I’d share with you in the morning: 

We all have pain. It helps when we are gentle with ourselves.

Go gently into the world, friends. 

It took me decades to realize the inherent strength and wisdom in gentleness. To talk with my physical, emotional, and psychological pain with kind honesty.

We all have pain. 

This approach of interacting with pain in a gentle manner feels like a balm, a massage for my deep wounds and aches — physical, emotional, and psychological. 

I invite you to try the same approach.

The post We All Have Pain appeared first on Medika Life.

Disclaimer: All information and resources in this article are based on my personal research and opinions unless otherwise noted. I wish to contribute to the VBAC conversation from a patient point of view; I am not a doctor. My educational background is in English-Creative Writing. Please consult health care professionals before making decisions about your health. 

When I tell friends that Ceci , our second child, was my VBAC baby, I usually find a confused expression on their face or they ask me point-blank, “What is that?” to which I answer, “Vaginal Birth After Caesarian Section” in an even tone. I’ve had practice saying “vaginal” now for eleven years. At first, it felt a little embarrassing or like I was supplying information the questioner wasn’t prepared for. Then, I got over it. It’s part of being a positive force in the world of women’s health and it’s why I write articles about subjects I wish were discussed more, like maternal incontinence. 

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’ve either had a VBAC, are considering having a VBAC, or know someone who has had one. Now that I have thirteen plus years spaced between my traumatic and unplanned C-Section and my emotionally healing VBAC I feel I can finally share my experience with people who are interested in possibly pursuing this option. Let’s dive into my backstory and then I’ll give some details about what you can do to further research your options if VBAC is something you’re considering. 

My VBAC Story Starts With a Traumatic C-Section Story

Close to Christmas, I went into labor. I was terrified and denied I was in labor until my water broke many hours after labor started. At that point, David helped me waddle into the car and go to the hospital. I was at almost 8cm (out of 10cm) dilated and our son’s head was stuck in the brow position, meaning he was looking skyward instead of chin tucked in. My doctor was on vacation and a very pregnant doctor came in to introduce herself and break the news that we should consider a C-Section. Otherwise, we risked breaking our baby’s neck during vaginal birth. 

Neck Breaking. That’s all she had to say. We agreed and looking back, I do believe this was the right decision. After our son was born, I second-guessed myself, but the fact of the matter is either way he’d have been born, there would’ve been trauma to both my body and his. 

When we got to the hospital, I was in so much pain that I screamed for drugs. I let loose like they do on TV. And, the nurses shushed me for making such a scene. I got doses of pain medication and my thinking became blurry as the pain receded. David got suited up in scrubs and they wheeled me to the OR. I was not restrained. An anesthetist hooked me up to an epidural and rubbed a piece of ice across my huge belly. “Can you feel that?” he asked. “I’m not sure,” I replied, “Can you do it again?” At least that’s how I remember it. But, he shushed me as the nurses had. “If you don’t know, then you didn’t feel it.” 

The thing was, I did feel the ice. And, my drug-blurred brain wasn’t doing me any favors. The doctor started making the incision. I could feel the scalpel cutting into my flesh. I imagined people enduring torture and told myself if they could do it, so could I. It felt like forever before my brain caught up and sent me the signal that we were in an OR, this wasn’t torture to be endured, and I should speak up. I don’t remember what I said but I do remember reaching under the curtain trying to grab the scalpel and make it stop. 

David saw what was happening and got the doctor’s attention. She was shocked and sternly told the anesthetist to fix his mistake. As he upped the dose, it worked, but I was in another world, one of PTSD, terror, torture, and knowing I was about to have to take care of a baby who caused this pain, followed by guilt because it wasn’t our baby who caused the pain. And, was it my fault for taking medication during pregnancy, for going to the hospital too late in labor? My brain spun as the doctor made precise incisions. My scar is barely there — she did an excellent job. 

And, then it was time for our son to be born out of this slice in my abdomen that I couldn’t see. The doctor tugged to free him and he stayed firmly inside me. Another tug. And, the third, he was free. She’d had to dig her heels into the ground and pull with all her strength. She seemed to also be suffering a case of trauma — after all, she too was pregnant. 

Our son scored well enough on the Apgar test and they wheeled him off and David left and I was all alone in a room full of steel — wounded, weak, and scared. 

Many months later, the doctor who delivered Jaden and I found ourselves at a restaurant unexpectedly attending the same dinner party and discussing our deliveries. Mine had traumatized her as I’d thought. She ended up also having to have a C-Section. It was cathartic to have this unexpected conversation.

Recovery took weeks, months, years. There was emotional trauma beyond the physical toll of the unplanned C-Section. I share this backstory with you to illustrate why it was that I was so adamant about birthing our second child by VBAC. I didn’t want to endure unnecessary suffering and pain and didn’t want to put our baby through any trauma either.

It Wasn’t Easy Finding a VBAC Doctor, But it Was Worth It

Jaden was born in late December of 2007. David was ready to talk about having another child long before I was prepared for entertaining the thought of it. I needed to first find a way to heal. 

After the C-Section, I’d been unable to breastfeed. In my mind, this meant I failed at the most basic task of mothering. I no longer believe that and wish there wasn’t so much judgment of parent’s choices around breastfeeding. I also began having intrusive thoughts, which is part of Postpartum OCD (PPOCD) but was something I didn’t know about then and is only really coming into the postpartum discussion more prominently in the 2020s. Aymes Sarah has written a book about this subject, which is forthcoming. It took many years for me to finally obtain an OCD diagnosis to go with my Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Depression diagnoses. Medication, therapy, writing, and other modes of healing have helped me navigate the mental illness aspects of my life.

I knew I wanted another child as much as David did, but I was terrified of going through C-Section trauma again. Very few doctors had the insurance to practice VBACs where we lived (Oklahoma, US) in 2010:

“From 2005 to 2015, the main malpractice insurance company in Oklahoma, PLICO (Physician’s Insurance Company of Oklahoma), refused to cover care-providers who allowed their patients to have a trial of labor after a previous cesarean.” — Bethanie Verduzco, Tulsa Kids

The restrictions were lifted in Oklahoma in 2015, allowing many more doctors to offer VBAC services. From what I understand, this varies from state to state and country to country. Finding a local resource group is a good place to start if you are interested in pursuing a VBAC. 

Some VBAC Basics

I don’t remember how I even learned about VBACs, to be honest. I’d guess it was either from a local mom’s group or from a source like Babycenter. I do remember that I was led to the online resources that ICAN (International Cesarean Awareness Network) provides. ICAN describes its mission:

The International Cesarean Awareness Network is a non-profit organization whose mission is to improve maternal-child health by reducing preventable cesareans through education, supporting cesarean recovery, and advocating for vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC). — ICAN

All the warnings against VBAC mentioned the risk of uterine rupture:

“A possible rupture: A rupture of the cesarean scar on the abdomen or the uterus itself is rare. If a rupture does occur, most often there are no significant complications for you or your baby. Very rarely, however, a rupture can result in serious harm to both you and your baby. Your obstetrician will inform you if you are at a high risk for a rupture. If you are at risk, it is not recommended that you have a VBAC delivery.” — Brighamandwomens.org

The Brigham and Women’s Hospital has very good basic information on the risks and benefits of VBAC. One of the reasons I wanted a VBAC was the shorter recovery period. I still deal with emotional trauma in my C-Section scarring area, though it is much diminished now. And, they were right — my vaginal birth recovery was a breeze compared to the recovery from a C-Section, which is, after all, abdominal surgery. 

Once you have decided that you want to pursue a VBAC, you will need to do some homework:

• Find doctors who perform VBACs in your town with a high rate of success. You can call and request the success rate. 
• Figure out which of these doctors accept your insurance.
• Call insurance to confirm that they’d cover a VBAC birth.

Catharsis Through Delivery

I don’t remember how I found the details for Dr. John R. Thompson, but I do remember finding that his rate of success with VBACs was very high. Because I desperately wanted a successful VBAC, I decided to go with Dr. Thompson and take all of his advice. He had a proven record. He did some things differently than other VBAC doctors, namely that he induced a week early, which is generally recommended against because it slightly increases the chance of uterine rupture. His argument was having a smaller birth weight baby would increase the rate of success.

The delivery went smoothly. We arrived early in the morning and began the Pitocin drip. I wasn’t expecting the pain that came with inducing so early in labor. I asked for an epidural when I was only 2cm (out of 10cm) dilated. It was very difficult to deal with labor pain while hooked to an IV and being told to lay on my back in bed. This part was not ideal but I accepted it for what it was.

Dr. Thompson early in my pregnancy said he didn’t understand why women choose natural childbirth when the pain is unnecessary. Although I didn’t agree, I held firm in following his advice, which was to avoid any brain-altering pain interventions and use the epidural. I was clear-headed during the entire labor and delivery and for that I’m very grateful. I’m also grateful I had the epidural since labor was especially painful and movement was so constricted.

When it came time to push, it was difficult to feel what I was doing, which is one of the downfalls of epidural use. Dr. Thompson told me I needed to push or we’d be looking at a C-Section. That, along with an episiotomy, and Dr. Thompson guiding my hand to hold Ceci’s head as she crowned moved things along.

I hadn’t considered holding my baby’s head as I birthed her as an option. Dr. Thompson’s gesture of inviting me to do so was a kindness I will never forget. My body and my baby were able to achieve a successful VBAC. It was an extremely healing experience for me, from the research, reading and self-advocating to the labor and delivery to the postpartum period, in which I successfully nursed for 10 months. At the 10 month mark, intrusive thoughts began creeping in and I made the difficult decision to go back on medication and stop breastfeeding.

Emotional Healing Through VBAC

The pregnancy with our daughter was much easier than the one with our son. I felt supported and excited. I craved healing through this VBAC experience. Intuitively, I felt this would help heal the psychological trauma that I’d undergone with the unplanned C-Section. 

I believe it was through ICAN that I discovered a book called Cesarean Voices edited by Martha Basham. I do not recommend this book for women planning C-Section birth or women who have had non-traumatic C-Section births because this book is entirely about traumatic C-Sections. For me, reading the stories of other women who’d had traumatic C-Section birth experiences helped me feel not alone and was a catalyst toward my own healing. The book description on the ICAN website states:

“In a culture where cesarean section is viewed as simply another way to have a baby, we seldom hear the voices of women whose experiences have not been so easy. This groundbreaking book answers the question “What’s so bad about a cesarean?” in a raw, honest, heart-shattering way. If you care for or about women and babies, hear these voices.” — ICAN

I also accepted help after Ceci was born. A breastfeeding friend stayed with us for a week and helped me get the hang of it while also normalizing it for the rest of our family. My mom and mother-in-law and other family members provided support. Where I had felt alone and hurt after having Jaden, I felt supported in my healing after having Ceci. 

The Choice Is Yours Whether to Have a VBAC or CBAC

One of the most healing things about having had a VBAC is that moms who are interested in also having a VBAC reach out to me because I’ve been so open about mine. I’ve had coffee shop chats, in-person chats, and online message chats about my positive experience. I’ve gotten to hear when other moms have successful VBACs. Oftentimes, moms didn’t know VBAC was an option until I mentioned it. 

Not all moms are candidates for VBACs and this is a personal choice. There’s not a right or wrong answer and I hope there is no judgment for the choices moms make. We are under a lot of pressure to make 100% “right” choices. That’s impossible. We do the best we can with the information we have. ICAN has resources for moms who have CBACs (Cesarean after Cesarean Birth) to help with resources and healing. Although their mission is to decrease the number of unnecessary C-Sections they understand that sometimes C-Sections are the best option.

Whatever you choose, I suggest reaching out to other women who have gone ahead of you with what you are doing. It helps to have the support of knowing you are not alone and of hearing about successful outcomes. 

Further Resources

VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean)
www.childbirthconnection.org

VBACs in Oklahoma: What you need to know – TulsaKids Magazine
www.tulsakids.com

Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (VBAC) – Brigham and Women’s Hospital
www.brighamandwomens.org

Vaginal Birth After Cesarean Delivery (VBAC)
www.acog.org

VBAC Education Project | International Cesarean Awareness Network
ican-online.org

The post I Had an Emotionally Healing Vaginal Birth After my C Section.  Why VBAC May Be Right For You, Too appeared first on Medika Life.

The building was crowded with people of all ages being led by PTs to yoga balls and tables. Surely, I thought, I won’t be out in the open.

After filling out pages of intimate and detailed paperwork and realizing I needed to pee already — too much coffee — my Physical Therapist, Becky, walked into the lobby, introduced herself, and led me back to her private room.

Becky looked hip and happy. She had me sit down and went over my paperwork, asking questions and listening to my answers, sometimes asking more questions based on my answers. I love it when healthcare professionals listen to me.

When she asked me to hop on the table, and I said, I better go to the bathroom first, she wasn’t annoyed or rushed. She told me where to go and waited for me. I felt calm and supported in her presence. From the beginning to the end of the appointment, Becky didn’t treat me like I was broken.

I’ve had two children. In 2007, I birthed my son after long labor progressing to an 8 (out of 10) centimeters dilated, only to get to the hospital, screaming in pain for drugs, any drugs, like you see the crazy women on TV doing. My husband, David, and I were told our son was stuck in the brow position.

It was near Christmas and my OBGYN was on vacation. The new doctor told us our baby’s neck could snap if we continued with vaginal delivery and suggested we have a C-section. The phrase “baby’s neck may snap” was enough to convince us. David got all sheeted up in his Tyvek-looking scrubs and we went into surgery. The surgery was traumatic, but that’s another story.

My recovery was slow and painful — I was healing from a brutal c-section incision (I felt the scalpel for a good chunk of it) and my son being wedged in my birth canal. I did recover, lost the baby weight, and got quite healthy within the year.

In 2010, we had our second child by VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean-Section). I was terrified to go through another traumatic surgery. Our daughter was induced at the 39th week and labor with her was pretty flawless. I did require an episiotomy and had an epidural, but no mind-altering drugs. I was grateful to be aware and present for this healing birth. I even got to hold her head as she was being born.

After I’d healed from delivering our daughter, which was much quicker than the c-section healing, I began running. I ran for about a year until I realized that I had a prolapsed uterus and was warned against doing any high-impact exercise.

My OBGYN wanted to perform a hysterectomy. I thought this was drastic. I got a second opinion. That doctor agreed that a hysterectomy wasn’t necessary at the time.

I don’t find that Pelvic Floor Therapy is something women in my life discuss. I think the first time I heard about it was from my PCP (Primary Care Physician) at my well-woman check in 2020. I’d been seeing a slew of doctors and although I was interested, I decided to hold off.

Part of me felt embarrassed and unsure of what to expect. Then, my friend Shanna Loga wrote an article about her experience with Pelvic Floor Therapy. Reading her article was a lightbulb moment and a moment of pure gratitude. She was brave and speaking up about something that every mom who’s birthed babies should probably know about.

I messaged Shanna to confide that I also peed my pants and was encouraged to finally pursue Pelvic Floor Therapy after reading her article.

When I worked as a gardener in a very physical job at my local botanic garden, I started leaking urine. I wore pads to work. I was in my early 40s and pretty damn embarrassed. But I also figured this is just something moms deal with. I remembered my mom saying she dealt with it. It was just part of what happens after birthing babies.

I resigned from my job in January of 2020. Throughout 2020, I spent many hours sitting and typing. I’d often hold my pee way too long and when I got up, I’d dribble. I also had a few moments of soaking through my pants entirely. I’m 42. This felt pretty mortifying. I cut back on coffee and tried to remember that the pee-pee dance is for kids, not moms who have had two kids.

My well-woman check was a few weeks ago. It’s the first time I walked into a well-woman check and felt absolutely no embarrassment about my naked breasts or my vagina being looked at. It’s self-care. It’s important. Women’s Health shouldn’t be embarrassing.

My doctor is a phenomenal woman who had her first baby in August. She took a look at my prolapse and said, “I can refer you to Pelvic Floor Therapy now or we can wait until it gets worse.” I said, “I want to go now!” with a big grin on my face. Last year, I would’ve been bashful. This year, I felt empowered and confident. “I’d rather prevent it from getting worse. My friend just told me all about her pelvic floor therapy appointment and I’m so glad she did. I wish more women talked about this.”

My doctor agreed and informed me that we have wonderful Pelvic Floor Specialists in Tulsa. People even come from out of state to see them. She gave me the referral and mentioned she should probably go herself. She encouraged me to talk about this with other women.

This week, I went to my pelvic floor evaluation. I was nervous and expecting more of a gynecologist-style appointment. That’s not what happened.

I filled out a lot of informational forms. My therapist came out and introduced herself. She took me back to her private room and took her time explaining things and asking me questions. You know how some people just exude empathy? She is one of those people. I am grateful for this.

When I talked about the trauma that went with my c-section scar, she nodded in understanding. When I mentioned I’d gotten work done on it by a healer, she nodded her head. Instead of being judgy, I felt more empathy and understanding permeate the room. She asked if it had helped. She said she could feel the energy I was talking about.

This is new to me. I don’t usually confide alternative methods to doctors because I never know how they’ll react and I assume it’ll usually be negative. But, I think alternative modes are being integrated into traditional medicine now and I’m willing sometimes to take the risk to say things like, I’ve worked with a healer. In this case, it forged a closer relationship from the beginning of my intake.

Then, we got around to the evaluation and exercises. I won’t write a lot here except that I had no idea how important my abs are in relation to my pelvic floor. I didn’t know my abs should be engaged when I’m doing Kegels. I didn’t know the different ways in which to do Kegels correctly. I wasn’t thrilled when my strength evaluation came out at a 1 from a 0–5. At least I knew how to do them and my endurance was perfect.

I messaged Shanna to share my low grade. She told me I’d be “cracking walnuts” by the end of therapy but that when we quit doing the exercises, we lose the tone quickly. I’m trying to remind myself of this and actually do my exercises…I’m pretty good at dropping the ball at things that have “exercise” or “abs” in them.

Women need vaginal education. We need to know how to name and isolate our internal anatomy. We need to know how important our abs are in relation to our pelvic floor. This isn’t information we should have to seek out by ourselves and it shouldn’t be a hush-hush or embarrassing thing to discuss. There should be post-partum education about pelvic floor therapy and doctors and gynecologists should be able to provide this education to women. I’d much rather do physical therapy than undergo a hysterectomy operation.

Everyone has a different situation. The more we discuss our experiences and normalize them, the better we can begin to feel, and the more confident we can be in taking action to improve our health, even when it feels a little — or a lot — embarrassing. I hope my experience encourages you to prioritize your health. You’re worth it!

The post You Don’t Have to Live With a Leaky Vagina appeared first on Medika Life.