Mumbod: Thirty-something

When you turn thirty, something almost miraculous happens. Or maybe it has to do with the aftermath of birthing babies. When the fatigue lifts and you finally have a moment to examine yourself things just aren’t quite how you remember them. Suddenly you realise your body has fallen apart!

Because I am by nature an over-sharer, today’s blog is going to be an adventure into this phenomenon.

Teeth

There were three things during and just after pregnancy I knew I’d need to address, the least expected of which was my teeth.

Yep, your mouth can go seriously hobo when you’re pregnant, especially if you used fertility treatments to get there. Granted, by the time I rocked up to the dentist to address this issue it had been fifteen years since I’d last had so much as a check-up, but pregnancy saw my gums bleeding continuously and my teeth become super sensitive.

 My dentist goes “I am really surprised -but pleased- to let you know I won’t have to pull any of your teeth.” Mate, if I’d realised there was even a possibility they might have removed a tooth I wouldn’t have gone in the first place!

Fixing my teeth took three visits and cost a tidy two grand. Easy!

Hips

Halfway through my third pregnancy I ached down to my bones. And then SPD happened. Symphysis pubis dysfunction (SPD) is where the symphysis pubis joint becomes unstable, weakened too much by the hormone relaxin, which changes to the way your muscles work to support your pelvic girdle joints.

The misalignment of my hips was crippling! I couldn’t get down on the floor to play with the kids, couldn’t carry them nor lift my pram up and down the small flight of stairs to my unit (meaning I couldn’t leave the house if my husband forgot to put my pram out before work) and I couldn’t lay down. I spent six months sleeping in an armchair, trying to keep my hips level.

When Elen was one I thought most of that was behind me. My bones still ached, but I was sleeping in a bed again. I could run and crawl and lift. So I took up a 30 day yoga challenge, which lasted two days.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, it seemed like my tailbone was protruding! I wasn’t able to lay flat on my mat, and I certainly couldn’t do sit ups, or boat pose. It hurt where my bone struck the floor, and if I tried to rock up to sitting I’d fall to one side or the other.

Dr. Google suggested a chiropractor. 

X-rays revealed two things. Firstly my hips were still badly misaligned, and secondly, I have really large spinous process (the fin-like piece of bone that pokes out) on my spine. “Can you fix me?” I asked.

“I can realign your hips, but I can’t sand your bones down.”

Yeah, fair enough.

How I’d never had trouble from my giant butt bones before I don’t know. Perhaps the fat composition on my body changed after giving birth and going plant-based. Perhaps the bones spontaneously grew when I was drinking two liters of cow milk a day. (Joking. Pretty sure this isn’t possible.) whatever the case, there we were.

I’ve lost track of how much I’ve spent on repairing my hips. If you’re in Australia it’s good to know that you can get an EPC referral from your GP with which Medicare will cover five visits a year to your chiropractor of choice.

If I actually did my exercises maybe I wouldn’t need to see my bone doctor every two months anymore, but it’s as close to a massage as I’m going to get so my motivation is low.

Internal

I always hated people describing natural birth as “breaking your vagina”. Mine was just fine, thankyousomuch. My husband said everything felt and looked the same, maybe even tighter. Birthing agreed with me.

Oh sure, the first few months after having Bast I would wet myself if I sneezed,  but I remembered my kegals with the subsequent children so all was roses. At the front anyway. The haemorrhoids out the back don’t bear thinking about.

So, it was for something completely unrelated that I went to my GP.

“What brings you in today, Miriam?” He asks.

“Well doc, I can’t poop,” I say, not one to beat around the bush.  “When I bear down a muscle – or piece of bowel or something – blocks the opening from the inside, like a trap door, keeping my poop locked inside. It’s not like it’s a big problem, I eat a whole food plant based diet and pooping is what I do best, but on special occasions I want to eat naughty things, and that’s when it gets painful. The more I push, the bigger the trap door becomes.”

You ought to have seen his face. And mum always told me you can’t embarrass a doctor, they’ve heard it all. He asks me about cancer in my family history, and I tell him, adding “It’s not hard like a tumour. It’s squishy. You can push it out of the way.”

“Okay.” He says. “Hold on.”

Google appears on his screen and I’m like “You’re not seriously googling this!”

“Miriam, you’re not seriously asking me if I’m googling this!” He laughs. “No. Just most women actually see female doctors about their women’s issues, I’m googling who I should refer you to.”

Wait a minute, men don’t poop?!

Luckily for me, he referred me to the woman who was already my gynecologist.

Then he gives me his diagnosis.  Congratulations! You’ve got prolapse, Miriam.

Okay… But why can’t I shit after a night at the Green Lion eating all the fake animals?

My cronies and I decided that he couldn’t be right. How could he be so sure of his diagnosis when he didn’t even examine me? Obviously he can’t.

So at this point we still don’t know what’s the go, and it hasn’t cost me a dime. But wait, there’s more. Continue with my Mumbod series to follow this adventure.

Until then, take care x