02 March 2015

The Painful Truth

Shit is about to get real here folks. 


Still here? Okay, here goes. 

No one could have ever prepared me for the horrible and so, so, SO daunting first poo, post birth. I gave birth naturally with the assistance of a beautiful epidural and a vacuum which resulted in a second degree tear {read my birth story here}. I witnessed many women flitting about the ward with no apparent post-birth discomfort in the couple of days I was in hospital. Boy was I jealous of them. I was also envious of the women who shared my room who got enough sleep that they were actually snoring, rendering them ignorant to their baby’s cry. Me? I was reminiscent of a waddling elephant with a stick up its bum who hadn’t slept in days.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

My twin sister had given me some indication of the bad experience that might ensue when the time came that my body needed to do its thang after Ned had made his exit. Even thinking about that first poo now makes me cringe. My body’s excretory system was in overdrive in those first few days of Ned’s life but my brain would not let it perform. Each visit I made to the toilet got progressively worse. The hospital had posters on the wall with quite detailed instructions and diagrams illustrating correct pooing technique but that only made it harder to relax. Honestly, I thought my entire insides would fall out if I even strained just a little bit. But I needed to go. Desperately.

Eventually I asked one of the midwives for some tips and the husband darted off to the shops in search of pear juice, prunes and Metamucil. At the time I thought asking a stranger how I was going to do my business was embarrassing and I don’t really know why I was ashamed to ask, as all dignity had been lost a day or so earlier when I gave birth. Oh, that, and my MIL in law asking if I knew to apply pressure down there {I think she actually used the term perineum}. I nodded politely not wanting to get into a discussion with my MIL about pooing. That shit {pun definitely intended} is limited to my immediate family and poo-talk loving friends, usually over the dinner table.

The embarrassing moment was to come a number of weeks later.

At Ned’s six week check-up my GP advised that we needed to do a pap smear. I thought it was a good a time as any to let her know how much trouble I was having pooing. That basically every time I went to do a number two I nearly cried, almost always bled and was avoiding the toilet for as long as humanely possible. This post pretty much sums up my experience and the sentence ‘In fact, I shit glass for 6 weeks straight before I finally went to the doctor’ was so me.

My appointment was scheduled for a couple of days later and my GP, who had never ever seen my bits pre-pregnancy now got to see them all, in one horrible 30 minute appointment. I could have died.

The reason for the excruciating pain? An anal fissure. Basically I split my bum pooing.

Childbirth is so liberating and beautiful, isn’t it?

Visit Kate Baer’s {very well written} post for more cringe-worthy traumatic labour stories. 
Pic by the beautiful Jane Gilbey Photography

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