Part 2: Sometimes, you won’t get better
The worst thing about a vagina brace is getting used to the idea that you need one. Their code name is “pessary” so as not to sound completely absurd (I suppose).
Pessaries come in a stunning variety of shapes and sizes, I presume addressing an equally stunning array of problems and physiologies. When they fitted me around 6 months postpartum, the doc and nurse told me I could leave it in full time and come in every three months to have it cleaned. That is not my standard of hygiene, but it is easy to take out and clean myself.
At first, I only wore it some days, but then I realized I felt a lot better with it in. I could walk without discomfort, which was something I hadn’t experienced in seven months. Then it was daily but not overnight. Now that I’m pregnant, it’s all the time, and I wash it when I shower.
Within a week, it had a terrible side effect: the smell. It was fishy and I felt like I always had that distinctive smell of dirty pussy. I asked about it at the checkup and they said it was normal and I seemed fine. But I felt self-conscious using public bathrooms and wearing skirts. The odor was not subtle to me, though close friends said they didn’t smell it.
A year later, I was on antibiotics for something else and the smell vanished. I can’t express how much I appreciate smelling clean again. I had read that there were vaginal antibacterial treatments you could do, but I figured they’d tell me if that was safe and I needed one (but they didn’t).
The bottom line is, if you don’t like the way you smell, get them to prescribe something to kill that bacteria or find out if something else is going on. Just because you need a pessary doesn’t mean you have to smell like dirty pussy.
And the bottom bottom line is — wearing a pessary gave me part of my life back. I learned to stop worrying and love the vagina brace.
By the time I went in for my defining diagnosis 11 months postpartum, I had a good idea what it was going to be. But until this point, the doctor and nurses hadn’t been that forthcoming about what might be wrong. I guess they thought I couldn’t handle the worst case scenario. Maybe they think that because women cry sometimes, it’s kinder to keep us ignorant. I don’t know.
I do know it was a relief, after holding out hope, that I finally understood what was wrong and what my real options were.
They did a vaginal ultrasound to see whether there are was still muscle attached to my pubic bone. One side was completely detached, the other about halfway detached.
So, what are my options? There’s a surgery I can get, but only when I’m done having children. This surgery is said to fail in about 15 percent of cases, for reasons unknown. At this point, I’m not sure whether it’s the infamous mesh or something different.
If I’m having more children, she said it was a toss-up between c-section to avoid further damage or a vaginal birth because I’m already pretty damaged.
So, I had years ahead of me dealing with the prolapse before surgery would even be an option. But at least they make vagina braces.
Posts in this series:
Prologue
Part 1: Is this normal?
Part 2: Sometimes you won’t get better
Part 3: Menstruation
Part 4: Pregnant with prolapse
Birth plans and prevention
