There I would sit all sweaty and reminiscent of Jabba the Hut, devouring not only my doughnuts but every last juicy morsel of gestational wisdom that was out there. I thought I was well prepared. Stretch marks, I could handle them. (Although, miraculously I never got any...I credit my oily, Italian skin) Irrational mood swings, hey I wasn't going to be the one suffering the brunt of those. Saggy boobs, nothing a few bucks and a good doctor couldn't fix. Even hemorrhoids I was prepared for. And the first time around it all went rather smoothly. Sure there were a few bumps in the road. Mainly the fact that I was nearly torn in half and then sewn back together by Jack the ripper, but that was all behind me after a few weeks and I was good as new.
So the second time around I felt well versed enough not to have to rehash all the old books. Plus, there just isn't time to lounge around drinking icing and thumbing through books while watching court TV when there is a two year old hell bent on destroying every breakable thing within a two mile radius. Eye complications aside, my pregnancy and labor were easy, mainly complaint free. When I hear women saying that they only pushed for about an hour I nearly faint. An HOUR! That sounds like an eternity because, quite frankly, once these gams were in the air and after a couple pushes, POP goes the cork and the babies were out. And therein, I've recently discovered, lies the problem.
Apparently, in order to birth large children with such speed and force one is left with a birth canal reminiscent of the Lincoln Tunnel. No big deal for now, right? Because they say us women, we're like rubber bands, stretchy and stuff. Well, that's what I thought until I discovered one day that I was oddly giving birth to a second baby that had somehow gone unnoticed for the past nine months and now determined to meet the world. And then after some contortionist moves that would have gotten me hired at Cirque Du Soliel and a hand mirror I learned that it was not, in fact another baby but rather MY WOMB! And here for your viewing pleasure just because it needs resurrecting I shall insert the DUN DUN DUN!
NONE OF THE BOOKS MENTIONED THIS PART! Well after spending several hours googling my new found malady I was relieved to find that it was only my BLADDER trying to break free from the 'Ol pelvic corral. Apparently I share this affliction with the female geriatric crowd. That and my crazy eye. After many frantic calls to my doctor and one hasty visit I was told that this is fairly common and everything should return to it's place within a few months. And the male doctor added with such finesse that if I dropped thirty pounds it might help too. That from a guy whose stomach hung so far over his belt I bet he hasn't seen his penis since the Nixon administration. Thanks Dr. Chubs, but that just wasn't good enough.
Last night I spent some time searching for alternative treatments for my new little "issue". After a few pages I came upon a holistic medicine site with some women discussing their experiences with this in a forum. At the bottom of the forum was a questionnaire from a homeopathic Doctor. I would like to share it with you because I have NEVER in my life seen anything like it. Let's have a little fun, shall we?
* I've decided to answer some of my favorites for your enjoyment*
I mean seriously, how LONG do we have? I could have gone into an in depth psychoanalysis on just about every aspect of my being that would take far more time than any Doctor has or wants to give but would that really fix my problem? I know I've become disillusioned by the mainstream medical community and it's lack of compassion and propensity to treat symptoms instead of solve problems, but COME ON. There has to be some middle ground. Maybe I'm wrong, because I do harbor the feeling that as humans every aspect of our being is tied to the other and you cannot separate the physical from the spiritual and emotional, etc. But for now, could I just get some duct tape and gorilla glue?