My mother wouldn’t want me to talk about this; not here, where everyone can see me. What isn’t pretty should be handled privately… or so she taught me, and her mom taught her, and so on and so forth. But the page is a place of connection. If I’m not fully present here, then what’s the point?
To put it bluntly, my organs are falling out. That’s a slight exaggeration. “Descending” is more accurate. However I frame it, it’s a disconcerting thought. My uterus, well, there’s a sign on that one that reads, “We’re done here!” But my bladder and my rectum, though performing their functions poorly, still seem necessary. I can’t have them planning their escapes.
The news of my organs descending surprised me. Like many women following childbirth, I’ve struggled with “peezing” (a word contributed by Liz Lemon from “30 Rock”) and other mild forms of stress incontinence for a long time. But since my mid-40s, those problems have intensified alongside a more troubling inability to defecate completely.
So after probing in hard-to-reach places, a urogynecologist pronounces me prolapsed. According to a handout my doctor gave me by the American Urogynecologic Society, pelvic organ prolapse, or POP, “occurs when the pelvic floor muscles and connective tissue weaken or tear. This causes the pelvic organs to fall downward into the vagina, similar to a hernia. Women may feel or see tissue coming out of the opening of their vagina as this progresses.”
