Posted on September 26, 2009 - by Cate

My Honey Pot

dialated to 10

The doctor was kinda talking to herself, murmuring really. Checking her notes from my last annual violation.

“uh huh, mmm hmmm, a couple centimeters I think…”

My mind is elsewhere. I’m doing my deep breathing exercises and wondering if we can just get this over with. Now mind you my ass (which has reached an unflattering middle-aged flabbiness) is hanging out of an ugly hospital gown and over the edge of an examination table, sock covered feet in the stirrups, my eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling, while I try to concentrate on anything but the doctor’s usual … “you’re going to feel something cold and then some pressure …”, but wait a minute, did she mention measurements? The last time I was measured in my nether regions was 1991, cervix dilated to 10, just before I delivered Erica. What the hell?

The doc continued to dictate to the nurse, “yep, she’s dropped 2-3 centimeters since her last exam.”

My brain is attempting to comprehend these words.

“Dropped…dropped…what exactly has dropped? What’s dropping down there?” comprehension is eluding me still but alarm has set in.

“Why your uterus, of course,” the doc said in a very matter of fact tone.

“My uterus” I said slowly, still staring at the ceiling. “My uterus, has dropped, 2-3 centimeters…”

My head snapped forward as I peered at her from between my bent hairy knees catching a glimpse of her red head (yes, I forgot (suppressed?) I had the appointment and didn’t shave, just who among us hasn’t?)

“A uterus can drop?” asked the bewildered and indignant patient. “Is that a bad thing? Will it drop some more…could it… could it… fall out?” and in my thoughts, not wishing to share, “What the hell? on top of everything else — sagging ass and boobs, gray hair, wrinkles, and I’ve got a dropping uterus? What next? incontinence?”

The doc tried to maintain professional objectivity but was clearly suppressing a good laugh.

“Age and gravity gets the best of us, but you could do some kegel exercises…”

“Kegel exercises, are you kidding me?! I haven’t heard that since I delivered Erica. I thought it was a joke then…”

I decided to investigate this further on my own and in private…according to the Mayo Clinic, the technical term for a “dropping uterus” is Uterine Prolapse and is defined as follows…

“Uterine prolapse means your uterus has descended from its position in the pelvis farther down into your vagina.”

You can be asymptomatic or your symptoms may include:

* Sensation of heaviness or pulling in your pelvis (okay, we’ve all been here, no biggie)
* Tissue protruding from your vagina (…ARE YOU KIDDING ME!)
* Urinary difficulties, such as urine leakage or urge incontinence (as predicted, see above)
* Trouble having a bowel movement (the perennial complaint of my father-in-law)
* Low back pain (again, we’ve all been here)
* Feeling as if you’re sitting on a small ball or as if something is falling out of your vagina (shoot me, you just can’t make this shit up)
* Symptoms that are less bothersome in the morning and worsen as the day goes on

As I contemplate my fate of epic proportions I’m wondering where the sisters are? Why haven’t I heard of this before? I’ve heard the commiserations about hot flashes and dry vaginas, but never this!

I bet Angelina Jolie isn’t going to have to deal with uterine prolapse…not after all those cesareans. But me, no, I had to push mine out the pioneer way… the way God had intended babies be delivered, thru my vajayjay. Who knew I had to be worried about the tone of my pelvic muscles. I didn’t have time to worry about the tone of ANY of my muscles chasing after the kids and running a business. I considered it a good day when I was wearing clean underwear.

I got out my retractable tape measure which I usually used for planning renovation projects — ahhh the irony does not elude me…

uterous -3 and counting

2-3 cm — just exactly what are we talking about here … that’sssss not sooo bad. As I pondered my fate, I wondered if I should share this information with my loved ones, gal pals, husband … then again, maybe not.

But ladies, let this be a lesson to you — do your kegel exercises or the next time you see your OB/GYN she might meet you at the exam table with a ruler…

postscript: as a 47 year old working mother of two, currently residing in the heartland, I realize I have no business using the term “honey pot” or “vajayjay” for that matter. In fact, my 20 & 18 year old daughters were so horrified to learn what I had entitled the post (or as they refer to it “TMI about my mother,”) they suggested I adopt a nom do plume. And so I did.