They Cut Into Your What?!?!

      Last Thursday I had a fairly major set of surgical procedures done at the Texas Tech University Medical Center.  These procedures have lovely long names that make them much easier to deal with than the actual description of what the problem was too.  The procedures were called:  Posterior Colporrhaphy , Trans-Vaginal Tape, and Perineoplasty.  As you can tell, these were all correcting problems with my girly bits.

     I am typically VERY embarrassed to talk about this kind of stuff with anyone, let alone describing it on the internet.  The thing is, all three of the issues I had corrected were incredibly common problems; just not for women my age.  I am 31.  Along with being somewhat uncommon for women as young as I am, they are problems that no one addresses because they are embarrassing. 

     No 27 year old wants to tell her OBGYN that she can't laugh without urine leakage.  It's humiliating.  But wait, it's not.  Especially if that woman has had children or some sort of trauma to her pelvic area.  OBGYNs and Urologists fix this problem every single day.  There is a fix and you don't have to live with the potential embarrassment of wetting yourself if you want to jump on a trampoline or thrash about in a mosh pit.  

     I was 21 when I had my daughter.  While I was pregnant I suffered through horrific morning sickness (24 hours a day for 3 months) and the problems I just had corrected (10 years later) began.  Every time I had to run to the toilet and vomit I also wet myself.  The force of the heaving loosened the muscles required to hold my urethra steady.  Having her proved even more traumatic.  

     Prior to giving a mother in labor an epidural (the spinal medication that makes delivery much less painful,) the care-givers are supposed to allow her to utilize a rest room or catheterize her so that the baby isn't being forced past a full bladder.  With me, they forgot that step.  So I pushed for two hours against a very full bladder before my daughter was born.  During the delivery, my perineum was allowed to tear, rather than getting an episiotomy.  This is common when the doctor decides that the tearing will be less damaging than actually cutting through tissue to make room for the baby.  These two things are the causes of problems that women don't talk about, but should.   

     I am actually really embarrassed to be writing about them, but I suffered in silence for 10 years before finally going to someone and saying something.  It shouldn't be that way.  There shouldn't be such a huge stigma associated with issues in the reproductive organs.  How else are we supposed to be health conscious people if we can't even tell our OBGYNs about these problems?

    I was experiencing two major issues with my body.  Turns out, these are VERY common issues, but I was mortified to have those issues so I didn't talk about them.  You have to understand, I don't fart in the same room as another person, let alone discuss my periods, urinary tract issues, and most especially rectal concerns.  This is not something I do.  I have on occasion started crying out of humiliation when I have passed gas unexpectedly where others could hear.  These are not things I talk about...ever!

     When I finally decided enough was enough, I went to the doctor.  I told her that I leaked urine when I laughed, coughed, danced, hit a bump in the road, or thought about doing any of those things.  I also told her about the other problem...the really embarrassing problems, the problems I didn't even  want to talk to my mom about....poop problems.

     See, the problems I was having were caused by tears in the muscles of my vaginal walls.  These tears were caused by the pressure of having kiddos.  This doesn't happen to everyone, but it is VERY common to have it happen due specifically to childbirth.  The walls weren't torn through, just the muscles  so I had what amounted to a recto-vaginal hernia and a minor uro-vaginal hernia.  The first called a rectocele the latter a cystocele.  The rectocele causes the rectum to swell into the vaginal area which when trying to have a bowel movement, can cause problems. It gives the BM two potential routes to take rather than the one.   The rectum bows out into the vaginal area and dead ends, often making it necessary for the woman to insert her fingers into her vagina and apply rear pressure  to the herniated area to actually have a successful bowel movement.  Can we talk about inconvenient and embarrassing, and without a name, just describing the problem is a devastatingly horrific affair.  This is why most women don't talk about it, even with their doctors.  The cystocele (in my situation) was incredibly minor and the operation to fix the other problems I was having will probably fix it, so they opted not to do corrective surgery on it. 

     The leakage of urine was caused by what they call hyper-mobility of the urethra.  Which basically means that my urethra moved around too much because the musculature had been fairly damaged and so it was actually the easiest and most common of my problems to repair.  It was done by making two small incisions above my pubic bone and sewing a small strip of mesh down and around my urethra in a sort of hammock in order to provide the support necessary for my body to not leak.  THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY NORMAL.  The OBGYNs didn't even blink  when I mentioned it (with my face turned down in a low low whisper.)  

     The rectocele repair is also an incredibly normal procedure.  They simply find the weak point in the recto-vaginal wall, make an incision, pull the muscles back together (given they are flexible enough,) and stitch them into place. Then, they stitch the wall back together.  If the musculature is out of place too long, it can lose its elasticity and then they simply sew a mesh to the muscles and then stitch you back up and then the mesh heals into the muscles and reinforces the weak spot.  Thus, correcting the hernia.

     With me, the problems were all caused by having my daughter, but in a round about way.  Remember I mentioned them allowing me to tear rather than cutting me?  Well I had her and the doctor stitched up the tear (ten stitches,) and then sent me on my way.  My stitches didn't take/weren't done correctly/fell out...you name it.  I had no perineum.  Not good.  Where there was supposed to be a good two inches of muscle, fat, and tissue to reinforce my rectum, bladder, and vaginal muscles, I had less than a quarter of an inch.  So my gynecological surgeon (a saint and a prince) did a procedure called a perineoplasty.  He cut away all the scar tissue where I had torn and healed incorrectly and rebuilt my perineum.    This one procedure will prevent me from having to deal with these issues again (barring immaculate conception at which time I will be scheduling a c-section.)

     I have read that 11-19% of women will undergo one of these procedures.  If you consider that in a  critical light, that's the women who talk about it or who have the resources available to address it.  In actuality, the number of women who need the procedure or are symptomatic of the issues is probably much higher.  73% of women will have children.  These problems are primarily caused by trauma to the vaginal walls during child birth.  PLEASE PLEASE, if you are having these problems, you are not alone and there are ways to fix it.  If they are minor, there are even non-surgical options.

     I am only 9 days out from surgery and I am still in considerable pain.  There were a few trip ups, including being released too early and ending up in the ER because the swelling in my vagina had made it impossible for me to urinate so I had to wear a catheter for five days.  Then I landed back in because I couldn't have a bowel movement and they admitted me overnight and I had to have a soap enema (embarrassing, yes, but there comes a point where the pain releases you from all concern of embarrassment).  

     Truly, I am shocked that I am writing this (because I am the girl who doesn't fart in the same room as others), but I had no idea how common my problems were and I allowed mine to cause me angst for 10 years.  Though I will say, I mentioned the leakage to my doctor in 2002 when I had pneumonia and was coughing constantly and of course leaking constantly and he informed me that "women who are 21 don't have those problems."  (My response, "well obviously they do...)  These are normal problems for women.  Women who have had children and women who have had any sort of abdominal trauma.  

     As I was getting wheeled into the OR, the nurse told me that I would never regret having these things fixed.  She said that she had had hers done 3 years prior and now she could run around with her kids and jump on a trampoline without concern.  Another nurse informed me that she had had hers done 10 years prior and hadn't had a single issue since.  Still another nurse told me that I should come back and let her know how mine went because hers was scheduled the following month.  This proved to me, even more, that I wasn't alone and neither are you if you are experiencing these issues.  Someone needs to talk about it.  Someone needs to say something so that the ice is broken and it paves the road for others to say something too.  Be brave.

I Don’t Care if Gays Have Rights

All over the news and all over the world people are talking about America and the fight for gay rights and equality. I hate it. I spent a fair portion of my life being married and allowed to be an out heterosexual wife. Truth be told, I was never forced into a closet. Heterosexuals never are. When I was 19, I walked with my fiancé into a courthouse and applied for a marriage license and then on Aug 2, 1999 I got married. It was beautiful, simple, and I didn’t even really think about it. I certainly wasn't met by picketers assaulting me with blind, uneducated hatred.

We started reaping the federal benefits effective the day we were married and then, after each subsequent child, we received more benefits and the sick thing is, I felt like we were entitled to those benefits.

At 19, I wasn’t even aware of what homosexuality really was. I didn't really know that people were dying/had died. People have always just been people to me. I thank a phenomenally human mother for that. I certainly didn’t think I was gay. I never considered that there were citizens of the USA that were considered less. Maybe in my sheltered, cozy Montana life, I assumed that the civil rights movement was over and that everyone was equal…I mean all different races and sexes served in the military, races intermarried, and women held high level corporate positions? Surely that meant all Americans were being treated equally? I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I was and in many ways still am a highly uninformed individual. The things I know now would have shocked that cozy housewife I had so easily become. Women make significantly less money than men, races other than white are still a largely underrepresented minority in most workplaces and those that are represented are paid statistically different wages than the white males that occupy similar positions. Only recently have homosexuals been protected under federal discrimination laws and our transgender family are not protected at all in most states. Hate crimes are rising, homosexual children are committing suicide at enormous rates (really, is it surprising that life seems unlivable when one of the elements that make you who you are is constantly under attack?) Where are our protections?

I divorced my husband in 2008. I left because I was gay and because I was miserably unhappy living the life that we had. The 19 year old who thought her life it was paradise grew into the 28 year old, lesbian who couldn’t pretend that it was what she wanted it to be anymore. Little did I know that walking out of heterosexuality and into homosexuality didn’t just involve changing the gender of my partners. It involved politics and a whole world of people who all of a sudden hated me and thought I was an abomination.

There are people picketing military funerals and saying deaths in wartime are justified because the USA has gay soldiers. There are politicians saying that the gay soldiers that serve our country can’t be out and shouldn’t even be allowed to serve. Our own federal government won’t allow us to be married….but wait…

I don’t care that gays can’t marry and be federally recognized. I don’t. It’s that simple. I. just. don’t. care.

What I care about is that ANYONE can marry and receive a financial benefit for doing something that is basic and biological. It makes me mad that any group is singled out above any other. Since when does who I love need any government involvement? Would a straight woman love her husband any less if they didn’t get to file a married federal tax return every spring? Would the commitment a man feels to his spouse of 60 years be any less without a court document stating they are married? Is my love for my girlfriend invalidated because we can’t walk into a courthouse and have Big Brother validate it for us? No.

So why does the homosexual community care? Because society cares and society impacts our day to day lives. That’s why. Society decided and gave government the right to recognize something that is solely between two people (or two people and whichever God they worship) and to give benefits to said people based on that recognition and subsequently denying them to people who aren’t recognized.  Society gave insurance rights, federal tax rights, inheritance rights, and the protections incorporated into those rights to one set of people...heterosexuals.  If all of us had the same rights, no one would be marching about rights.

My not caring does not mean I am turning my back on the gay population and siding with the Republicans and right wingers who say we don’t deserve rights and that all social programs should be shut down, quite the opposite.

I think that United We Stand, Divided We Fall is a very important phrase. I don’t think anyone should get benefits for being married or having children. I believe that everyone should have the same access to wealth, provisions, growth, healthcare, and education. In the long run this will only serve to benefit our nation to allow access to these things. We will be healthier, smarter, and richer.

Unfortunately, we have to get ourselves out of the mess we have gotten ourselves into with all this intense governance or changing will be impossible. That is where the focus of politics should be, fixing the mess that we allowed them to get us into so that one day, we can be a better stronger nation. We voted them into office, this is our fault too.

Someday, I want to marry my partner. I don't want to receive benefits for it. I actually think that the benefits cheapen it.  I want to look at her and make a spoken commitment with the people we care about around us. I don't need Big Brother to tell me I am married and give me money as a reward. I will know I am married and so will she and so will those we hold dear enough to want them to share that with us.

Bully For You

Okay, so anyone who knows me, knows that I was the biggest bully target on Earth when I was a kid.  It literally took me years to get over being that kid and sometimes I still have issues with it.  Bullying is a crime.  It is absolutely horrible what children put each other through.  Every time I read yet another story about some torture a child lived through or killed him/herself because of, I thank the sky that I had the family that I had because I had the support I needed to get through it.  There were times I would sit in my room thinking about how much easier life would be if I didn't wake up.  I never considered suicide, but I surely contemplated not existing.

Now that I am a parent, I tackle bullying head on.  Both of my children know with certitude that there are two things I will not tolerate; cruelty and lying.  Not that I would ever have to be concerned with them being cruel, they are both very kind, very sensitive children.  They just know that if anyone says anything to them or does anything to them that I won't let it stand and they know that if they are the perpetrators there are hefty consequences.  My children will not be killing themselves because of bullying and they will not be causing those feelings in others.

That said, we come to the reason for my topic...I was bullied.  So many times in my life I have thought  "well, they just pick on me because they don't know me"  or "jerks, I don't wanna be your friend anyway.(yes I do)"  I never understood what made bullies take notice of me...until a couple of days ago.

I was speaking with a friend about family resemblences and telling her I had none and she didn't believe me so I decided to start snapping photos of my old photos.  Now I know why bullies noticed me.  I have no excuses for their behavior, but I was so tragic that it would be tough to not notice...

This is me watching fireworks...you might say "oh, she isn't tragic..." but I think this may have been the last non-tragic photo of my childhood.  As it turns out, the 80's were not kind.  What is really sad is that I remember dearly loving some of the clothing I wore and I remember looking in the mirror and finding the reflection not only passible, but attractive.  Seems I was deeply hair blind.

For instance:  notice this lovely mullet ensemble that I have going on here.  These were taken somewhere around the 4th grade.  I was Student of the Week (Which I will go into this selection process later on some time) I should have a respite from cruel cruel fate for being good.  Someone should have noticed I needed help before this point?  Maybe because it was the 80's everyone needed help?

         

As cruel as Fate seems to be with the hair and un merciful even in light of deeds done right, You would think the bitch would throw me a bone in the fashion sense department, but that's a big no too. (I was so much a lesbian even back then...it's amazing I wasn't tucking my green flannel into my teal skinnies.)  Observe my lovely fashion sense in this delightful photo of me...my glasses...and my sweatshirt...TUCKED IN!?!  There really should be a limit to the humiliating things you can do to yourself in one childhood, but it really seems that I applied for a permit to humilite myself and draw the eagle eyes of every bully within a 10 mile radius....

A FREAKING PERM!!!!

That's right, I got a perm.  WTH, Really?!?!  Had I not learned that in order to not get picked on you had to draw the attention aways from yourself?  No, here I am sporting a bright blonde poodle perm, a vivid yellow silk shirt, and bright red pants.  I am so a target.  I should have tattooed a target on my back.

I give no excuse to those children who hurt other children in anyway.  I hurt deeply when I hear that my children have been picked on. I will say that as a child, I had no idea what I did to deserve the cruelty that was inflicted on me and I know that as an adult several people have found me and apologized for the things they personally did to me.  It 's all good. people have to clear their consciences.  I have long ago forgiven.  After my friend Matt killed himself in our sophomore year, I hated so deeply all the people who hurt him and us and all the little nerdy, weak people.  That hate ate me alive and I had to let it go to become healthy.

I also know that my tragic physical appearance may have been part of what got me noticed, but my back-talking, trash-talking, overly defensive mouth is what made me a victim.  

Nowadays, I just kick it with my little nerdy kids and everyday I give them all the love and support I can so that they will have the internal strength to stand up against the things kids seem to inflict upon each other.  I hope that I have what it takes and am the mother they will need if/when things get tough.

We Make the Hipsters Fall In Love…

I love music.  Seriously, I listen to it all the time.  Sometimes I get fixated (like right now) on certain songs (Nemo by Nightwish) and other times I am totally random.  My iPod has 5 days straight worth of music on it and when I hit random, I literally could end up listening to Christmas music in April.
The reasons I like music so much are probably very similar to other peoples’ reasons.

• I can find a song or genre for any mood and any life event and that piece or sound will in some way affect me in the situation it speaks to.
• In the immortal words of Lady Gaga, sometimes I like to “Just Dance.”
• Sometimes songs bring back memories…good and bad.  I hear Lean On Me and I am immediately transported back to my high school friend's funeral.
• Some songs serve as reminders.  I will never hear “Love the Way You Lie” without a small amount of pain.
• Some songs make the day easier. (Nemo by Nightwish) 
• These are the song I want to write about today.  In particular, one artist.  Ke$ha.

Tonight, while waiting an extraordinary amount of time for four menu items in the Taco Bell drive thru, my BFF decided to shop radio stations to find a song she liked.  (Evidently Nemo by Nightwish was not an option at the time.  Sadness.)  In her search, we heard the starting bars of a Ke$ha song and she stopped the radio with a happy sigh and the comment, “I just can’t help myself, I like her.”
So, as the happy bubbly first verse is rolling its way from the entry ear to the ear it worms it’s way out of…Hot and Dangerous…blah blah blah…catchy beat catchy beat….blah blah blah…(incidentally, she has another song called Blah Blah Blah,)  I actually start listening to the words.  It’s a catchy song.  My BFF and I are doing finger calisthenics to the beat and then my favorite line in the entire song comes on…”We are who we ah-are!”
Am I the only one that sees/hears how hilarious that line is?  I mean, who else would we be?  Should the line read We Are Who We Aren’t or We Aren’t Who We Are?  I don’t know about any of you, but I am 100% who I am.  This phrase actually runs right along with the phase that was actually listed as one of the top ten over used phrases in America…It is what it is.  DUH!!!  Really, you felt the need to tell me that construction on the highway is what it is, which is (drum roll please)…Construction on the highway?  Seriously. 
It makes my brain hurt to know that the phrase “we are who we are” might potentially be empowering an entire demographic who may have thought they weren't who they were and that the road construction was in fact a monster truck rally.
While I truly do enjoy bopping along to Ke$ha, her lyrics leave me wanting.  (Wanting Jesus on my Neck-a-lace ace ace.)  If you think my literalism is bad for this song, don’t even get me started on Strawberry Wine by Deanna Carter.  She misses the loss of her innocence.  Ai Ai Ai!
In closing, I do want to express my appreciation for Ke$ha’s laser skillz!  You go wit-yo bad self Gurl!

Just an Intro

To those of you who don't know me very well, my name is Darlene and I am a fractal and random person.  I'm sure somewhere there is a 12 step program with my name (or diagnosis) all over it, but for now I am just here, chillin' in my padded room.
   I keep telling myself that someday I am going to start this fabulous blog and it will be so funny because it will be about...sparkly Texas women or pithy church signs or those strange shoes found in random places (now someone else's blog because she beat me to it without even knowing it was a race.) Regardless of what all my brilliant topics were going to be, I never started that fabulous blog...until now.
    I have always loved writing and when I was abroad, I kept a travel blog (adventuringimpossible.blogspot.com) and it was so fun.  So much fun that I decided the world needed me to keep another travel blog, but this one would be about traveling through life.
  Now, I know you're thinking (while you throw yourself dramatically onto the floor hands reaching out imploringly to the heavens..) "dear Lord, not another whiny, life is crap blog that I am supposed to find interesting!"
    This is not that, I can promise you...no, I will even pinky swear.  As if the act of actually curling pinkies with someone makes it a more valid promise than just saying it.  I believe fully that the entire reason we have pinkies is to validate our promises.  It serves no other biological purpose.  It can't even move with 100% independence.  Seriously, all it's there for is to give that added "ooomph!" to a vow.  Who needs to shake hands or sign contracts?  We curled pinkies!
    The things I can say may appear, with mini-digit crossing certitude, are references to parenting; I am one and I find it mostly hilarious, references to "the gays"; I am one and I also find it mostly hilarious.  Mostly though, I think you will find that I will just be writing about the small ironies I find in life and how very enjoyable they make my day to day existence.  If you find them interesting, cool.  if not...I cordially invite you to stop reading.