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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 5 days
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Fuerza
I used to write a blog a lot more frequently. In the thick of things, when I was struggling, writing it down always allowed me to reach the feelings I was trying so hard to bury. Itā€™s been 3 months since I wrote my last blog, but I have a funny feeling that it might be a lot longer after this until the next - if at all.
As a mother, you become a master at putting your feelings aside. Everything is focused on your children. In some ways, Iā€™m even worse than that - I literally put everyone possible above me and before me. Even the dog šŸ˜‚
In this journey, Iā€™ve often set aside my own feelings when women message me. No matter how Iā€™m feeling, or if Iā€™m in a hard place at that point, I always respond and give an answer to their questions (with the exception of very few where Iā€™ve drawn a hard line). I donā€™t know whether Iā€™m just used to doing that, but I suspect itā€™s to do with the responsibility I feel to others. Each member of my team both independently and collectively, have told me I owe nothing to anyone. Well I feel the opposite. Iā€™ll not even start on what I owe them, but to the many women who have reached out over the years, I have been in their position, I know how they feel and that is something that unfortunately, unless someone has been through it, is impossible to find. For all the respect, love and highest regard I have for pelvic physios, unless they have experienced this personally, their understanding can only go so far. I wanted and continue to want, to help women in a way I never experienced. Yes there were others who had shared their journey, but they were years down the line. They werenā€™t at the stage I was when I suffered the most.
The messages I used to get were from women who had just found out about their diastasis. Now, the messages from women who are close to, or have just had surgery (I literally had a message from someone who had surgery just a few hours earlier!) Each one takes me back every time to when I was at that point. Hard to believe it was a year ago in one way, and in another, itā€™s like a lifetime has passed.
Iā€™ve been taking some weird trips down memory lane recently. After the passing of one of my mentors at the start of my legal career and bumping into my original bosses, I then drove past my community midwife who was responsible for looking after me in both my pregnancies. It hit me how much had happened since I first met her, and since I last saw her. I had flashbacks of all our interactions. Then I drove past the hospital where I was seen on a fortnightly basis for physio at the beginning. It was all a bit much to be honest.
My midwifeā€™s comments will be relatively well known to those who have been following for a while. My bump was ā€˜weird,ā€™ she could ā€˜measure me big or small, I just donā€™t know whatā€™s going on.ā€™ She was not the one who picked up on my separation though, rather it was her replacement while she was on holiday around 36 weeks pregnant in my first pregnancy. When it came to my second pregnancy, she was convinced I would need a C-section and would have to go Consultant led. Thanks to my rockstar physios, I pushed back and wellā€¦we all know how that went. I almost gave birth in the car park and the pushing stage lasted 13 minutes. No painkillers - not even paracetamol and I wasnā€™t even admitted properly on the system by the time I gave birth to my daughter. If there was anyone who was going to prove so-called experts wrong, I guess it was always going to me (and Emily šŸ˜…).
In the days that followed, when my midwife came to visit, she brought a student. I kind of felt like a lab rat in some ways. She wanted her student to feel how large and deep my diastasis was because sheā€™d never seen anything like it. Of the 100s of pairs of hands that felt my diastasis, I felt like that patient in Greyā€™s Anatomy with something really extraordinary and weird but itā€™s a teaching hospital so let the interns see it. I have no issues with students learning - Iā€™m the biggest advocate for learning. I want to learn everything possible and always want to know why - in many ways, my brain probably operates a lot like my teamsā€™. I am THAT patient. I want to see; I want to know why; I want to know as much as possible. And Iā€™m going think more and have more questions. And when there isnā€™t an answer, Iā€™m going to be a bit frustrated by that.
I would say over the course of this, Iā€™d be surprised if I didnā€™t see at least 5 students and then on top of that, any courses I attended as the case study means weā€™re probably into double figures. But thatā€™s the difference with those who know about diastasis- I wasnā€™t the lab rat. I wasnā€™t that patient with something weird (I was, but I was never made to feel like that). Sadly, no matter how well intentioned my midwife, I felt like I was the only person in the world who was that bad. I was the wrong type of unicorn.
My husband always joked Iā€™m a unicorn. He meant it in a good way - according to him (and heā€™s clearly more than a bit biased) there was no one who wanted to learn and understand the way I did; there was no one who carried on the same way regardless of how hard it got; there was no one that worked so hard regardless of how the outcome wouldnā€™t change; there was no one who had shared through two pregnancies, two postpartums, pre-op and post-op. I never saw it like that. I was just doing what I felt I had to to make sure I never had any regrets when all was said and done.
My final consult was actually a month and a bit after 1 year post-op, and it still felt like the time came too fast. Ever since I had my surgery everything has happened too fast. The year leading up to surgery was the longest, slowest and hardest of all, and this one has been the fastest, shortest year, but also still pretty damn hard. I looked forward to and dreaded that appointment at the same time. I was dreading the worst hangover post-consult. Iā€™ve mentioned before I get consult hangovers. Overwhelmed; hollow; empty; and low. The high has passed and all your left with is the memories - and even then they become pretty hazy. The build-up does not help. All my consults - physio and surgical - are booked months in advance so you have time to build up to them (and look forward to them in my case), and then before you know it theyā€™re done in what feels like minutes, and thatā€™s it until the next. Except there isnā€™t a ā€˜nextā€™ this time.
I kicked myself coming out my appointment. I couldnā€™t get out of my own way. The part of me that tries to remain stoic and professional to the end. I didnā€™t say what I wanted to say at the time and it didnā€™t hit me until I left. Then the facade came down and the tears came. I spent the rest of that day tearing up or full blown crying at certain points when people couldnā€™t see me. At the airport and on the plane, I closed my eyes so no one would know and just kept wiping them away. By that point I was in a bit of pain from the procedure and wished I could take something that would knock me out completely to numb both pains.
If Iā€™m honest, I felt it blindsided me. One minute I was getting a procedure done; the next Iā€™m picking up my coat. I always knew it was going to happen that way, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I just wish in the moment I had had more awareness and taken the opportunity when I had it. I had tried to do it in previous consults knowing full well I would be an absolute mess (even if it was just internally) on the day, but Iā€™m still annoyed at myself. Itā€™s like I was trying to pretend it wasnā€™t happening.
Flying to Dublin to following week felt more than a bit cruel. There was no possible way I could have known that the two visits would end up being just a week apart, and although it was for a weekend break, I almost regretted it. I was in a different part of Dublin, but that didnā€™t matter. It was impossible not to think of everything that had happened just one week before. My head was all over the place and still is. I wish I could I could turn my brain off. Itā€™s been my life for 5 years so you would think I would be sick of it consuming me, but I think about it all the time and I canā€™t help it. Even more so the surgery. Itā€™s all I thought about in the lead up, and now itā€™s all I think about in the denouement.
In my last physio consult, I spoke about dreading the end. I struggled to articulate the reasons why, but I eventually found the words to describe it. Loss. It feels like Iā€™m heading for a loss and my last surgery consult only confirmed that. It felt exactly like a loss. Iā€™ve mentioned before itā€™s like Iā€™m grieving. I was grieving the postpartum body I never got to have; the postpartum life I never got to have. Now Iā€™m grieving the loss of the consults and my team. You would think Iā€™d be celebrating, but it just isnā€™t like that for me.
I have my final physio consult in a couple of weeks. To say Iā€™m dreading it is an understatement. My physios responded in my last consult it hopefully wonā€™t feel as bad as Iā€™m anticipating. They donā€™t see it as ā€˜see you later, have a nice life.ā€™ They plan to keep in contact. My last one is to be called ā€˜lastā€™ loosely. Although, they feel it needs an official end to give me some sort of closure. I hate to break it to them, but Iā€™m not sure Iā€™m ever going to have closure. I think I tried to find that last year when I felt completely lost. Despite making the decision to stop counselling because I felt it had taken me as far as it was going to take me, I didnā€™t reach closure. Iā€™m not at peace with everything. The ending feels like itā€™s just putting me back to where I landed last year after surgery - lost in a storm of memories, feelings and completely bereft of what happens next.
Thatā€™s partly the reason I got my tattoo. It wasnā€™t the first time I thought of it - anyone that knows me, knows that I put ALOT of thought into any major decision. But once that decision is made, there is no changing my mind. I wanted something other than my scar to remind me of everything I had been through. A physical change to my body that I got to choose - not something that was the only option, not something I had no control over, but something that was very much in my control. ā€˜Gritā€™ doesnā€™t have a great translation, but ā€˜fuerzaā€™ is pretty apt no matter the translation - ā€˜force,ā€™ ā€˜strength.ā€™ I like to think Iā€™ve represented both at points throughout my journey. Both physically and mentally.
5 years. 5 years since this all started. I dreaded the end early on because I knew what I stood to lose. I knew how important my team were becoming to me even back then. Itā€™s maybe my own fault. There was no ā€˜armā€™s lengthā€™. We have a lot in common. Weā€™re like minded. All I wanted was to make them proud and do everything possible to not let them down (and me I guess). I was putting them before me just like I did in that sentence. But thatā€™s just an indication of how much they meant and mean to me and I wouldnā€™t have gotten to this point without them. I would have been, and still would be, gutted to be held at armā€™s length. Too much has happened and nothing has really been normal about this whole journeyā€¦Iā€™m that weird patient after all šŸ˜…
So what happens next? I have absolutely no idea. Itā€™s pretty frightening. There are no milestones left to work towards. There are no points in time I have to get to. The book is closing and I kind of want to go back a few chapters. Thankfully, I donā€™t want to re-write anything and I have no regrets overall, but it would be nice to go back and slow everything down until Iā€™m ready. Although, Iā€™m not convinced I ever will beā€¦
Maybe my team will forget me over time as one of hundreds of patients for each of them, but Iā€™m going to be an old lady telling my grandchildren about my very own superheroes I assembled that changed my life forever; how they put my broken pieces back together; and how lucky I was to have them, even for a short timeā¤ļø
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 4 months
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A Soft Place to Fall
The memories are going to be tough to deal with over the next month. Iā€™ve had to rethink things. I donā€™t think thereā€™s going to be a soft landing from this.
I have one final crutch I havenā€™t let go of. But just as I made the decision I would need it for a bit longer than anticipated, the following night I made the decision to drop it sooner rather than later.
4 years of my life. Iā€™m not like other patients who maybe had a few appointments, then naturally there was a break, then they came back. There were no breaks. As I mother, itā€™s all Iā€™ve ever known - I didnā€™t only become a parent, I became a patient. And I have been a patient ever since. No gaps. No stops. Itā€™s been one of the most consistent features of the last four years - I was always in rehab or prehab. I was always a patient. I have always had my team. Now thatā€™s about to change and I feel like Iā€™m heading for a crash and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. If this is how I felt once I had my surgery, how will I feel when this ends for the final time? No more consults. No more rehab.
My counsellor told me a few things about dealing with the end. About trying to figure out what does it look like after? Do you keep in touch? Most patients would probably be happy to be signed off. I am not most patients. It says so much about my team, that Iā€™m not looking forward to that bit. Despite everything I have had to go through, despite how incredibly difficult itā€™s been at times, they made it better, and they made it easier. I put them on a pedestal, but I have the furthest to fall. For a long time I have had more support from them than people in real life. Iā€™m not just losing the consults and the team, Iā€™m losing my safety net.
Itā€™s changed my life for the better. They have changed my life for the better. Thatā€™s what makes it hard to walk away. Thatā€™s what Iā€™m leaving behind. If I didnā€™t have the relationship I do with them, it would be easier. But I donā€™t regret that. That is just the way I am. That is what has made this journey what it is, and what made it better even at the worst possible moments. That is the only way this worked - I let them all the way in, and I did everything I could. And I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to make me proud and leave nothing out there.
I was asked by some awesome physios for permission to use my story as part of an upcoming presentation. That has happened a lot over the years, but this is the first time in a while. I didnā€™t hesitate - firstly, because if it helps anyone - be they the physio, the people attending, or even better, their patients, I am more than happy to share, even indirectly. If others can benefit from learning from my experience, itā€™s not even a question.
I was asked a number of questions about my experience over the years. There were two that have stuck with me, and they have crossed my mind so many times before I was even asked by this physio:
1. If you were to go back - is there anything you would change?
2. What would you tell a room full of physios working with people with DRA that they should know?
Iā€™ve said it many times before, and I have reassessed this at every crunch point, when everything reached a peak (usually the most challenging moments of this journey) and my answer is still the same: I wouldnā€™t change a thing. Even though this last part has been the hardest part, I would go back to the beginning and I would do it all again, exactly the same.
Every high and every low has taught me something and made me find another piece of me I never knew existed: another layer to my armour; another level of strength I didnā€™t think I could reach. Iā€™ve had the opportunity to connect with incredible people and incredible health professionals. And donā€™t get me started on my team. Iā€™m just a patient and to them, Iā€™m sure they would say theyā€™re just doing their job. But itā€™s so much more than that. They will never truly know how much they have done for me and how they became the heroes of my story. There will never be enough ways I can express that (and Iā€™m not sure they would listen either knowing them and taking compliments)
What would I tell a room full of physios? My physios changed my life. They have made this journey what it is. I wouldnā€™t have got to this point without them. You cannot underestimate the role you play in someoneā€™s journey. If your patient ends up having surgery because conservative rehab doesnā€™t give them what they need, be there to support them before and after and empower them with the knowledge they need to make those crucial decisions. You are in a unique position to help women like me, no matter what happens in their journey, and that is awesome.
I ticked off two of the biggest goals yet much quicker than I had ever thought. For someone who thought sheā€™d be lucky to be back in a CrossFit gym by the end of the year, I did a full GHD sit-up at 7 months post-op and completed my first competition at 9 months post-op (when I thought I wouldnā€™t be competing until after a year post-op minimum). One of my coaches told me I have rewritten the book on rehab. Maybe I haveā€¦but I certainly didnā€™t do it alone. No matter how hard the moving on is going to be, I will be forever grateful for that ā¤ļø
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 6 months
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The Beginning of the End
I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach. It just feels like itā€™s all ending. The reality hit me that I probably only have two consults left with my team due to when weā€™re meeting next. And I donā€™t know if Iā€™m ready for that to be it. Itā€™s been 4 years during one of the most monumental parts of my life and I canā€™t imagine what life is like without the consults.
I told Alex how I was feeling. I donā€™t know whether I was thinking he would maybe tell me thereā€™s more to go, or whether he would disagree that I only had two consults left, but he agreed.
ā€œThe journey has been amazing. Itā€™s actually incredible. To have gone through what you have and hit so many milestones along the way, itā€™s mental. To have reduced the gap so much the first time; another pregnancy; your pull-ups; then starting CrossFit for the first time with a significant diastasis; to coming back to it and getting your GHD sit-up. Itā€™s actually crazy that you started CrossFit in the middle of all of thisā€¦But you couldnā€™t have done it without them.ā€
I know I couldnā€™t. Iā€™ve said that from the beginning and I still say that now. I couldnā€™t have achieved what I have without my team.
ā€œWhat I would say is, you refused to accept the purported limitations of diastasis. What you achieved physically is all down to you.ā€
Well, Iā€™d say I donā€™t always believe in myself, so I would argue that it was in large part down to you and them supporting me and giving me the confidence ā€¦and maybe a bit of determination on my part.
ā€œA lot of determination Claire.
You donā€™t need them the same way anymore. You and I didnā€™t think youā€™d be back at CrossFit by 6 months and not only were you training before then, you did a GHD one month later. It was the peak of what you wanted to achieve and you never thought youā€™d do it by 7 months.ā€
I donā€™t feel like that. I might not need them for the physical part, but the support theyā€™ve given me mentallyā€¦itā€™s that safety net.
ā€œBut you donā€™t need them - you might want them, but you donā€™t need them like you did.ā€
I struggled to answer that. Of course I still want them in my life. But hearing I donā€™t need them is difficult to believe because I still feel like I do. Itā€™s the comfort of knowing I had them in my corner throughout all of this and that no matter how hard things were, I had unwavering support from a team who got it, and more importantly, got me.
I have made the decision to have one more counselling session and then stop. I donā€™t know if thatā€™s also playing into it - the fear of cutting the safety net from under me and figuring out if I can do it on my own. Counselling has been helpful in understanding a bit more about how I am as a person has played into my experience over the last 4 years. I havenā€™t had the experience of many, but maybe thatā€™s because I refused to accept it. Because Iā€™m so stubborn that I couldnā€™t accept that I wouldnā€™t be able to do X again, or that surgery was my only option when I had only been in rehab for 4 months. Not only did I not accept it, I went further than that: I did things I never would have even contemplated before I had kids. I achieved more functionally, and physically, than I ever had before. Iā€™ve been told many times that I have grit. ā€œGrit is the stubborn refusal to quit.ā€ I can see why that might fit šŸ˜‚
I havenā€™t had the answers I hoped I would get from counselling. There are no guarantees with these things, but I did hope it would be a tool to get the answers I felt I needed. Understanding more about my feelings and myself has helped, but Iā€™m not getting where I need to be with it. Iā€™m glad I gave it a go though. I compare it to rehab and surgery. If I hadnā€™t tried everything possible to help myself, I would have always had a question mark; a ā€œwhat if?ā€ I couldnā€™t leave an option out there. I donā€™t like relying on others or asking for help, and if thereā€™s anything I can do myself, then I want to do it. But even I have to accept help when there are no other options left. I may be stubborn, but Iā€™m not stupid.
I am in a better place mentally. I almost didnā€™t want to say that out loud in case I put some sort of jinx on it. In case I put that out into the universe and it came back to bite me. Iā€™m not the person I was, but thereā€™s a high chance I wonā€™t ever be again. I think thatā€™s why Iā€™m so worried about the end. What if this is just temporary and I fall back to how I felt when I felt hollow and empty? Not only that, but Iā€™ll miss my team. There is no denying that. You can get to know people pretty well over 4 years. Especially when theyā€™re as awesome as they are - not only as professionals, but as people. They were the perfect fit for me. I couldnā€™t have dreamed of picking a better team. I could have looked all over the world and not found any better combination for me. They have changed my life for the better, when I hit one of my lowest points. They have put this broken woman back together. My experience, however difficult, was worth it because of the opportunity to meet, work with, and get to know them. I can never put into words what they have done for me and I will be forever grateful. I will never tire of trying to tell them that (regardless of how much they donā€™t like taking compliments šŸ˜‚)
I have spoken with my counsellor before that I donā€™t know whatā€™s next. I canā€™t help but feel this entire journey has been focusing on the next play, the next milestone. Surgery was THE milestone, but then I had to get back to CrossFit. Whereas getting back to function so much quicker on rehab 2.0 was a surprise and one that was positive; getting back quicker post-surgery feels like itā€™s bringing everything to an end sooner, which is the thing Iā€™m dreading. This time last year, I was wishing time would speed up and it did nothing but drag; now Iā€™m wishing it would slow down and itā€™s hurtling away from me.
I know some people must think Iā€™m crazy for not wanting this to end. Admittedly, I very much wanted it to end during my low points before surgery. But I have always said I wouldnā€™t change what has happened. Not just from the point of my team, but for everything I have learned about myself, and for everything I have done. I have been tested and pushed to my limits and I still made it through. I might be a different person, but there is no doubt I am stronger one - physically, and mentally. And for all the people I have met throughout this or connected with online - the messages of support, and the women and professionals who have reached out and told me I had helped them in some way. I may not be able to believe it or accept it, but if that is true, then that alone makes it worthwhile.
I feel like I owe a lot of people a thank you. This journey wouldnā€™t have been the same without so many people following and supporting me from all over the world. There were so many times that I thought I would stop sharing and maybe it wasnā€™t worth it, but there were so many women who reached out at what felt like the right time and showed me why I should carry on. If youā€™re reading this, you are one of those people who are the reason I continued. Iā€™ve been told so many times that I didnā€™t owe anyone anything. I disagree. I owe the people supporting me and who helped me through the darkest days. And I owe my team everything. Even then, it would never come close to what theyā€™ve done for me.
I guess all I can do is try to express my gratitude to you all. Thank you isnā€™t nearly enough, but itā€™s all I have. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. You will never truly know what you have all done for me and I will never forget it.
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 8 months
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Throwing Out the Rule Book
I opened Pandoraā€™s box. Some of you will have seen the counselling exercise I was set and I shared the results of that. I had to write my thoughts/feelings on the picture the night before surgery, and on the picture post surgery (5 weeks post) that I had shared with my counsellor. I was dreading it. I knew some of the feelings immediately, while others came to me after some thought. What was not surprising, was the overlap between the two. I knew given how I was feeling, that the post-surgery photo wouldnā€™t be all positive like most people would expect.
Insecurity/self-consciousness- the reason for that pre-surgery is obvious. You would be lying if you said it wasnā€™t the first thing you noticed when you saw me. I didnā€™t want to be in public or social settings. I didnā€™t want to have to choose clothes that made it obvious or drowned me to make it less obvious. I didnā€™t want the stares, the glances, or the comments. Post-surgery, I still felt like that. Itā€™s not just about how I look. Itā€™s way bigger than that - itā€™s about how I feel and in social situations people will make it all about how I look.
Frustration - Pre-surgery I was at the end of my rope. Itā€™s exhausting putting in hard work and getting nowhere. Feeling like I was in no manā€™s land and just stuck. Post-surgery Iā€™m frustrated with how I feel - why canā€™t I get past whatever is causing me pain? Why I canā€™t figure out whatā€™s wrong and what I do to fix it? Iā€™m impatient and I donā€™t understand it.
Relief - Relief that this is finally ending and Iā€™ve reached the final milestone. Relief that I look how I want to look and can start to deal with everything else.
Strong/weak - Physically strong in both, and I thought mentally strong in both. But then I had a real think and I changed my mind because I feel pretty weak mentally. Last year was the hardest until this year happened, and I canā€™t ignore that my inability to deal with whatever is going on makes me second guess my mental strength.
Proud/respect - despite everything, I am proud of what I achieved. I respect what my body did for me both pre- and post- surgery. I became the strongest I had ever been before surgery and did things I never would have dreamed of doing pre my diastasis. Iā€™m proud of giving myself the best possible chance of surgery being a success because of the work I put in. But most of all, despite how hard everything has been, Iā€™m proud of myself for not giving up. Even when I felt I was a lost cause, even when I hit the lowest point, I havenā€™t quit. Iā€™m still facing everything head on.
I was nervous to talk about this out loud with someone. We actually didnā€™t end up going into it in much detail, but thereā€™s a chance the floodgates would have opened if we had. While the exercise hasnā€™t solved my problems, it forced me to confront my feelings in a way I havenā€™t yet. Itā€™s a start.
I couldnā€™t have seen this coming. I couldnā€™t have possibly imagined that after I got everything I wanted and had longed for for years, that I would hit the lowest point of this journey so far. Even if someone had told me and warned me to deal with my feelings throughout so I was able to face this after surgery, I couldnā€™t have changed anything. I didnā€™t deliberately set out to put my head in the sand - I did what I had to to survive and get through. It was the only way. I threw myself into rehab, and I focused on the next milestone: pregnancy, postpartum, surgery. As I said before, Iā€™m now paying the price because there are no milestones left.
My counsellor asked me about some comments I had made and asked, ā€œis it control, or is it influence?ā€ I spoke about how I did everything I could to control the controllables - work hard, get strong and even if the aesthetics didnā€™t change, the work would influence the outcome of surgery. She then asked me a question I struggled to answer. ā€œWhat has your influence been?ā€ I knew what she was getting at. She knew I had shared my journey and she knew one of my struggles is dealing with the response and support from everyone following. I donā€™t blow my own trumpet and I struggle to accept when people tell me I have influenced anything. Thatā€™s me as a person. I couldnā€™t even answer her honestly. I laughed to shake it off and said, ā€œIā€™ve been toldā€¦ā€ She questioned me more, not satisfied that I answered indirectly.
I eventually admitted that I think itā€™s been to prove what is possible with a diastasis. To hopefully show women there is nothing to fear. To myth bust by being an example. People tell women they canā€™t do this, or theyā€™ll never get back to X and I ignored those common misconceptions. ā€œYou basically threw out the rule book.ā€ I laughed. Yes. I did. And Iā€™m not like that - I followed the rules in school. I follow things to the letter. Iā€™m not really a rebel. But this was important. Postpartum women are vulnerable enough - they shouldnā€™t be fed misinformation and made to feel fear.
I dreaded coming back from Arizona as that was the first time I felt that hollow and empty feeling that forced me to get help. I had only felt it one other time after a consult and I knew how much it would affect me. When that feeling takes hold, it takes ages to subside and even when it does, itā€™s only at the point when I can just about carry on. This time, thankfully it never happened. Maybe itā€™s the knowledge Iā€™m doing all I can to help myself. Maybe the fact that I have support in place this time made the difference. As much as thatā€™s comforting though, Iā€™m not feeling better. Iā€™m not any worse - but Iā€™m still not any better. Iā€™m struggling with that. 6 months feels like a long time to not feel like youā€™re in a better position. And Iā€™m not a particularly patient person!
The end is something Iā€™ve spoken about a lot with my counsellor. Iā€™m dreading it. This is all Iā€™ve known for 4 years and the end is now nearer than it ever has been. There a number of things playing into that. I now need to figure out who I am without it all. Thatā€™s scary. I feel like Iā€™m living this normal life, but Iā€™m watching from the outside because I donā€™t feel normal. Iā€™ve lost so much confidence, self-esteem that Iā€™m a shell of the person I was. Iā€™m stronger yes - but I feel a bit lost. What next? And what do I leave behind?
Thereā€™s a fear of being forgotten. Like it never happened. My team are my one and only - while Iā€™m one of hundreds of patients for each of them. Iā€™ve always said I get consult hangovers - itā€™s awesome at the time, but afterwards itā€™s almost like it was a dream and never happened and I take a few days to get my head round things. Thatā€™s exactly how I felt after my 6 month post-op consult. I left Dublin struggling to believe Iā€™d looked forward to it for months and it was over and it already felt like it was ages ago. And now I have just one left. Iā€™m dreading the end and feeling like the whole thing never happened.
I really hope itā€™s just an end to the way things are right now, and that it wonā€™t be a case of reaching the end and never speaking to them again. I genuinely want to keep in touch with them all because thatā€™s I how I feel about them as people - it goes far beyond the professional for me. They have played an integral role in a monumental part of my life and have changed it for the better. They have been the majority of my support network for so long. They go over and above every time and they all mean a lot to me. How could I not feel that?
Iā€™ve never been a person who loves change, which is ironic given the fact that Iā€™ve been through some of the biggest changes in my life in the last 4 years. No wonder Iā€™m struggling to cope šŸ˜‚ but once again, thereā€™s a link with bereavement and loss that I canā€™t ignore: Iā€™m forever changed and my life will never be the same again. I just have to learn to adjust to my life as it will be now.
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 9 months
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The Hollow
Iā€™ve been seeing a counsellor weekly since the start of May. I made it very clear I had ran out of options and I was no longer able to help myself. I couldnā€™t carry on as I was without trying to get help.
Iā€™m not good at many things, but one thing I seem to be good at is picking the best team members. Although my counselling is completely separate, she couldnā€™t be a better match for me. She doesnā€™t psychoanalyse what Iā€™m saying, she merely asks questions to understand. She is patient centric, and lets me lead the way. Albeit, thatā€™s been pretty hard as I have no idea what to do, how to think, what I feel, or what is wrong with me.
The feeling is hollowness and emptiness. It was the only way I could describe it, and when she asked me to try and locate where I felt it, I had to take a minute when I realisedā€¦Itā€™s in my core that I feel it. The irony hit me like a ton of bricks. That feeling is coupled with a heavy heart and complete feeling of hopelessness. Like I want to just collapse in a heap and give up. Like my body is buckling under the weight and itā€™s all I can do to hold myself up. Itā€™s feels like Iā€™m defeated.
There have been two times when Iā€™ve felt the hollowness is overwhelming. It takes me a long time before I feel it ease. At least 4/5 days for it get better, but even then, itā€™s just survival. Itā€™s just the point at which I can carry on. Itā€™s not healed or anywhere close.
Iā€™ve acknowledged Iā€™m not getting the space to process whatever is going on. Iā€™m a mum, a wife and I work full time with a husband whose hours of work can literally change on the day. My new job has been full on to the point Iā€™ve travelled every single month since I was signed off to travel, and in June, I travelled every week of the month. Iā€™m run down and exhausted before I even start to look at what might be going on. There is no respite. My sessions are the only time I can process things. But Iā€™m not even scratching the surface and Iā€™m still no closer to figuring out whatā€™s going on.
The problem with my recovery this time is that the mental element is overtaking the physical. They are intrinsically linked and rather than the physical being my way of coping with the mental like before, the mental is holding back the physical. I was physically ready to return to the gym much earlier than I did; mentally I wasnā€™t. I know whatever this is, it will hold me back until I can address it.
My counsellor is either exceptionally good at her job, or Iā€™m ridiculously transparent. Or maybe itā€™s a bit of both. In a short space of time sheā€™s got me down to a t.
There are a number of things my counsellor has touched on that have made me think. Iā€™m not going to share everything we discuss because this is an ongoing process and this is entirely for me. But the reason I write these blogs is to help me process. I hope that by writing these thoughts down, it might help my sessions with her.
Trauma. Itā€™s like Iā€™ve been through a trauma. Iā€™ve been told that before, but I didnā€™t agree. There are so many worse things, and I couldnā€™t see the link. When my counsellor said it, I told her that. She pointed out that consensual or not, surgery itself is a trauma, never mind the rest of it. My body and mind have been through a trauma - even though itā€™s what I wanted - and while my body is healing, my mind also needs to heal. I know theyā€™re not on the same page right now. My head has not caught up with my body. I still feel like the whole thing has been a dream. The drugs didnā€™t even affect me as badly as I thought they would, and I remember everything from the minute I woke up and was conscious in the room after. But it still feels like a vivid dream.
Disbelief and inadequacy. Iā€™m still completely overwhelmed at the level of support and following I have from people Iā€™ve never met. And complete disbelief at the luck of having the best possible team and the incredible support they give me. Iā€™m nobody special. I still donā€™t understand how people are able to say Iā€™ve helped them. Or how physios say that Iā€™ve changed their practise. It doesnā€™t make sense. I donā€™t know how it happened or why anyone has taken an interest in me.
Grief. Someone mentioned to me a few years ago, that maybe what I was experiencing was a kind of grief. When I discussed everything that I was feeling to my counsellor, she highlighted it was like grief. It was the feeling of disbelief that follows a loss and the feeling of experiencing it all over again when you realise.
Itā€™s like the dreams I used to have when I lost my dad. The initial dreams were that was he was still here and I would wake up and experience overwhelming grief all over again. I would have to relive the loss. As time went on, I would dream he was there, but somewhere in my brain, I knew that was no longer normal and he wasnā€™t meant to be there. That almost felt more devastating. It meant that every part of me knew it wasnā€™t normal for him to be here any more.
I knew she might onto something because in my subconscious I had imagined a number of times I still had my diastasis. Iā€™ve been convinced that things are how they used to be, only to wake up and realise theyā€™re not. Itā€™s happened a few times where Iā€™ve drifted off during scar massage at night in bed, with my hands resting on my tummy. Iā€™ve been so vividly caught up in some level of my subconscious where Iā€™ve thought I still have my diastasis, only to wake with a jolt and have to check myself. It may be telling, but I donā€™t always feel panicked or get upset as you would expect I would be to think I still had it. Itā€™s almost comforting in a weird way because itā€™s familiar.
Itā€™s happened to me once when Iā€™m conscious since the first week post-op in the hospital waiting area. I was travelling to London and I walked past a slim woman who was very obviously pregnant. I glanced at her and thought, ā€œto be fair she probably thinks the same about me.ā€ I had to look down before I realised.
I donā€™t know why that keeps happening. But 5 months on from surgery canā€™t erase 4 years of my default. My husband told me recently I still stand in public like I have my diastasis. Arms folded across my tummy. Protecting, hiding and completely self-conscious. When I said all my confidence had disappeared, I meant it. My surgery may have taken just 3.5 hours, but nothing I have lost is coming back quickly.
When my counsellor booked my next session for mid July - 4 weeks on from our last, she said: ā€œIā€™m not one for usually giving homework, but I have an idea if youā€™re up for it?ā€ I smiled; Iā€™m always up for homework. That means I can actually do something and something is within my control to help myself. ā€œI want you to print out the photos pre- and post-surgery you showed me, and I want you to write your thoughts and feelings down on each of the pictures.ā€ My mind flashed to the pictures instantly and I had a sudden feeling of dread. Why did I feel like I was about to open up Pandoraā€™s box?
Perhaps opening that box is exactly what I need to address this horrible feeling. Maybe the feeling of having to gear myself up to do this task is reminding me of how I felt when I had to address my tummy and how it looked. Maybe the hollowness is a result of trying to numb myself for years to what my tummy looked and felt like. To steel myself to everything I was dealing with. To switch my feelings off so I didnā€™t succumb to overwhelming feelings of anger, hurt, bitterness, disappointment, pain, grief and repulsion. Maybe Iā€™m suffering for those decisions now. Iā€™m paying the price for everything I did just to survive and get through it.
Iā€™m honest and I have no shame in opening up. Thatā€™s why I thought Iā€™d be further along to addressing this than I am. Maybe thatā€™s why I was naive enough to think the hollow feeling wouldnā€™t overwhelm me for a second time. But I just canā€™t get to the bottom of whatā€™s going on. And itā€™s killing me. Thereā€™s barely any part of me left that I recognise. I see flashes of ā€˜normalā€™ me, but itā€™s fleeting. Iā€™m trying my best at everything, but right now, Iā€™m failing spectacularly at being good at anything.
I donā€™t have the answers to how I get through this. I canā€™t try any harder than I am. I canā€™t do anything more. Itā€™s gutting that it isnā€™t enough. I donā€™t want to be this person anymore. I donā€™t want this to define me. I need something to change. Iā€™m banking on there being a lightbulb moment, but in reality, it might not look like that. I just want it to get better. Even if itā€™s slow. Even if I barely notice it at first. Iā€™ve always carried the grit to get me through, but at the minute, itā€™s running low.
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 11 months
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Behind the Wall
When I joked I was waiting for the shoe to drop, when my first two weeks post-op went way better than I expected; I didnā€™t think that when the shoe did drop, it would come down with an almighty crash that would stop me in my tracks. There have been many ups and possibly more downs throughout this experience, but I never imagined in a million years that my biggest low would be after surgery.
I have never felt so bad in my life. The week following my work trip to the US, I woke up with a sickening hollow, empty feeling that left me wanting to stay in my bed and shut out the world. I tried to ignore it or at least hope it would get better as the day wore on, but when the reality hit that this feeling wouldnā€™t go away, I realised that there was nowhere to hide. For all the times I had put a brave face on; for all the times I had turned my focus elsewhere; for all the times I had pushed feelings aside; it began to dawn on me that I could no longer do this alone. I would have to get help.
I almost wished for an injury that would justify me taking a break from rehab, but also that would distract me with a physical pain that I could focus on, instead of the growing pain I was feeling mentally. I was desperate to feel anything other than the feeling that I was no longer in control.
I knew it was possible I could feel low around 3-4 weeks post-op, but the fact that that never came, did not mean I expected a catastrophic fall a few months later. I described a weird feeling at 12 days post-op which continued to grow as time went on. Initially, I thought it was a me thing, so when someone confirmed they too felt it, I was relieved. What seemed to be something I would just get on with and push through as normal however, snuck up on me when I least expected it. And it doesnā€™t make sense.
The elements that play a part in all of this, I understand. It makes sense that I am struggling with being so far from the limitless function I built up to, (twice). The mental exhaustion from trying to get used to my new tummy, (and a new job), is understandable. The overwhelming gratitude I have for my surgeon and my physios, is a given. The feeling that Iā€™m letting them down by my reaction to this, is inevitable. However, the feelings of emptiness, hollowness, and anxiety are completely unexplained, alien, and unexpected. I have everything I wanted and more than I could have dreamed of from the aesthetics. Lack of initial function has never stopped me before, so what is the problem now? Why am I in such a bad place that I have never felt so awful in my life? And what scares me the most: why canā€™t I find a way to deal with it? Why do I now, after all this time, need someone to help because I just canā€™t figure it out on my own anymore?
A friend had recommended counselling back when I admitted to feeling ā€˜weirdā€™. As much as I appreciated her suggestion, I put what I was feeling down to only being a few weeks post-op, and I knew I was struggling to get used to how I looked.
I also knew the grey area of rehab was also causing me confusion. I didnā€™t feel like I was on any solid or familiar ground and I felt completely lost with how to approach it. As much as I eventually felt reassured that I knew how to scale and modify, I was still left with question marks. I just canā€™t see a clear path back to what I want to do.
Alex tried to convince me that I should just get back to the gym, start slow, and build back up. However, the thought left me feeling anxious. I didnā€™t want to feel useless, and I didnā€™t want to feel inadequate and at this point in time, that is all I feel. That is the reason Iā€™ve decided to delay my return to the gym. If I donā€™t feel confident in some basic movements in my own space, how can I possibly put it on a coach in a class?! My first 121 in the gym I confidently stated: ā€œI can do anything, there are no limits to my function.ā€ The coach would not have typically had me doing what I was doing because of my diastasis, but the fact I had physios and myself saying I can do anything I want, was what changed it. Fast forward to now, and one of the most worrying signs for me was the panic I felt at the thought of setting myself further back, should I go back to the gym too soon. Thatā€™s when I knew. I have always relied on rehab/exercise/training to cope with everything I was dealing with. Now, I am too far gone for my usual coping mechanisms and this is way beyond anything I have ever felt before. I donā€™t know what to do to fix it, but I know this time is different. I canā€™t figure it out myself this time.
Even the decision to get help, was not without struggle. I felt like a complete fraud and unjustified at seeking help when so many are suffering with far worse things. My issues didnā€™t even make sense. I am so unbelievably lucky. I have had the surgery I longed for and needed for 3 and half years; I have the best possible team who have continued to support me through everything; and the result is more than I could have ever hoped for. What right do I have to feel like this? What right do I have to get help for something like this, when there are far worse things? And even worse, I have lived through worse things?
I feel for Alex in all of this. He was so excited to get his wife back, and somehow Iā€™ve lost even more of myself in a few months. He acknowledged that like it or not, my diastasis DID become part of my identity after all that time, and now I donā€™t know who I am any more. I never lost myself because of becoming a parent - like so many do - I lost myself because of what I had to experience on top of that. He has done everything he possibly can to support me through it all, but even he canā€™t help me now. All he can do is continue to be the rock he always has been. I know he and my children arenā€™t getting the best of me. Nobody is and I feel horribly guilty about that. If thereā€™s one thing Iā€™ll always do, itā€™s that I will try my best at anything and everything; but I am failing big time right now to do my best at anything.
I have always tried to be a kind person to everyone, but everyone does not include myself. I am hard on myself and expect a lot from myself. I donā€™t give myself breaks. I struggle to let myself off the hook when I donā€™t meet my own sky high expectations. Couple that with the feeling that I am letting others down; I put myself in a very dark and unforgiving place. There is no more hiding behind the wall I have built for myself - in fact, the wall is going to have to come down whether I like it or not.
When I told my physios I might need to lay off rehab for a while, it was suggested I could take a year off and come back - it wouldnā€™t matter: they were there to support me regardless. Once again, showing me how incredibly lucky I am. The thought of being away from rehab for a year however, filled me with a sense of panic. I hoped it might be a few weeks at most, or even better, I could just take it as it came and do it when I felt like doing it.
Whilst it would appear that everything recently has been a struggle - despite this incredible thing that has happened - I have always said from the beginning that this is a warts and all account. There is no point pretending my tummy is fixed so everything is now fine. Far from it. But I have no doubt that at some point I will get back to the person I was or if not, the person I will be going forward. I will get back to the gym, and I will be back to enjoying the hard work that will hopefully, allow me to reach my goals. This is more than a blip - it feels more like a road block, but I WILL get through it and I will come out the other side. Iā€™ve quoted this before, (and in fact, this quote hangs on my gym wall) but it feels pretty apt for where Iā€™m at right now:
ā€œObstacles donā€™t have to stop you. If you run into a wall, donā€™t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.ā€
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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Head on Fire
I think everyone feels like my rehab is going really well from snippets I have shared, when in reality, I feel like the biggest fraud there is. I have high expectations of myself and Iā€™m not even close to meeting them. It doesnā€™t even look or feel the same like it has before. Everyone is saying Iā€™m doing amazing and I feel like running away and hiding because I feel like anything but. I know people might think Iā€™m doing more than they would expect. But I guess like everything, itā€™s all relative. I was coming from a place of high function, and I want to get back to a place of high function. To me, this part where Iā€™m starting out, is the part I want to get past to eventually reach my goals. Itā€™s not my end game.
My surgeon deserves the wow factor reaction for what she has done. ƉilĆ­s has done an incredible job and I canā€™t even react in a normal way because I feel anything but normal. I owe her far more than Iā€™ve been able to offer and Iā€™m gutted I canā€™t seem to show it. The last thing I want is for her to think Iā€™m not happy with the result. It couldnā€™t be further from the truth. Part of it is actually that she has done such an unbelievable job that I canā€™t get my head around it. I always knew that she would do. It wasnā€™t even a consideration when I chose her; her skills as a surgeon were never in doubt. The fact that she ticked so many more boxes as well (which is an understatement) was an absolute bonus. Just like everyone else in my team, there just arenā€™t enough words to describe how amazing she is and how grateful I am. Itā€™s one of many things Iā€™m struggling with - Iā€™m completely overwhelmed with gratitude and I donā€™t know how to say it or show it.
Surgery wasnā€™t about function for me and no promises can be made about function anyway. I had taken care of function with the help of my physios and had managed to achieve things I could never have imagined before pregnancy. I was the strongest version of myself before surgery. It was about aesthetics, yes, but it wasnā€™t just about that. It was about fixing what I couldnā€™t and never would have been able to fix on my own. Without realising, I think there was a naive part of me that thought validating how bad my diastasis was, would let me off the hook. That I would give myself a break for failing to do what I set out to 4 years ago. I always knew surgery was my only option and I was happy with that, but itā€™s maybe another factor.
In my most recent physio consult, I demonstrated a few exercises so we could try a few things. At the point I took my top off so they could see my tummy as I did the exercises, Antony said, ā€œwhoā€™s that girl with the flat tummy?ā€ Without even missing a beat, I responded: ā€œI donā€™t know her either.ā€ And it couldnā€™t be truer. Iā€™m walking around going through the motions, but I donā€™t feel like myself or feel like I know the person walking around looking like me. Itā€™s like Iā€™m watching it all happen from a distance outside my body wondering when Iā€™m going to rejoin reality again. I wish I could explain myself to the 3 people that matter most in this.
Iā€™m getting frustrated with myself. Iā€™m impatient to deal with whatever is going on and not be in this weird place where I canā€™t even describe how Iā€™m feeling - let alone get over it. People are probably getting sick of me saying it. Iā€™ve spoken to one person who got it and she said it took her 6 months. I wouldnā€™t be surprised if it takes me 6 months as well. Whilst I would do anything to feel better before then, I just have a feeling Iā€™m in this place for a bit longer. I donā€™t even know where to begin. I donā€™t know how I am going to feel better because I donā€™t know what I need. Time? Space? A good cry? Scream? I canā€™t even bury myself in my rehab like I normally would. Itā€™s the strangest feeling to know you donā€™t feel yourself and you feel you have every reason to be happy and grateful, but you have no idea why you feel so out the game and donā€™t know how to fix it. Itā€™s exhausting. Iā€™m completely drained and depleted by the whole thing.
Someone messaged me to say maybe I was grieving. Maybe. Iā€™ve experienced a lot of grief in my life from tragedies, but while I could relate to going through the motions and putting a face on it, this feel different. Maybe itā€™s a different form of grief šŸ¤·šŸ½ā€ā™€ļø
Iā€™ve been massively guilty of kicking the can down the road. Iā€™ve pushed my feelings about my diastasis aside, thrown myself into exercise and training each time, and just focused on the next thing: pregnancy; postpartum; surgery. I somehow became an agony aunt for everyone else and their feelings about their diastasis and I pushed my own feelings further and further away. I was happy to be someone people could message, because I know how difficult it is not having that someone you know with it; to have someone who understands how you feel and what youā€™re going through (on top of being a mum). And maybe on some level, I was happier to deal with everyone elseā€™s feelings instead of my own.
The first time I didnā€™t even contemplate not improving it. I committed myself completely to doing everything and anything possible to change it and I was relentless. I made progress and that became addictive, so I trained harder and got stronger. While I wasnā€™t back to where I wanted to be and I knew my story would end up with surgery, I knew I was in the best position I could be for pregnancy number two.
I continued training right up to 38 weeks pregnant and had my daughter at 39 weeks. Two weeks later I was back at it. Resigned to the fact I was back at the bottom of the mountain with another long, hard climb up ahead. At the top would be surgery, and finally, a resolution to the last 4 years. It *should* be all downhill from there.
The year leading up to surgery - frustrated with lack of aesthetic progress, and being kept out of the gym by repeated illness; feelings came to the surface that I had worked so hard to bury. I have always bottled things up. Even when I lost my Dad at 14, there was a marked difference between how my mum and sister dealt with it, and how I dealt with it. I am my Dadā€™s daughter in almost every way. I became an adult overnight and skipped those typical teenage years. With my diastasis, training had been my therapy. I could work through the feelings and frustrations related to my diastasis with exercise. When I couldnā€™t exercise and have that outlet, I was in such a dark place.
The milestones post op at 2 weeks then 6 weeks flew past and went so much better than I expected. Rehab however, is not what I expected. And I canā€™t explain how Iā€™m feeling so rehab is not giving me the same therapy it was before. I joked in my consult: ā€œA psychologist would have a field day with me right now.ā€
I just have to accept that the scars that this experience has given me are more significant than the physical one I bear from surgery. Iā€™m my harshest critic and Iā€™m very hard on myself. I canā€™t help it - Iā€™ve always been this way. Iā€™m trying not to be, and to give myself the space and time I clearly need, but itā€™s not easy. I feel like Iā€™m letting people down. I feel like I havenā€™t reacted as I should have to the most incredible result which has blown others away just as much as it has blown me away. And I canā€™t do a damn thing about it.
My feelings on sharing what Iā€™m doing for rehab are mixed. Like everything else, itā€™s a snippet of whatā€™s going on. Thereā€™s a lot more to it than what I share and sometimes I wonder if it creates the wrong impression. I have always shared an honest account from the beginning and that will always, ALWAYS be the case. Far too much of social media is through rose tinted glasses or filters. Iā€™m just not that person and clearly, no filter in the world would have helped I used to look anyway šŸ˜‚ Equally, there are a lot of people who might find it helpful. The guidance on this area is next to none and while I would never advocate anyone just doing as Iā€™m doing without seeing someone qualified to advise them; once again, in my story it might be an example of being more capable than you think, while following the guidance of health professionals.
Every day I hope things will become clearer. That a bit more of the fog will lift and I will feel more like me again. It hasnā€™t happened yet and I donā€™t know when it will. I wish more than anything I could get an answer to the why. Why am I feeling like this, and what can I do to fix it? Iā€™m so delighted with the result. Itā€™s more than I could have dreamed of, but why does it feel almost hollow right now? I donā€™t think itā€™s just any one thing. It feels like it must be everything: like rehab; where Iā€™m currently at function wise; the way that I now look and so many other things.
People wonā€™t understand and thatā€™s completely fine - I donā€™t understand myself, so I canā€™t expect anyone else to. I could never have predicted that having the surgery I had thought about multiple times a day for almost a year would leave me feeling confused. I feel like Iā€™m absolutely over the moon, but Iā€™m still just hovering in space on the other side, drifting. Any time Mission Control wants to intervene though and bring me back down to Earth, Iā€™m more than ready šŸ˜‚
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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Healing Scars
Iā€™m starting to sound like a broken record, and there isnā€™t a thing I can do about it.
I was fully prepared, both mentally and physically, for a tough two weeks immediately post-op. I didnā€™t even entertain that it could be much better than I was anticipating. I wasnā€™t being pessimistic; I just wanted to be realistic. When it turned out way better than I had hoped, I was left wondering, what next?
I hadnā€™t put enough thought or attention what would come after. There were short milestones up to 6 weeks, but thereafter the gap gets bigger. I didnā€™t put thought into how I would feel or how I would deal with the magnitude of everything that has happened.
Iā€™ve always said diastasis is so much more than a physical condition - what my diastasis has done, is in equal parts mental and emotional, as it is physical. My confidence was shattered. I was chipped away at little by little over several years until there was barely any part of me left. I tried to build a wall to protect myself and it still wasnā€™t enough. Iā€™m not an arrogant person, but I used to have enough self-confidence to not be a shrinking wallflower. No matter how much the insides churned, I could turn it on, and nobody would know. I could present to hundreds of people in a room, make jokes and make direct eye contact, and my voice would never crack, and my face would show no sign of nerves. Walking into a room looking like I did before surgery, took all of that from me. It made me self-conscious like I actually did want to shrink into the wall. Or better yet, not even put myself in that situation to begin with.
Knowing who was in the room or not didnā€™t matter: what people thought, inevitably one single look across the room and I could feel it. I just knew. Didnā€™t matter what I did, or what the situation was, it happened every single time. And that was before the comments came: ā€œYouā€™ll not be drinking;ā€ ā€œgood luck with everything;ā€ (accompanied with a gesture at the tummy); or the judgmental looks when they found out the ages of my children only to assume I was on to number 2 or 3 depending on the year.
The changes that my diastasis made were both positive and negative. Without a doubt, Iā€™m stronger than I ever was - both physically and mentally. Whilst it took all my confidence from me, Iā€™ve had to put up with a lot and I know that no matter how itā€™s made me feel, my mental strength has increased tenfold. I have learned so much about my body and its capabilities - despite everything.
I get called out a lot for my grit and determination. I have truly questioned at times if I really do have it like people say I do. There are times I have felt like a complete fraud. Thatā€™s why I have always needed goals - something to work towards so I could give it my all. I had to find those time and time again in the last 4 years, because they were what kept me going when I was too tired; or I had to juggle babies on the floor as I did my exercises; or when I had just had enough of the chipping away and the mental toll.
Last year was the hardest because the big end goal was all I had, so day to day when I couldnā€™t train, or when I lost momentum, or when it all felt like it was for nothing, the darkness enveloped me a lot faster and took hold for a lot longer than previously. The people who donā€™t get it, are the ones who think surgery is now done so thatā€™s it - you can move on. You can put all this behind you. No. It just isnā€™t as simple as that. If it was, I wouldnā€™t be struggling to explain how Iā€™m feeling, or what Iā€™m thinking. For all the times I have felt my team could and have read my mind - I havenā€™t even been able to read my own mind this time. Just like diastasis isn't just a physical condition; surgery doesn't just have physical implications. How can it? I spent 3 years building up to it. Just because I was prepared in every way, ready and excited for it, doesn't mean that it hasn't impacted me mentally and emotionally. Itā€™s like Iā€™ve fallen down the rabbit hole into wonderland and there is no path back, just onwards into the unknown.
I know a lot of women have followed for the same reasons I started this blog and started sharing - they donā€™t know anyone with it and theyā€™re looking for someone who understands. To hear and see things that resonate with them. To validate that what theyā€™re feeling is completely acceptable and normal, or that someone else has felt the same way. I wish I could leave a trail to help others navigate this period. The truth is, Iā€™m barely navigating it myself. Iā€™m looking for familiar ground or something that I recognise, but there isnā€™t anything. In many ways, postpartum rehab was a walk in the park compared to this. I was comfortable with my diastasis and what I could do. I may not have liked it, but it was familiar. The first time there was the naivety and hope that if I worked as hard as I possibly could, I could fix this and go back to normal. The second time, I knew what I was capable of and that I had done it before, so I could do it again. It may have hurt when the results werenā€™t the same, but at least I could carry on anyway.
Aesthetics were never on my side, but function has always, ALWAYS been the one thing I can rely on. I was able to do high level activity beyond anything I would have ever imagined with a significant diastasis. I could push myself and push myself hard - partly because I wanted to; partly because I needed to. Now the situation has flipped - I finally have those aesthetics I have been dreaming of and longing for for years, but my function is a question mark right now. Itā€™s tentative and uncertain.
I donā€™t want anyone to get the wrong impression - I have no fear when it comes to rehab. Iā€™m not terrified of getting back to exercise or doing certain movements. That is all down to the fact I have been so well supported. I have the best people advising and guiding me. I couldnā€™t ask for a better team and I have been armed with all the knowledge I need. I always want to learn as much as possible; I always want to prepare as much as possible and give myself the best chance to give the best account of myself possible. I donā€™t want to let myself down, but overwhelmingly more important to me, is the fact I donā€™t want to let anyone else down. I donā€™t want to let my team down.
Itā€™s just that this period is completely unknown. Yes, the possibilities are endless at the end of this and that is exciting; but that is also hard to comprehend at this point. The foundations part of my previous rehabs were always well mapped out, and it was only when the limitations were removed that it became unknown, but this is the opposite: it feels like Iā€™m in a bit more of a fog from the beginning. Thatā€™s just the way it is - there are no hard and fast rules, research, or guidance for this point. Everyone will be different just like with everything else - in terms of repair, recovery and the goals they have. Iā€™m not anxious about trying anything (although I am cautious about what Iā€™m doing), but I want to make sure I get this part right, to make sure the rest of rehab is what I need it to be, to get to where I want to be. The gym was always my safe/secure space. The place I wasnā€™t defined by my diastasis; the place I could give it my everything and force myself to forget. Iā€™m even unsure and uncertain about going back into the gym. It doesnā€™t feel the same right now and I donā€™t know why. Iā€™m still not used to how I look; Iā€™m still not used to how or what I feel, and I canā€™t even explain it to myself. I feel like Iā€™m on a constant rollercoaster in my head and everything is spinning and all Iā€™m trying (and failing) to do, is find a fixed point to focus on.
This wonā€™t be forever. There will hopefully come a point when something clicks, and Iā€™ll feel more self-assured. But I donā€™t yet know who I am without my diastasis and that is scary. Iā€™ve lost so much of myself, that no matter how quickly my diastasis was corrected, the mental and emotional scars will take far longer to heal than the physical ones. The other night, I cried for what felt like no reason at all out of the blue, but the truth is, Iā€™m overwhelmed in so many ways. Iā€™m overwhelmed by gratitude for those on my team; Iā€™m overwhelmed by the support from so many; and Iā€™m overwhelmed by what has happened- not just in the last 8 weeks, but for the last 4 years. The reality is, no matter how incredible my team are, this is the part they canā€™t help with. Nobody really can. I have to work through it on my own and try to figure out how to feel like myself again. I knew it would hit me at some stage, and Iā€™m pretty sure the sign that the floodgates were opening happened the week before surgery. In ā€œStaring at the End,ā€ I said I had to leave Antonyā€™s course to go outside because I was so overwhelmed with emotion. These are floodgates Iā€™ve desperately tried to keep shut for years. When I tried to explain to my husband, without knowing, he hit on almost everything thatā€™s going on in my head. He is struggling to comprehend everything, so canā€™t even imagine how Iā€™m feeling. I feel pretty helpless and lost at the minute.
A friend told me she thought I was back in the zone after seeing one of my exercise videos the other night. I had to admit that I am definitely NOT back in the zone and in reality, feel so far away from it, Iā€™m not even on the same planet. So, for anyone looking to me for any guidance or reassurance - Iā€™m not sure I can provide it right now, but bear with me and Iā€™ll hopefully get there.
ā€œA really strong woman accepts the war she went through and is ennobled by her scars.ā€
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
Text
Walking on a Dream
The 2 days at home before surgery flew past. I said goodbye to my kids the night before we left knowing that the next time I would see them, I would be two weeks post-op and would look very, very different. They were no different to usual. My son grasped it a bit better, but their attention span and emotions werenā€™t in line with what was a pretty big deal!
The morning before surgery ended up being my first, and last CrossFit class since before Christmas. We had booked to go to CrossFit Green near the hospital and it was always my plan that I would do a final class in Dublin before surgery. I had just hoped that Iā€™d also make it to some in my own gym before. It turned out to be the first (and last I hope) workout that I seriously considered quitting. I was so deconditioned from being out of the gym for a month and still not 100%. My heart rate skyrocketed pretty quickly. I knew I would never reach the numbers on the board. At the end, I didnā€™t actually do as badly as I thought given all the factors, but if I hadnā€™t been getting surgery, I would have been seriously pissed off at myself for even of thinking of quitting.
Later that day, was my marking appointment. That appointment had been in my head since my surgery was booked - maybe then it would all seem real, because that appointment would mean it was really happening. What I didnā€™t anticipate, were the nerves. It was like ƉilĆ­s read my mind when I went in - ā€œa lot of patients feel nervous for this appointment but leave feeling much better,ā€ which was exactly what happened.
I signed the consent form to confirm I wanted to go ahead with the surgery. There was a section to say I understood there were alternatives to surgery. We both had a good laugh at that: ā€œI think Iā€™ve exhausted all of those šŸ˜‚ā€
I took the final pictures of my diastasis that night. I didnā€™t sleep terribly, but I wouldnā€™t say I slept well. I was fasting from 4am (I set an alarm and took a protein bar just before) and no liquid after 8am.
I walked the 15 minutes to the hospital with Alex. He already knew - I wanted to carry my hospital bag as it would be the last time I was carrying anything for a while. Iā€™m stubborn, but I had my reasons - I donā€™t like asking for help and if I can do it myself I will do. I was admitted at 10am. We went to a small waiting room until I was called. We waited only 15 minutes before they told me that this was it and we had to say our goodbyes then. That felt so strange, but I wasnā€™t at all nervous. Poor Alex looked a bit lost, but I felt pretty calm and definitely felt ready.
I was taken to a bay to get changed into a robe, compression socks and to give a urine sample. I was there just minutes, before a doctor started taking my medical history. I didnā€™t even have a chance to get changed once he left, as the next thing two nurses came to get my urine sample, take a blood sample and insert a cannula for my IV. Everything felt like it was happening at breakneck speed. I literally had questions about practically everything in my medical history being fired at me, as someone else took blood at the same time.
By the time that was done, I noticed everyone in the waiting area were being taken at different points and leaving the area we were in. What I didnā€™t realise was they were being taken along more or less for surgery. I donā€™t know what I expected, but I somehow thought I was going to be taken to another room to wait. I didnā€™t think the next part would be the holding area right next to the operating theatre!
I had absolutely no concept of time, but the last time I checked my phone it was 11:29 and at that point I was called. I knew my surgery had been scheduled for 1:30pm and I knew that meant nothing as such, but I had in my head I had ages to wait. When I was told this was the point I would be leaving all my stuff and this was it, I was pretty shocked. I was led to the holding area where they drew the curtain around me in a room full of patients waiting for surgery, just like I was. The only difference was, surely I had a while yet to wait?
The nurse came in to go through a final few things. She asked me had I been waiting long for surgery. In terms of that morning: no šŸ˜‚ in terms of everything else: it felt like it. She patted my leg and told me it wouldnā€™t be much longer. I donā€™t know how I managed to stop myself asking, ā€˜how is this possible because everything seems to be happening so fastā€™ šŸ™ˆ I have absolutely no idea how long I was sitting there before ƉilĆ­s came over. I was aware I could see lots of pairs feet under the curtain that were moving about and no doubt leaving for surgery. I could hear surgeons and anaesthesiologists alike speaking to patients and leading them away. Probably the thing that set me off was hearing someone at the desk in the room say something about, ā€˜Ć‰ilĆ­s Fitzgeraldā€™s patient.ā€™ It wasnā€™t me they were speaking about, but my heart rate hit the roof and I realised I had to chill the hell out if I was going to be sitting there, especially if it was going to be for some time yet. I tried to just close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. I think I actually even drifted off for a few minutes I was so successful šŸ¤£
When ƉilĆ­s came in, I honestly felt like it was a dream. Apart from the fact when I had dreamt about that moment in the months previously, it usually ended with me being told it wasnā€™t happening and I had to go away and put more work in šŸ™ˆ Thankfully, this was real this time and there was no going back. We spoke for a few minutes and she asked me if I had any last minute questions, but the answer was no. I donā€™t know why I felt so calm at that point. Itā€™s hard to describe - yes the day felt like someone had pushed the fast forward button, and very surreal. However other than small moments in the lead up, I didnā€™t ever feel anxious or nervous. All I felt was calm and ready. This was absolutely what I wanted, with the person I wanted to do it, and I knew I was in the best hands. I had long made peace with decision that this was how my journey was going to end up. We were finally there.
I had a few more minutes to sit before they were ready for me, so I stayed where I was. I say a few more minutes, but I genuinely have zero idea of how long it was. The next thing I know, the nurse and the anaesthesiologist himself came over. I instantly liked him. He introduced himself as, ā€œIā€™m the person whoā€™s going to put you to sleep with some lullabies. Shall we go do that now?ā€ He then apologised for the wait. I said to him, this is all happening a lot quicker than I expected. I really donā€™t feel like Iā€™ve been waiting at all. ā€œOh we all feel bad youā€™ve been waiting so long.ā€ It was crazy šŸ˜… I genuinely felt like I was in the weirdest time warp. Everyone else thought Iā€™d been waiting ages, but I felt like I hadnā€™t been waiting at all.
I wasnā€™t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasnā€™t that I would walk out the holding room only to be one or two doors down into the operating theatre. Or that I would just casually walk in and then be told to hop up on the table šŸ˜… At that point they placed the wee sticky pads on my chest for all the leads for the monitors and applied the compression pumps to my legs there and then.
I was trying to take everything in. I couldnā€™t quite believe even at that point that it was actually happening. I didnā€™t even feel nervous at all, but there was a real sense of relief and excitement. There were loads of people in the room getting ready behind me. I was aware of ƉilĆ­s coming through the door to my right. The last thing I remember was the anaesthesiologist asking me the colour of the cannula, ā€˜pink to make the boys winkā€™ šŸ˜‚ and then a pink mask being placed over my nose and mouth. I just remember that sweet smell of the mask that was the same as when I used gas and air in my first labour. I could feel the gas I was inhaling, and the nurse told me it was just oxygen, but I guess it probably wasnā€™t because I donā€™t remember anything else after that šŸ˜‚ Either that or the timing of that was exactly at the same minute as I was given the knockout. Last time I trust someone that tells me that šŸ¤£
My first memory was kind of coming to in recovery and thinking, ā€˜whoa I think Iā€™m going to be sickā€™ and promptly retching. I wasnā€™t actually sick, but a doctor came over sharpish with a sick bag and then I was gone again. I just remember thinking, ā€˜bloody hell why do I have to go and test the abs straight away doing something like that šŸ˜‚šŸ™ˆā€™ I vaguely remember being told when I was going to be taken upstairs, but I felt like I was being pulled back under and couldnā€™t fight off the sleep. I remember being left in the room, but it was a colossal effort to keep my eyes open. The last thing I recall at that point was being aware of whoever was next me - the woman and her husband were speaking Spanish. I felt reassured that I must be okay, because I heard and understood everything they said (although if you ask me now I couldnā€™t tell you what they said!) I always thought Iā€™d be the one waking up speaking Spanish under the influence of the painkillers, but it turns out I was just meant to be in the bed next door šŸ˜…
The next thing I realised my visitors were in the room. It took absolutely everything to force my eyes to stay open, but the fact that they were there I knew I wanted to be conscious. I still had absolutely no concept of time. They were only there a few minutes before ƉilĆ­s came in. She could have told me absolutely anything and I would struggle to remember. What I do remember is her taking off the binder to let me look. I have no idea how I reacted or what I said. Iā€™m guessing I shook my head in disbelief (because thatā€™s still how I react now). Despite the fact my tissues were very stretched, somehow the quality of those tissues was actually very good for the sutures to take hold. There are no guarantees, but itā€™s likely the load I had put through them and the work I had put in which made the difference. I was told my diet was going to be changed due to the fact that she thought I might get really sick from anaesthetic because of the volume of it going through someone smaller framed like me. Somehow though, I managed to eat every meal I had and I didnā€™t retch again. I wasnā€™t at all sick and have no idea why. Maybe my body was just able to cope somehow.
Iā€™ve spoken to a few people who said they had slept great the night of surgery, but I didnā€™t at all. Despite the painkillers and feeling like I was in a fog, my brain just wouldnā€™t switch off (no change there then) and of course the nurse came in regularly to see if I needed more pain relief so it felt like the night after I had each of my kids, where they just keep checking on you. Thatā€™s obviously so reassuring, and if I was asleep I wouldnā€™t have noticed, but I just didnā€™t sleep well for whatever reason.
In the morning, my catheter was taken out at 7am and I knew Iā€™d be up and going to the toilet for my first walk. The nurse helped me the first time and I was immediately shocked at how straight I was able to stand without forcing it. I had expected the worse, so was pleasantly surprised when it just felt comfortable to stand almost straight. The nurses changed my bed when I came back because they said I was a query for staying another night, which was reinforced by the fact I was told to make another dinner choice. I knew most patients left the next day, so that was a bit confusing, but I put it down to my low blood pressure. If my blood pressure is anything, itā€™s always low. When I had my son, it was dangerously low the morning after given birth and I couldnā€™t stand. I knew it wasnā€™t as low the morning after surgery, but everyone remarked on it. ā€˜Is your blood pressure usually low?ā€™ was a question I was asked by a couple of nurses and the physio.
When ƉilĆ­s came in to check on her patients, she confirmed there would be no reason why I couldnā€™t leave that afternoon after showering etc. It sounded like I had been marked as a query to ensure if needed, the bed was there. That visit I remembered a bit better šŸ˜… she took the binder off again to show me and said she was happy with how everything looked.
My nurse came back in and said she would change my belly button dressing after my shower. I managed to shower myself which I was surprised at, but so relieved. It just felt amazing to feel clean. My dressings were changed and I was then able to get dressed and put my binder back on myself. Of course, I was knackered by that time, so all I wanted to do was sleep. I was waiting on my prescription when Alex came in. The nurse read it out and I just remembered looking over at Alex thinking, that canā€™t be right. It sounded like the only painkillers I was being prescribed were paracetamol! Alex said, ā€œClaire, when I had surgery on my hand I ended up with more than that, that canā€™t be right.ā€ I asked Alex to get the nurse who had been with ƉilĆ­s in the morning to ask her. Her face when I explained was an absolute picture! It turned out the doctor who had signed it hadnā€™t realised I had an abdominoplasty! šŸ™ˆ It was promptly corrected šŸ˜‚ I can handle a lot, but wouldnā€™t have liked to be climbing the walls with the pain later thinking, why didnā€™t I say something?
The hospital physio visited me before I was discharged. It felt completely ironic if Iā€™m honest. At the very beginning, we now know I should have been seen by a physio on the ward after having my son, and ever since then Iā€™ve lucked out when it comes to physios. I couldnā€™t help but smile wryly at the fact I wasnā€™t being discharged post-op until I had been seen. She said my surgeon had told her I was pretty clear on everything I could and couldnā€™t do, but she just wanted to check coughing, breathing and log rolling. She readjusted the bed and when I log rolled, she told me I was really strong in doing it so she had no concerns. The coughing was no doubt the worst thing about being post-op. It is absolute agony, but a necessary evil to ensure I didnā€™t end up with a chest infection or worse post anaesthetic.
Before leaving, she took my blood pressure thinking she would get me to walk the corridors and then downstairs. I was game, but she decided because of my low blood pressure we wouldnā€™t do it. I felt able to, but this was day 1: there would be plenty time to test the waters when the time was right. She handed me a leaflet for post abdominal surgery and apologised: ā€œyou canā€™t do the majority on here anyway which Iā€™m sure you know, but I mistakenly crossed out walking as well. You can walk and thatā€™s it.ā€ šŸ˜‚
We were lucky to be staying across the road from the hospital. However, I was more than a bit mortified when Alex said heā€™d be taking me in a wheelchair to the apartment then would return it to the hospital. That led to a hell of an argument šŸ¤£ but in the end I had no energy to fight him on it long enough to get my way and walk myself. Iā€™ll probably never forgive him for making me do that. Talk about overprotective! I love him, but honestly I swear he insists on some things knowing how much itā€™ll wind me up!
I thought Iā€™d struggle sleeping at night, but thankfully not. Although positioning myself took time, we got there eventually. Alex drove me crazy at times, but I canā€™t fault him as a nurse. He was on top of my painkillers and what I could take and when, did everything for me like dressing me, drying my hair and helping me clean my belly button. He cooked, brought everything to me and opened every door before I could even think of doing it. The odd time I slipped up, he gave me the hard stare that Iā€™m pretty sure he reserves for me when I piss him off because, Iā€™m ā€˜too stubborn.ā€™ šŸ¤£šŸ™ˆ
The second day I probably wanted to go out for a walk, but I was exhausted, and ended up napping on the couch. I hadnā€™t felt great that day so I listened to my body. While I was keenly aware of how everything felt like it was going better than I had expected, I knew I would now play a part in that in terms of what I was doing. The Monday after surgery, I went for a small walk and although I was walking a bit gingerly, I was pretty much straight when I was walking. Iā€™m naturally a really fast walker, so to see Alex slow down for me was a reality check, but I knew I would get stronger at some point and wasnā€™t bothered how long it took, I was just grateful to be doing well.
That evening, I spotted my ankles were pretty swollen. I knew going to bed I would be immobile for the whole night and while I could have taken the compression socks off between days 3 and 5 post-op, I made the decision to keep them on at night. I also decided that on top of walking outside during the day, I would walk lengths of the long corridor in the evenings outside our apartment. Alex said it wasnā€™t quite 100m so I would do ā€˜there and backā€™ a few times. The first time I did 4 times, only for Alex to tell me it was quite quick so I decided to do more. Every night thereafter from then on, (with the exception of two nights when I was just too tired) I did 10 full lengths of the corridor which would take about 20 minutes (at the start) on top of any walk during the day. I wasnā€™t actively trying to do them quicker (Alex doesnā€™t believe that, but itā€™s true), but each time got quicker and easier. It gave me a bit of movement before bed, and equally some alone time and headspace to try and figure things out.
The next day was the only blip in my initial recovery. I noticed there seemed to be an infection at my belly button. I had been told that was really common given what belly buttons are, but I just knew it wasnā€™t quite right. When I explained how it looked over the phone, ƉilĆ­s agreed it sounded infected and prescribed me antibiotics. I probably caught it a day earlier than maybe normal, as the next day it was red around it and looked more infected, but by that time I was already getting antibiotics into my system so thankfully, had no issues with a fever or anything else. Iā€™ve always been hyper aware of everything going on at my tummy and that wasnā€™t about to change post-op. I think thatā€™s probably why I caught it so early.
At 7 days post-op, I had my first physio consult. We discussed surgery and how I was doing and they had a look at my tummy. They both remarked how upright I was and how good it looked. I think Antony even commented I was looking ā€˜jacked.ā€™ I have no idea what he was seeing, but Iā€™ll take it šŸ˜… The whole thing was surreal. I couldnā€™t believe a week had passed since that absolute blur of a day that would change my life forever. I still canā€™t get over it now.
The next day, Alex was leaving to swap with my Mum, who had been looking after Cailean and Emily since the Wednesday before. We had agreed it wasnā€™t fair on the kids to be away from both of us for so long, so Mum would come out as Alex went home. I would be on my own for about 5 hours, with Alex threatening to lock me in if he thought I was going to do anything that wasnā€™t allowed šŸ™„ I had suggested I would do my outdoor walk before my Mum arrived, but I had to compromise to my lengths of the corridor. Even then, he wasnā€™t happy I would be opening the apartment door myself. When he was leaving was the first time I got emotional. He had driven me crazy as I said, but I couldnā€™t have done it without him. Not just surgery - everything I had gone through in the last almost 4 years. He has been my rock throughout and Iā€™m so lucky to have him.
I was probably a bit more emotional on my own between Alex leaving and my Mum arriving, so I was glad when she arrived a bit sooner than expected. During that week, I continued being able to walk more and for longer, but still listening to my body when I needed a rest.
The Monday after Mum arrived, was probably the most eventful. I thought my infection was getting worse - although that was based on how my belly button looked. It was decided that the way I cleaned it would change - no more antiseptic or ointment, just water and instead of a dressing, a panty liner inside my vest under the binder to ensure it was wicking any moisture away from the belly button. I was relieved - it previously felt like a never ending cycle where I would clean it, try to dry it as much as possible, but it would look worse again the following day when I took the dressing off.
My Mum had arrived in Dublin with conjunctivitis in both eyes, but it was steadily getting worse. I had no idea how to access doctors while we were there, but we ended up in an out of hours clinic at a nearby hospital. She had heard how awesome the doctors were and didnā€™t want to miss out šŸ˜‚ That was probably the first time I was in close proximity to others outside of the shops in the waiting room without my jacket on. I watched two families with toddlers waiting to be seen. Iā€™ve been that soldier many a time with my two. I suddenly thought theyā€™re probably looking at me thinking Iā€™m due a baby myselfā€¦only to look down and realise, ā€œNope. Nobody will think that ever again.ā€ šŸ„¹ It was the first time it hit me, but even then it felt like the feeling was barely scratching the surface.
My final appointment before going home was to get my dressings off at 12 days post-op. It was the weirdest feeling walking into the hospital and up to ƉilĆ­sā€™ office, when the last time I had been there was my marking appointment the afternoon before surgery. I had taken paracetamol before just because I thought it would probably hurt. By that day, I had come off all painkillers and was only occasionally taking paracetamol - usually for a headache rather than anything to do with surgery. The dressings coming off wasnā€™t the most pleasant experience, but it was over quickly thankfully. It was the first time I got to see my scar and I know it seems strange, but I was delighted. It was the next big part of the puzzle post-op. When the nurse got me to look in the mirror once she had trimmed the sutures and cleaned it, I think I once again shook my head. I just couldnā€™t believe that that was what I looked like now. I still canā€™t. I was told the swelling below my belly button would go down and there were some cracking bruises, but I couldnā€™t care less if this is how it looked from now on. Iā€™m over the moon and blown away the results. Compared to how I came into that office 13 days previously, it was night and day.
It was even harder to comprehend when the nurse took the photos and compared them to the very first consult last March šŸ¤Æ she put them side by side and said: ā€œyou can tell youā€™re fit and strong, but look at the difference.ā€ I swear I feel like one of those Churchill dogs in those adverts that used to shake itā€™s head. I just cannot get my head round it.
Leaving the appointment though, I felt strange and I canā€™t really put into words how I was feeling. There was an air of finality creeping in again and I didnā€™t know how to feel. I didnā€™t know the words to thank my surgeon and her team for everything they had done. How can you thank someone who has had such a profound impact on your life? Who has changed your life for the better? I still canā€™t comprehend that this is it. I still donā€™t feel any of this is really real. I donā€™t know how, or when that will change.
My team - my physios, my surgeon and of course my husband - want to protect me at the minute. I love them for it, but thereā€™s no denying: no matter what we all do, there is a weight of expectation and I canā€™t ignore it forever. Even in the lovely comments on my first update post-op, I had incredible comments like: ā€œthe whole community are wondering how youā€™re getting on,ā€ ā€œthe update weā€™ve been waiting on,ā€ ā€œlots of us interested having followed your journey,ā€ and ā€œcanā€™t wait to see your next updateā€. Even thatā€™s hard to believe. People have been following from the beginning and they want to see it through with me to the end. It blows my mind as much now, as it did in the beginning.
I came home to my kids and my husband two days after that appointment. My son has grown up with this as much as I have lived with it. There have been times heā€™s been fixated on my tummy, and he completely understood everything about it getting fixed by the time surgery came. It came as no surprise then, that every single day I FaceTimed him when I was away, he asked to see my tummy. When I eventually showed him, he was speechless, which is pretty impressive for an almost 4 year old, who never stops speaking! The poor wee guy couldnā€™t comprehend it either.
I know it might be hard to understand why I have shared everything over the years and now I have the biggest update of all, but Iā€™m not ready to share yet. Iā€™m really struggling with it myself. I donā€™t know how I feel about everything. Thatā€™s partly why I made the decision to release these blog posts first. I hoped that if I tried to process it by writing (which has always been my go to throughout this journey), maybe I could figure it out. Iā€™m reluctant to see anyone I know yet. I was happy in my bubble in Dublin because no one knew me there. I could go out for a walk and be completely anonymous. I go out for a walk now feeling I might bump into someone. I donā€™t want to hide away forever, but Iā€™m dealing with some huge emotions and thoughts right now, after what has been years of my life.
There is one thing for certain I do know in all of this - how even more incredibly lucky I am now. Not only do I have my amazing physios, I now have the most amazing surgeon. I knew that before she even laid eyes on me in person, but throughout all of this, that has just become clearer each time and of course, no more so than when I woke up post-op. Her skills as a surgeon were never in doubt; but they were the cherry on top of an incredibly kind, caring and supportive person who got me as a person, how I felt, and what I wanted to achieve from day 1. That is everything I could have asked for and more. As with everything I have experienced throughout, there will never be enough words to express my gratitude for what my team have done and continue to do for me.
I have videos and pictures from those early days post-op. I will post these when Iā€™m ready. I know many women following are considering or are getting an abdominoplasty, and I know maybe something I share might help. Maybe even just as reassurance that if thatā€™s the decision theyā€™ve made, they wonā€™t regret it.
I have never been ashamed of getting surgery. It was very clear to me, even as early as 2020, that it would be my only option. That was reaffirmed when I was opened up. There was just no way I could do it myself: no matter what I did and no matter how hard I tried, or how long I put in the work, and I know I did absolutely everything humanly possible to try.
When the time comes, I will be putting the same efforts into my final chapter of rehab. Whilst I know they wouldnā€™t agree, itā€™s the very least I owe my surgeon and my physios. Once again, so much time and effort has been put into me and I couldnā€™t not repay that the only way I truly can. Even then, that probably wonā€™t ever be enough for everything they have done for me. šŸ€šŸŒŸā¤ļø
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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Staring at the End
I made a promise I would be selfish while I recover and I donā€™t break promises. Anyone who knows me though, knows being selfish is not easy for me. My natural instinct is to put everyone and their dog before me. However, I couldnā€™t have thought that this time, it would actually be easier than I thought. I want to stay hidden for a bit longer and Iā€™m not ready to share everything yet. I have recorded some of my initial recovery, but I just want to protect myself at the minute. Itā€™s the weirdest thing - Iā€™ve spent the last almost 4 years of my life hiding in public and not wanting to be looked at or seen, and now I donā€™t have to any more, and yet itā€™s still my first response at the minute. I wish I could, but I canā€™t explain it.
Part of that is very much down to the fact Iā€™m still processing it. I lived with a diastasis for just short of 4 years, but Iā€™d been counting down to surgery for 3 of those. Consciously, or subconsciously, it has been there since I made the decision in February 2020, and since my first surgical consult in March 2022, Iā€™ve thought about it every single day at least once, if not more. Itā€™s a wonder I managed to hold on to some remnants of sanity at all. I made no secret of the fact that 2022 was the longest, slowest and one of the hardest years I had ever lived through. I spent the majority of it knowing nothing would change with my diastasis that would even just make life more bearable while I waited on surgery. All I wanted was something to make it more bearable. I didnā€™t even have the comfort of regular, consistent training thanks to all the illnesses.
When January 2023 finally came, my date came hurtling at a rate that made my head spin. I was ill (obviously) and wanted time to slow down so I would give myself time to get better to ensure my recovery was as good as possible, and what happens when you want time to slow down? It does the opposite. I went in knowing I wasnā€™t 100%, but there wasnā€™t a snowballā€™s chance in hell that I would be the reason that it didnā€™t go ahead. If my surgeon had to cancel or postpone then I would be gutted, but I would understand. If I was the reason, I dread to think what state I would be in.
My intention was actually September 2023 originally and then that was pulled forward to April. By the time we discussed January as a real possibility, my head and heart were already set on it. I knew I could no longer live like this any longer than I had to. If I had to, Iā€™d do it, but it wouldnā€™t be pretty.
Before I knew what was happening, we reached the week before surgery. I had the privilege of attending Antonyā€™s Female Athlete Course in Kildare the weekend before. For the first time, Antony, GrĆ”inne and I would be together in the same room at the same time and Antony would be able to assess me in person for the first time in the 3 years we had all been working together. It would probably be the only time that would happen in the entire journey.
To say it was surreal to meet Antony in person for the first time is probably an understatement, but it was also awesome. The diastasis part of Antonyā€™s course had been moved to the afternoon so that I could be assessed using Antonyā€™s portable ultrasound machine. Other than being able to meet in person, I was so delighted that Antony would finally get to be hands on with my tummy - heā€™d been saying how much he wished he could for the duration of the time we had worked together. He told me that how he imagined it would look and feel was exactly how it did, which just shows how well virtual consults do work.
I was on a makeshift bed of wooden boxes and and a sandbag for a pillow - couldnā€™t be more CrossFit if we tried šŸ˜‚ Nothing had majorly changed and I didnā€™t expect it to, but what I was mostly concerned about were the muscles. I hadnā€™t trained in a month (again) and I wanted them as strong as possible before surgery. I was reassured after that they looked good and were as strong as they were when I was last checked on ultrasound back in September.
At that point Antony wanted to demonstrate different positions where patients with diastasis could be assessed - four point kneeling, plank and then during push-ups. Plank, side plank and four point kneeling were no bother, but when he asked me to do a push up on a very narrow space I did give him the look šŸ¤Ø But then we all know I love a challenge, so I did it. ā€˜Can you go lower?ā€™ I went lower. ā€˜Can you go lower again?ā€™ Yes. šŸ˜‚ I partly blame my team for the way I am - the big red button that says ā€˜press meā€™ is the one they always press. Doesnā€™t take much šŸ¤·šŸ½ā€ā™€ļø
Antony then got me to do a Q&A. He first asked how many people knew about my story. This is where I wanted to hide šŸ™ˆ a number of people put their hands up. It still blows me away. Antony asked if he could share that my surgery was the following week to which I agreed. They asked a number of questions around it, what surgery I was getting etc.
Another participant was assessed after I was. She had had 4 children and in my opinion, looked fantastic. I was at the back of the room at the time and I donā€™t know what came over me, but I left the gym knowing that I was about to burst into tears. I pretended I was leaving to make a phone call and slipped out the door and stood around the corner. I couldnā€™t articulate what was going on. Looking back, I think I always knew my diastasis was bad and it was on the more extreme end of the scale. Mine was rare even among the 1/3 of women who experienced it. I had it after EACH of my two children and neither of my kids were big babies. Not after multiples; not after 3, or 4 or even just after my second. I had it from the beginning. I had never known what it was to not look pregnant since I was actually pregnant. While I knew there were hundreds, probably thousands of women much better off than me with their diastasis, I had never had to witness a person in a much better position being assessed in the same room and immediately after I had been assessed.
I have had hundreds of messages over the years from women I know to be better off than I am. They tell me they look the same as I do, but there are many occasions I know that canā€™t be true. They may feel like that, but they arenā€™t in the same position and thatā€™s the bottom line. Their feelings are absolutely still valid and I continue to provide the support I wished I had from women in the same position, but it hurts a lot. I just donā€™t tell anyone that.
The enormity of the fact I was having surgery that week probably came into play in that moment. I had waited and wanted it for so long and it was finally on the horizon. There was an air of finality setting in, and that wouldnā€™t be the last time I would feel it. Part of that feeling was hugely down to relief and it was all coming at once.
The following day started with a workout and I was desperate to do it, but I made the decision I didnā€™t want to set myself off on a coughing fit and I didnā€™t want it to impact later that week. I knew if I arrived on time that day, I would struggle not to join in because I had missed training so much. I told Antony I would turn up once it had started. The one thing I did manage though, had been on my list since the beginning. An improvised GHD sit up. I had done a partial one in my own gym, but the gym we were in for the course didnā€™t have a GHD. Antony called me over and told me he would have someone hold my legs and he would be in the support position. It actually only dawned on me when he got me to sit down what he wanted me to do. When I did it, I did it fast and a lot more powerfully than most people were expecting. Poor Radley at my feet almost got his head taken off I came up so fast šŸ™ˆ Jo commented that she didnā€™t think many people were expecting it to be so strong or powerful. My answer to that was ā€œIā€™ve spent years working hard and focusing on my core strength. Core movements in the gym are probably the only thing at CrossFit I can do. I can do high volume and high intensity without getting doms. I very rarely fatigue at my core. Itā€™s just the nature of how Iā€™ve trained for the last 4 years.ā€
Antony got me to do a few more but stepped away from the support position- he knew I didnā€™t need it. Someone behind me said, ā€œGreat, just another 90 to do!ā€ I turned around and laughed, ā€œyou have to be careful what you say, if thereā€™s even a hint, I will go for the full 90 and not stop until theyā€™re done!ā€ Antony looked deadly serious and said, ā€œClaireā€™s not joking - she actually will!ā€
At that point everyone else took a break, but I got Antony to film me doing the improv GHD again. He told me he was going to do it differently- raise me up on the sandbag and no one would be in the support position this time, he would just lock my feet and try not to get headbutted šŸ˜… When the break was over, he told me he was going to speak about me for a bit, was that okay? I agreed, thinking he was going to speak more about my training etc. if I had known what was coming next, I probably wouldnā€™t have agreed šŸ™ˆ He proceeded to address the group and thank me for the contribution I had made to the pelvic physio community and how he had been approached by many physios and fit pros from all over the world, who told him what I had shared had made them reconsider how to help their clients. However, it was important that I know I didnā€™t owe anybody anything. I had done so much, but it wasnā€™t owed.
I think I spent the majority of that section staring hard at the floor. I donā€™t want to say embarrassed is the term, but I was overwhelmed. My own physios and many others have told me this directly, but itā€™s very hard to believe. Iā€™m just one patient of many with DR that physios have seen. I guess the only difference is that Iā€™ve shared my experience publicly from the very beginning. As Iā€™ve told my physios many times - itā€™s their practices that are changing everything, Iā€™m just the example.
Just when I thought I had survived the part where I was centre of attention, a physio in the group volunteered that physios in private practice had told her and her colleagues that the way they treat diastasis had to change because of me. I was utterly speechless. I didnā€™t know what to say in response. Itā€™s not the first time Iā€™ve been told that, but I donā€™t know why, when I have received messages like that Iā€™ve just thought the person was being really kind. I havenā€™t thought for one minute that it is actually the case and I always reduce any influence I could have had because itā€™s so hard to believe. There was something about the way this physio said it and how it was volunteered that made it very difficult to respond.
At that point, Antony asked me if there was anything I wanted to say. God knows how given what I just sat through, but on the spot I told them exactly how I felt: that physios or fit professionals- it didnā€™t matter: they had the power and the ability to change their client/patientsā€™ lives for the better. The fact I was getting surgery didnā€™t matter - Antony and GrĆ”inne had changed my life for the better. If they spent a whole session talking to that patient because they needed to get their feelings off their chests, they couldnā€™t possibly know how much just listening would do for that person. Itā€™s as much a condition that affects you mentally as it can do physically. They should never underestimate the level of positive influence they could have on that personā€™s journey by supporting them towards their goals. Even just by attending the course, their patients/clients were so lucky to have them - they were willing to develop themselves to help their patients and they were open to change to be the best they could be.
I left Kildare on the Sunday feeling funny. Everyone had wished me luck for surgery and it might be the last time I see Antony before I was one week post-op. Even thinking about it now, I can get emotional. It was an absolute privilege and an honour to be in the room with so many health and fitness professionals who worked with women like me. Apart from them all being so lovely, it was a pleasure to meet so many in person who had been so supportive throughout my journey. It felt like I had known them for years, despite never having met them in person before then. I sat at the airport trying to comprehend that the next time I would be there would be in a matter of days; ready, finally, for surgery.
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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Eyes Forward
Where to startā€¦the last few months have been true to form in this journey ā€“ an absolute rollercoaster. Finally, it felt like things were starting to be more positive than negative. My surgery was booked for January; I had an additional bonus session to look forward to with GrĆ”inne when she was over in Scotland running a course; and although training wasnā€™t consistent, I was still getting back into it.Ā 
To say it was surreal to enter a room full of physios I had never met and have some of them immediately say they were following me on Instagram, is an understatement. It was completely unexpected, and I felt like a bit of an imposter. Sharing my journey online has meant I donā€™t tend to meet the people following in person. When I do, Iā€™m usually a bit lost for words. I was actually really nervous for some reason. Thank goodness the process of being scanned by GrĆ”inne is something Iā€™m more than used to by now ā€“ it just doesnā€™t normally happen with an audience live at the time. Thankfully, everything looked good, and the hard work is hopefully paying off.Ā 
At one point I had a couple of the participants scan me. One quizzed me on how often I exercised. I didnā€™t like to say, ā€œnot as much as Iā€™d like,ā€ so I said I aimed for 3 times per week. I wasnā€™t sure what was coming next, but to hear someone who wasnā€™t my own physio say, ā€œyou have good muscle massā€, made me feel relieved. Not for one minute do I think GrĆ”inne and Antony would tell me something just because I want to hear it (because they wouldnā€™t and I wouldnā€™t want them to), but it just meant I was on track and hopefully putting myself in a good place for post-op recovery. Ā 
When another lovely physio stepped up and told me they, ā€œwerenā€™t used to scanning athletes,ā€ I had to do everything possible not to fall off the bed in shock. I felt like looking round the room to see who they were talking to, because they couldnā€™t possibly mean me šŸ˜‚šŸ™ˆ I know they say if you move your body, youā€™re an athlete, but for me, ā€˜athleteā€™ is a term I attribute to someone much fitter and much stronger than me. That term felt far too generous for meĀ šŸ™ˆ
I was struck by how lucky the patients are to have physios that I met that day. I have always considered myself lucky, but it was such a privilege to meet so many others willing to go above and beyond for their patients.Ā 
The following week, I caught the flu. Of course I did - there isnā€™t an illness this year that I havenā€™t caught at this point. Despite having the flu jab, I was absolutely floored and even now, three weeks on, Iā€™m still completely congested. There goes my trainingā€¦AGAIN. I missed my work Christmas lunch and gym Christmas awards night as a result. My husband flew solo that night but returned with an award for me. I was completely speechless. An award for ā€˜Recognition of Overcoming Adversity.ā€™ Talk about bawling šŸ˜­ I had asked Alex to film the awards because I wanted to see who won what ā€“ I never in a million years expected to be one of the recipients. Alex had to collect it on my behalf so it meant he didnā€™t catch all of what was said, but what he did catch will stay with me for a long time: ā€œThis is a bit of a strange one, in that this person doesnā€™t see it as a limitation. She doesnā€™t let it stop her, and she just works really hardā€¦ā€Ā 
If there was ever an indication that I had picked the right gym to start my CrossFit journey, that was it. The fact that my coaches understand completely how I feel about my diastasis, and how I want to be treated, means everything. I never wanted to be that person using my diastasis as an excuse, and I sure as hell never wanted it to stop me doing anything. Thanks to my physios, and thanks to the incredibly understanding and supportive coaches, it doesnā€™t. I feel so lucky to be part of Strengthlab and I know Iā€™m in the best hands returning to CrossFit post-op.Ā 
Luckily, I was well enough to travel to Dublin for my pre-op surgical consult. The weekly countdown I had set on my phone was now well down to single figures and all I feel at this point is excitement. I cannot wait. The feeling of walking into my surgeonā€™s office, knowing that the next time would be THE time, was indescribable. If I could bottle it, I would. Ā 
Ahead of my pre-op surgical consult, I rewatched the April consult when I visited GrĆ”inneā€™s clinic. That was the appointment I had the month following my initial surgical consult. I wanted to refer back to the measurements I gave in March and provide the updated ones from April, if needed. Whilst I had a further consult in September in person with GrĆ”inne and with Antony online, the measurements hadnā€™t changed so there was no quantitative update. There were still subtle changes found; but those were more to do with: how the linea alba looked, increased muscle bulk and the lack of a definitive semi lunaris, (which suggested that the separation which existed there previously, was no longer visible).ā€Øā€Øā€ØIn that consult, we spoke a lot about the fact that I somehow knew there would be changes, but that that made it that much harder to accept the lack of improvement of the aesthetics. Once function was taken care of, aesthetics was all that was left and that was where I was struggling. Struggling to understand why, struggling to see any change, struggling to find motivation.ā€Øā€ØAntony and GrĆ”inne understood where I was coming from, but even they couldnā€™t provide definitive answers. This is the unknown- it may have been down to the tissues being stretched too much. It may have been down to something else. That was frustrating. The truth is though, even if there was a definitive answer, would it really have placated me? Knowing that it was just my luck in the genetic lottery; or for some other reason that I couldnā€™t change; would that really have helped?ā€Øā€Øā€ØAntony was still hopeful at that point and I understand why. We donā€™t know what we donā€™t know. I wasnā€™t prepared for what he did say however: ā€œIf you just said Iā€™m going to have an operation in a year and Iā€™m going to do nothing (I know youā€™re not) - what you have done is nothing short of amazing. You have put yourself in the best possible situation to find out if things are going to changeā€ā€Øā€ØBut it wasnā€™t to be. No matter how much I did or how hard I worked, those changes never came. It left me in some very dark places and really struggling to get out.
Watching that back the night before my pre-op consult - in a completely different place mentally - Iā€™m not ashamed to admit my eyes welled up for a minute. It was the very stark reminder of how far Iā€™ve come even from 8 months before, never mind the whole 3 and half years. That I have done absolutely everything humanly possible, and I could not have done any more. I was already at peace with getting surgery, and I knew I couldnā€™t have done any more, but hearing it again just reinforced it. It was like a message that was being sent, telling me that no matter what happens over the next few weeks, I donā€™t have to worry about that part of it. Iā€™ve done my part and done it well.Ā 
The consult increased my excitement levels. Aside from some specific questions around the surgery itself, I was ready to say letā€™s do it now! šŸ˜‚ But that was no different to my first consult in March. There is no doubt in my mind that recovery will be tough, both physically and mentally. However, there is also no doubt that I have the best possible team of my surgeon, physios, and coaches, to get me through the next and final stage. I feel incredibly lucky in that regard. ā€Øā€ØMy emotions are, understandably, all over the place at the moment. I think that is in large part, down to relief. This is almost over, and I donā€™t have to live like this for much longer. Iā€™m literally counting the days and Iā€™m just excited for whatā€™s to come.ā€Øā€Øā€ØI never knew what rehab would look like the first time. I just approached it in the same way I approach everything. Although this recovery and rehab will be unlike any I have experienced yet; Iā€™m going into this final chapter the same way: with dedication; hard work; determination; and gritā€¦plenty of grit.ā€Øā€ØWhilst there will be other Instagram posts in the lead up, this feels like the last blog post until I am post-op. Thank you to those who take the time to read. It means the world and I couldnā€™t have ever imagined anyone would read them. To hear that my posts help women in the same position, thatā€™s justā€¦I canā€™t put into words what that means and how overwhelming that is to hear.Ā  To all of you who have been there to support, I will never be able to express my gratitude enough. Thank you ā¤ļøĀ 
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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When You Doubt Your Powerā€¦
The discovery that I was compensating for a weak hip, was a curveball I didnā€™t need or want.
The stark reality of going back to gentle rehab for something completely unrelated to build strength in an area that is weak, made me really question myself. When I did start the first rehab session, I was angry, resentful and gutted. I was mortified. That night, we were all lucky a fist didnā€™t land in the gym wall. This was the conversation Alex and I had:
Alex: I hear a lot of frustration coming out of that room.
Yeah because I donā€™t wanna do it! I donā€™t want to go back to this, itā€™s fully shite!!! It was different beforeā€¦
Alex: ā€¦Because it was all you knew.
Exactly! The first time it was all I knew and what I was being told would help me get back to normal [because that worked out so wellšŸ˜‘]
Second time I knew I had to, but I knew what I could do after if I just got through it. Now, Iā€™m back again and itā€™s like, what is actually going on right now?!?
Alex: Do this now, get strong now and hopefully even things out before surgery. Then after it should help.
I doubted myself and my ability to do this once again looking ahead to after surgery. To just accept that ā€˜slow and gentleā€™ will be the program for the foreseeable. How can I do this again? After all the work I have put in to get back to exercise I enjoy, again and again, how can I do it and start all over? I know no one has worked harder than me. I just donā€™t know if I have the energy for it this time. Maybe I just donā€™t have the fight left in me.
Rehab is meant to be temporary- no one is supposed to be doing it constantly, but Iā€™ve been on a constant cycle of rehab for 3.5 years. 4.5 by the time this over. Thatā€™s not normal. My brother in law tore his ACL twice - even he spent less time in rehab than I have. I feel like Iā€™ve been on a permanent rollercoaster. I just canā€™t any more. Iā€™m exhausted and done in. And just maybe, this time Iā€™m done. Some days I just want to shut myself off from everyone and everything. Iā€™ve realised the only part of ā€˜rehabā€™ I liked, was the part that wasnā€™t really rehab in the first place. No one has more admiration or respect for physios than I do, and no disrespect, but Iā€™m really starting to hate rehab.
Through everything since the very beginning, I have shared my journey. That has brought about its own highs and lows, but lately, that has felt more draining. My head is just not in the game any more. Iā€™m still very much in no manā€™s land, just waiting: waiting for things to change; waiting for that next step; and waiting for things to finally go my way.
During that first hip rehab session, my eye was drawn to a quote on my gym wall. The ā€˜Gritā€™ one would be an obvious choice. But I was setting up for the next exercise on the opposite wall, where the quote reads:
ā€œWhen you doubt your power, you give power to your doubtā€
This journey has been full of self-doubt. Full of second-guessing myself, and my ability to carry on in the same manner. To pick myself up, and go again. I keep getting knocked down, and yet I somehow keep getting back up, again, and again. The determination has wavered at points; the focus has slipped at points; and sometimes I just plain canā€™t, but I carry on anyway. Iā€™m either a glutton for punishment, or Iā€™m just too damn stubborn to admit defeat.
ā€œCourage is not having strength to go on; it is going on when you donā€™t have the strength.ā€
So I guess Iā€™m still goingā€¦
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 1 year
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The Mirror
The past few weeks have been a bit of a shock and Iā€™m still not sure how I feel about everything. When I was asked that question recently in a physio consult, my response was: ā€œthat feels like a loaded question.ā€
I had always intended to wait until Emily was 2 and half to get surgery. That would have been September 2023. When I came back from my surgical consult, I was buzzing and my husband had to scrape me off the ceiling. Knowing who I wanted to do my surgery and knowing I even wanted surgery for such a long time, it felt amazing to feel like everything was lining up how I wanted it to. I left with no doubt in my mind that Ɖilƭs Fitzgerald was the person to do it.
My husband then suggested we move the surgery to April instead. It would be the start of a new annual leave year for him, and while we hoped we wouldnā€™t have to use too much of it, I would need him for the first couple of weeks at the very least to be there for me and then subsequently, the kids. I was ecstatic at bringing it forward by almost 6 months. 6 months, we agreed, would make very little difference to Emily in the grand scheme of things.
It took all my willpower not to ask as I was leaving the office if it would be possible to book in there and then. I thought I was doing pretty well to wait until the following Monday! I knew I wouldnā€™t get a specific date, but I was originally told they might be able to give me a provisional one. When I called and they said they thought I would be waiting until the end of the summer, I was disappointed, but it made complete sense and I hoped that it would be August at best, September at worst. In the final week of August, I called and was absolutely gutted to hear that dates might not even be available until December. They explained the hospital hadnā€™t released dates to them yet and they could only offer me a provisional date for January based on this year.
I went off the call devastated. I had pinned my hopes on potentially getting a date and it felt like groundhog day with my diastasis anyway. No aesthetic change. Same low feeling I had had the entire summer. I was due a physio consult that week and I thought: ā€˜how can I go on there and say literally nothing has changed?!ā€™ It was destroying me. It was no oneā€™s fault but my own ā€“ I have been ahead of myself since I made the decision to have surgery in February of 2020. 2 and half years on, was a long time to wait, but it was entirely my own doing.
I met my mum for lunch that day and she asked ā€“ what would change if you got in January instead of April? The answer to that, and the only thing holding me back, was Alexā€™s annual leave. I knew he wouldnā€™t have nearly enough left to cover it if needed. The question set off my train thought however, and I asked Alex to pin his bosses down to an answer so I would know one way or the other. He called me back within 5 minutes and told me to go for it ā€“ he would be able to use special leave to effectively act as my carer for the first crucial few weeks. I thought my heart was going explode I was so happy. I knew the places I had earmarked for accommodation had mostly already gone for April, so I knew there would still be a question mark, but it was worth a shot.
I called the office back within minutes and booked my provisional date for surgery. Once confirmed, I would be advised of the dates, but I had guaranteed those dates would be in January for me. Luckily, I managed to get my preferred accommodation for the provisional dates as well, with the bonus that I could cancel up to the week before if necessary. I booked my pre-op consult for December. Ɖilƭs had initially said we could do this over the phone, but then advised it would be best in person which I was more than happy with. It would allow for a more up to date assessment, and address any final questions from me.
I cannot describe what happened, but my whole mood, attitude and mindset changed within minutes. I was elated, relieved and in shock, all at the same time. It didnā€™t seem real. When I spoke to GrĆ”inne and Antony that week and told them, it still didnā€™t feel real. I booked everything at the end of August, and now, at the start of October, it still doesnā€™t feel real. It feels more like a dream. I thought it started to hit home when I was in Dublin for work. The realisation that the next time I would be there would be my consult and then my surgery, probably hit me at the airport. I donā€™t mind admitting my eyes welled up. This last year has been the longest, and one of the most difficult of my life. I have been mentally, physically and emotionally drained. The fact that this will all be ending and sooner than I had even imagined, is overwhelming and a lot to contemplate. I know now that I couldnā€™t have possibly carried on until September of next year. April seemed hard enough, September now seems impossible. I actually shudder at the thought of what state I would be in if I waited that length of time.
I always put a lot of pressure on myself. Thatā€™s nothing new. Although I am hell bent on achieving as much as possible before surgery, Alex keeps reminding that this time, this is it. There are no limits of time, and no limits on possibilities. Iā€™m not constrained by early rehab at a future date. Once Iā€™m past it this time, Iā€™m past it. There are no next milestones on this journey. This is THE milestone. Rehab 3.0 will be the final chapter in this journey.
As I said, Iā€™m not sure how I feel yet. It seems impossible to imagine what life is like after all of this. Iā€™ve not lived with it as long as some women do, but it has felt like a lifetime nonetheless. Iā€™m ready to be viewed as a person again and not as a diastasis. I donā€™t want to feel like I need to shrink in a room any more. I donā€™t want to keep my head down, avoiding eye contact when Iā€™m in public. I look people in the eyes and hold eye contact. Or at least I did, before all of this. There is nothing confident about me anymore.
Iā€™ve said it before and Iā€™ll say it again - I wouldnā€™t change any of this. I would change how I have felt recently and I would change how it looks if I could; of course I would. But the experience on the whole, is something I just couldnā€™t change. I have discovered so much about myself. Not only my body, but my strength - physically and mentally. I have said it many times before, but I am stronger now - with a significant diastasis - than I ever was pre-pregnancy. My determination and resolve have never been stronger. And most importantly, I have had the incredible honour and privilege of working with some of the best people I could ever have imagined working with. To say I landed on my feet, is an understatement. If I was always going to end up like this, then I count myself incredibly lucky that I have the team that I do, and that they were willing to help and support me through everything. As far as Iā€™m concerned, it was meant to be and Iā€™m so grateful for that.
These last few months before surgery, I will be working harder than ever. I have reframed my thinking as I mentioned ā€“ I am aiming to bulk as much as possible before surgery. If there are small changes to aesthetics along the way, fair enough, but that no longer drives me. I know the muscles have bulked significantly since the last ultrasound I had. I know they are rock solid on activationā€¦and I know there is more I can do. I will be working until the very last minute possible. I now know that I will be able to look myself in the mirror at the end of this, and say: ā€œI did absolutely everything possible to help myself. I could not have done anything more.ā€
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 2 years
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Fire is the Test of Gold
Iā€™ve openly said in my previous blog posts that Iā€™m depressed. A lot has played a part in that, but by now, you probably have a snippet of context from the post GrĆ”inne and I shared on my mental health.
The illnesses have stopped me in my tracks. They were not anticipated, and nor would I have ever expected to have that many, or suffer that long each time. Every single month from October 2021. That cut off my outlet ā€“ exercise. I havenā€™t been able to get any consistency or progress in the gym as a result, and I feel like a beginner every time I go back. Exercise has always been my way of coping with my diastasis and the mental toll it takes. Having that taken away from me every few weeks, has not helped in the slightest.
In turn, I havenā€™t been able to channel my frustration about the fact the aesthetics just will not change this time ā€“ no matter what I do, and no matter how hard I work. I feel like Iā€™m trapped in a constant downward spiral. I get my head above water, gasp for breath, then immediately get dragged back down again.
I now realise itā€™s more than likely my work which has caused the illnesses and Iā€™m convinced Iā€™m burning out. I came back from maternity leave to a short-staffed team, low morale and within weeks I was given a whole other territory to cover as well as my own. Basically, I was doing the job of two people and I did that for 6 months until the start of August. I was off work twice with illness within a couple of months, when I had only ever been off once before in 5 years with suspected kidney stones. Coupled with the fact I had only just returned from maternity leave, I felt I couldnā€™t then take annual leave. By the time I reached July, I had taken 3 and half days total and have reached a point where a break isnā€™t just required, it is absolutely vital. I go to sleep, and wake up as drained as when I went to sleep. On weekends, Iā€™m regularly napping when the kids nap, because I literally have no energy. Iā€™m just exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.Ā 
Do you know how difficult it is to try and not think about surgery? I do my damnedest to not think about it, then something always reminds me. I get a random message from someone who is now post-op. I have to arrange a trip to Dublin for work and I think, is this one of the last before the date? I get followed on Instagram by plastic surgeons in Spain. You really couldnā€™t have made this stuff up, and yet it happens just when I think Iā€™ve managed to put it out of my head. Iā€™m so touched that women have messaged me to tell me about their surgery and then wish me luck with mine. Iā€™m so pleased for them that they have no regrets and it is what they have hoped for. However, there is a small part of me that thinks: I really want it to be my turn now. This has been the slowest, and one of the hardest years of my life, and I just cannot wait until it is over.
I keep having nightmares that surgery isnā€™t going to happen. I get within weeks, but thereā€™s another setback and I have to wait months until the next date. Or that itā€™s that bad, that Iā€™m beyond help and thereā€™s nothing that can be done.Ā 
I made the decision to have surgery back in February 2020. Thatā€™s a long time to wait once youā€™ve made a decision. I almost wished I had only just made that decision this year. Whilst Iā€™m very grateful that everything has lined up how I wanted it to (even way back then), this year feels unbearable. But I have no one to blame but myself for that. I have been ahead of myself for so long. I can be indecisive at times, but once I have made my decision and once I have set my heart on something, it is almost impossible to change that. So here we are, in the longest, most unbearable year of my life, that feels like itā€™s getting even longer by the day.
I guess I should address the post. Did I have my reservations when GrĆ”inne asked to post it? Truthfully? Yes, for a few reasons. It would open me up completely to a much, much bigger audience, but also to people I wouldnā€™t tend to discuss these things with from my own perspective. I was very vulnerable in that post. Yes, I have disclosed very honest and raw emotions in this blog ā€“ but it is entirely different story when youā€™re filmed doing that and speaking about those things. I feel I can speak to Antony and GrĆ”inne about anything, but I was very, VERY aware that the consult was going to be filmed. It would be made available to some at a later date, but that was going to be further down the line. Ultimately though, I knew it could help a lot of people in the same position, and it was important, so that was the reason I agreed. I never disclosed any hesitation or reservations to anyone.
You can tell Iā€™m a bit less comfortable than usual a few ways: I say ā€˜likeā€™ a LOT. I say it in general speech normally, but in that 60 second clip, I say it loads. That is an indication that Iā€™m finding it difficult to articulate myself and how I feel. I donā€™t hold eye contact for as long as I normally would do. I frown when I speak or laugh it off when I do. I donā€™t know what to do with my hands. I gesture with my hands a lot when I speak, but I either keep my arms folded (which everyone knows is a defence mechanism) or I shift them but never seem comfortable. Like I said already, I am very comfortable speaking with Antony and GrĆ”inne, but it was the what I was speaking about, that I wasnā€™t comfortable with. What nobody knows though, is that I messaged them both to explain how I was feeling prior to the consult, because I didnā€™t want to blindside them. I really felt it was important to speak about it though, as it is clearly hugely underestimated.Ā 
The comment on GrĆ”inneā€™s post from our consult was something I was actually completely unaware of until someone sent me a snapshot of it. Because the person who commented had been blocked, I was unable to see the comment. My husband was incensed and it took every bargaining tool to ensure he didnā€™t write a reply. The only way he agreed not to, was if I deleted Instagram. We were away for a few days at the time and Alex was right: it completely changed my body language and my mood. Just as I was starting to relax and switch off, that happened.Ā 
To say it felt unfair, is an understatement. I share in the hopes that it might help others who are in similar situations, and like me, donā€™t know anyone personally who has diastasis. Who feel they cannot speak to anyone about it, because no one understands. There are plenty of professionals who have a professional understanding, but unless you have been in this position, you cannot possibly understand what it feels like.Ā 
It says a lot more about that person that they were willing to hijack GrĆ”inneā€™s post on my mental health to make passive aggressive remarks and take a swipe. I donā€™t block people lightly. I have only blocked a handful of people - mainly, postpartum coaches who try to spam me with their programs (knowing full well my situation), or a random few who have tried to suggest it was my diet, or weight that was the issue.Ā 
However, there are a handful of women who have abused my openness to bombard me with messages all about themselves. Who have no thought of what it might be like to receive numerous messages going on and on and on about their thoughts. I reply to 99.9% of all messages. The majority of those messages are women seeking advice or sharing their story and I am always very humbled by the fact they have taken the time to message me. Sharing their story (no matter how difficult it is to hear and no matter how much it can enrage me when they have been treated poorly) is not the issue. Iā€™m always happy to listen. Jumping on my feelings and challenging what I am doing, ignoring advice I have repeated over numerous messages which involves seeking help from someone qualified, IS an issue. It drains me.Ā 
I remember full well the person who commented. While I do not remember exactly the message that she sent which was the final straw, I remember telling my husband: ā€œyou wonā€™t believe what Iā€™ve just been sent.ā€ Once I repeated the message, he told me to block her. That it wasnā€™t fair for me to put up with that, and I shouldnā€™t have to. So I did, but even then I still hesitated.Ā 
Most people probably donā€™t expect to have any consequences to blocking someone - the idea is that you donā€™t have to hear from them again. But apparently, I do. Apparently, itā€™s okay to use a post on mental health to attempt to discredit me to my physios, and to anyone else who read that comment.Ā 
I donā€™t apologise for the way I reacted. I donā€™t think I have been disrespectful in any way. I had my very good reasons for doing so, and the irony is, I did it to protect my mental health. I have already been in a bad place for some time. I shouldnā€™t have to put up with that. That is not what I signed up for when I decided to share my journey, or when I agreed to my physios sharing my story.Ā 
Alex regrets me sharing so much. He says Iā€™ve given too much of myself to it throughout the 3 years and counting. That may be so, but the question I asked myself and then asked him, ā€œis it worth it? Has it been worth it?ā€ My answer, despite feeling the way that I do right now, is yes. Despite how bad I feel right now, to know that something I have shared has potentially helped someone feel a fraction less of what Iā€™m feeling right now; it is worth it. Despite the fact that there is no one there for me in the same way, it is worth it. The messages I have received from women, or physios or fitness professionals on behalf of some women; itā€™s worth it. That is the only reason Iā€™m continuing to share. Itā€™s for the women who have been misinformed, mistreated, and even blamed. The ones who do not have the support that I do. They are worth anything I am going through right now in my own journey.Ā I have always put others before myself and that is something I cannot change.
Going forward, I will have a few more in person consults before surgery. The nature of these has now completely changed for me. It would be interesting to see if the tissues have changed at the next appointment. It would be mind-blowing to think they were still changing at this stage in the game. I almost hope they have, but not for myself, for my physios. That will be another indication that their theories on loading are correct. For me however, I couldnā€™t care less. It is no longer about the numbers for me. We all know full well that there is nothing that will fix me other than surgery now. Even if the tissues havenā€™t changed, I have made significant changes from where I started at 11cm (twice). I know I could not have physically done anything more, nor worked any harder to try to make it work. Iā€™m proud of that.
Claireā€™s core blast will continue, but I can no longer do it under the guise of flogging the dead horse that are the aesthetics of my diastasis. The goal is all wrong. I feel like Iā€™m doing it because I have to. In order to continue working, I need to reframe my thinking. It is now about muscle bulk: lots and lots of muscle bulk and as much of it as possible before surgery. The aesthetics may not change - but the bulk will if I continue to work. I have to focus on that, to give me the best possible repair and recovery as possible. To make my life post op, as easy as possible. To make the route back through rehab, as straightforward as possible. I plan on being ripped at the end of thisĀ šŸ˜‰
Knocked down, but not out;
Struggling, but surviving;
Slow, but still moving;
Bruised, but not beaten;
Fighting every urge to give up, but still fighting.
ā€œFire is the test of gold; adversity of strong [wo] menā€
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 2 years
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My Bump, Birth and Beyond turned 3 today!
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 2 years
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Fuel to the Fire
My body is transforming before my eyes. But not all the ways I want it to.
My husband has consistently remarked recently about muscles which are hard to define, yet I have - in my legs, my back and my arms. The smaller part of the traps at the bottom of the lats- ā€œbloody hell look at that!ā€ šŸ˜‚ I canā€™t itā€™s on my back šŸ™„ ā€œIā€™ll take a photo but not sure if itā€™ll do them justice.ā€ I just thought it was the way I was sitting. ā€œEh no. Youā€™re going to be one of these annoying people. Itā€™s all the pulling youā€™re doing. Strong.ā€
It takes a lot for him to remark on any visible change. So I know itā€™s significant that he is and has done the last few weeks. But no matter what I do; no matter how much I try, my tummy looks like it did in Nov 2019 from my first progress photo - when it was taken as a starting point and I didnā€™t see any change until 5 months later.
THAT photo. The one that started it all. The one that went a bit mad. That came up on my memories the other day. And I almost shared it. Then I pulled back. Because this is not where Iā€™m at now. Nothing good can come of me sharing that at this moment. I cannot dwell on what happened then, when it is very clearly not happening now. I already do that in my head because I canā€™t help it. I am 100 times stronger now than I was then. It may not be showing where I want it to, but it is showing elsewhere. And I know what that ultrasound showed.
I just donā€™t get it. Iā€™ve been trying to let it go since I knew it wasnā€™t going to be the same, but there are constant reminders. I canā€™t work any harder than I already am. I canā€™t try any harder. I canā€™t give anything more. I wonā€™t ever be satisfied, but I know Iā€™m doing all I can. Itā€™s just a damn shame that itā€™s not good enough. There is no medal for trying.
Working so hard and so long for such little, if any, reward is exhausting. Iā€™m exhausted. Iā€™m tired of trying so hard all the time. Iā€™m tired of not seeing any change. It feels like Iā€™m a failure all the time. Iā€™m doing more at an earlier stage this time and it still isnā€™t enough. How is that fair? How do you tell someone who doesnā€™t quit to keep going, but nothing is going to change no matter how much you do? Thatā€™s what I have to tell myself every day. I have to tell myself to keep working hard. To keep going despite it. Iā€™m in a constant battle with my head and heart.
For the first time ever, the thought of quitting entered my head the other day. It scared the shit out of me. I donā€™t quit things. Iā€™m starting to be known by people who donā€™t even know me that well, for my dedication and determination. My ā€˜superpowerā€™ is chipping away consistently, but Iā€™m the one being chipped away at. This is not me.
I now know Iā€™m probably depressed at the minute and itā€™s probably been brewing for some time. I feel numb and nothing is really changing that. Iā€™ve hit rock bottom. It means at some point, the only way from here is up and Iā€™m sure itā€™s coming, I just donā€™t know when.
When I said this was going to be the hardest year yet, I didnā€™t anticipate some factors playing the part in that that they have. I could not have anticipated illness playing such a massive part. My progress or achievements feel hollow, or at least the joy is fleeting. I just know it isnā€™t the same this time.
Iā€™m sleepwalking through my life. Iā€™m just getting through one day to the next, feeling flat most days and not bothered about anything. I am lucky in so many ways, and I have a lot to be grateful for. Thatā€™s why I know - it doesnā€™t matter, Iā€™m feeling like this anyway. Somebody shared depression in May and the signs when someone is feeling that way. I could pretty much tick all the boxes.
Iā€™m sick of the feelings I have before a social occasion: the insecurities; the second-guessing; the disappointment; the hurt; the anticipation of how many people will give me the look, or make a comment, or how I respond to it when it does happen. A simple family bbq the other week and I changed my outfit three times. THREE TIMES for godā€™s sake!!! Forget quarantining before surgery; I want to go into hibernation before it so I donā€™t have to come out until itā€™s sorted.
I feel awkward in most public settings. I know thatā€™s down in part to people knowing my story, but not bothering to discuss it with me in person. Iā€™m made to feel awkward because itā€™s like a huge elephant in the room. I donā€™t then feel I can talk about it comfortably because Iā€™m not made to feel comfortable, so itā€™s skimmed over. Iā€™m sick of it.
If youā€™re not there for the journey and when itā€™s tough going - you donā€™t get to share in the success. And Iā€™m saying right now, thereā€™s plenty success which is going to come from all of this.
I will get better. I will get stronger. I will get fitter. If I can see the muscular definition now looking like this, in areas where typically itā€™s very difficult to get definition, I know how itā€™s going to look when I fit in again. People arenā€™t going to look at me and think I look pregnant. People are going to look at me and think I look strong and fit. Because thatā€™s exactly what Iā€™m going to be.
The setbacks now are just fuel to the fire. The low moments are hard right now, but theyā€™re the ones that are going to make sure I grit my teeth and dig in. So while I may be sleepwalking at the minute, Iā€™m going to wake up soon enough. And when that happens, the only limits will be those I place on myself. Iā€™ll be writing a different story once this partā€™s over.
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mybumpbirthandbeyond Ā· 2 years
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The Thin Edge of the Wedge
Iā€™ve been feeling funny for a few weeks. Or maybe more than that - probably months.
Thereā€™s a lot that Iā€™ve been wrestling with. The aesthetics and the lack of progress there. Obviously the illnesses have been shit as well. I went back to work full time and Iā€™m back on the mummy hamster wheel - working full time, taking care of two kids and trying to prioritise training as much as possible. This time, my husbandā€™s shifts are very very different, so now I donā€™t get to the gym as much week to week.
Iā€™ve mentioned before, but this very much feels like no manā€™s land. No plan or milestone in place like there was after my pregnancy or during rehab. The biggest milestone yet is some way in the distance - I just donā€™t know when. It feels like there is nothing thatā€™s going to happen between now and then. It is completely the unknown.
The reality is starting to hit that weā€™re at a point where this wonā€™t be my life for much longer. Itā€™s been a huge part for the last 3 years. I struggle to imagine my life without it. Without my physios. Physiotherapy is not meant to be forever, but I never imagined I would need it as long as I have; nor that my physios would become way more than physios, even just after a year in.
I donā€™t know how I felt about my most recent consult. I was in two minds - I somehow knew there was progress though. GrĆ”inne asked me what made me think that, but I canā€™t explain it. I had noticed a bit more loose skin, but Iā€™m actively trying not to think about so then wondered if I had imagined it. I just knew I was about to find out the gap was at the narrowest it had ever been. That meant I was struggling to understand why the aesthetics werenā€™t there this time. I looked infinitely better last time at this point. I have now loaded more than I ever have before. Maybe this is as good as it gets.
It also crossed my mind that weā€™re probably now down to single visits in terms of my visits to GrĆ”inneā€™s clinic. Which is weird. I had 9 months of consults before I met her in person and it was like being starstruck šŸ˜‚šŸ™ˆ That was two years ago. I saw her when I fell pregnant and more or less immediately postpartum. Now weā€™re looking at surgery within the year. Itā€™s taking some getting used to.
I was proved right about the progress when GrƔinne palpated my tummy. The gap had come down at rest and on activation everywhere. At the widest point, it had come down two fingers and the tension had improved. The same was true on ultrasound.
Antony wanted to see me move my transversus on ultrasound. We did it last time and I really didnā€™t move it much. This time I pretty much tripled the distance I could get it to move. Where previously I would have been concerned about the mention of any atrophy, repeatedly all they both said was, ā€˜muscle bulk.ā€™ Everywhere - in my lateral abdominal wall at the obliques, and in the rectus muscles the full length of my DR. Beneath that mask I was grinning so much. It may not look like it, but it just shows how strong my core is. When I say itā€™s the strongest part of my body, I think what they found just proves that. That is something Iā€™m hugely proud of. Itā€™s the fingers up to those who say what you can and canā€™t do with a diastasis; or to the ones who spread fear or prey on vulnerable postpartum women. Itā€™s the reward for all my hard work. Itā€™s the only time I see reward for my hard work, because those changes arenā€™t happening anywhere else.
We had a chat about how I was feeling at the end. I explained it was going to be hard and probably the hardest year yet. There is an (unknown) end date, but the lack of a roadmap this time is unsettling and leaving me feeling there is nothing to aim for. Because function isnā€™t an issue, it leaves nothing to focus on other than the aesthetics, and I am trying so hard not to do that because they arenā€™t changing. Even my next physio consult is a good few months away. GrĆ”inne also made a really good point I hadnā€™t even thought of, but as soon as she said it, I knew it to be true. The lack of learning and education required at this point in the journey, may also be playing into the uncertainty.
When everything started out, I made it my mission to learn as much as I could about diastasis. Iā€™ve learned things some pelvic health physios wonā€™t even know; such was my eagerness to learn and to make the most of the fact I was working with the best in the world in what they do. I couldnā€™t have asked for two better teachers. They made me into as much of a geek as they themselves admit to be šŸ˜‚ Now, there isnā€™t much that I need to know that I donā€™t already know (and even then I probably know more than I need to know). But thatā€™s because I need to understand it and Iā€™ve no doubt that that understanding, has helped me immensely throughout this process - mentally, as well as physically.
Antony reminded me of the goals I want to work towards. I am not limited functionally in any way. There is nothing stopping me. ā€œWeā€™re at the thin edge of the wedge now, Claire.ā€ He and GrĆ”inne said how exciting that was. He told me that if I stopped now and had a break for a year, what I had done was amazing and that I had done everything possible to make those changes. He knew the answer to that though - Iā€™m not quitting ever.
I knew what he was saying and I do agree I need to focus my energy on the goals, but in the weeks that have followed, the feeling still remains no matter what I do. Itā€™s exciting- yes. But itā€™s also terrifying. Change isnā€™t easy and a major life change that will literally impact your world as you know it, (and have done for a number of years)ā€¦thatā€™s something else.
The overarching goal remains - continue to get as strong as possible before surgery. Leave everything out there - do everything within my power to make change and to give me the best possible chance post-op. Aim high for those goals and achieve as much as possible in the time left. Smash more diastasis myths as I go, so the women that follow behind are no longer fearful. If thatā€™s the message that I leave from my journey, Iā€™ll be pretty damn proudā€¦
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