Ok so I went to physiotherapy. We’ll skim over the examinations. Sufficed to say my “muscle bulk” ain’t great. And men don’t know they are born.
I was given exercises. Some for my pelvic floor muscles, some for the weakness in my back which means I don’t sit or stand up using the right muscles. Me and most of the laptop using UK I suspect.
I had to engage my muscles when I went through doorways. I had stickers all over the house: on the stairs, the bin, everywhere. When I did routine tasks I was the engage my core. I tried. Despite Paul and the kids not realising about the stickers and removing them when I wasn’t paying attention.
In the meantime I started an exercise class and realised yet again that cardio could’t be for me.
I went back every few weeks for ten sessions. My physiotherapist was wonderful. Some weeks I mucked about and made her laugh. Other weeks I burst into tears in front of her. Every week I felt terrible that I hadn’t done enough.
I still feel guilty about it now. I should have done more. I don’t know if it ever would have solved my problem but I could have tried harder. But I genuinely didn’t find it easy. She kept telling me about my “brilliant brain” and how I could retrain it to send the messages to my muscles. I believed her – it should be possible. But I couldn’t do it and I couldn’t go on as it was. It didn’t make enough difference.
For you though it might. So here’s suggestion number one:
Go to your GP and push for a pelvic floor physio referral. It can’t hurt and they are truly brilliant people.
For me? I went back to the consultant. She told me that the next step was “Urodynamics.” Brace yourself for the next bit. I’m being honest. It’s not nice.