I Have a Theory

I’ve recently been diagnosed with a condition called rectocele – it’s basically where the muscles in the vagina become so stretched and tired that they stop doing the job of supporting the rectum that God designed them for. Maybe some of you are familiar with it. I wasn’t – actually I’d never heard of it before. I had to find a book on medical conditions, find the gynecology section and read symptoms until I came up with what was the best possibility of what was going on with my body. I made an appointment with my personal physician, told her what I thought I had and described my symptoms … and she agreed with my diagnosis. Then we began the task of finding a surgeon, setting up a consultation/exam, getting a surgery date, etc., etc. As I write this, I’m scheduled to have surgery a week from tomorrow. It will happen on an outpatient basis: I’ll check in at 10:45, surgery will be at 12:15 and will last about 45 minutes; when I am awake and they think I’ll be okay, I get to go home. So, as surgeries go, this sounds like a pretty simple one and I have faith that after the six-week recovery period I’ll be good to go on with my life.

But here’s what bothers me … the more I’ve learned about this, the more I’ve heard how common it is. If you’ve read Clandestiny, I don’t have to tell you that I have a long and varied list of experiences in the area of personal gynecology. And, it turns out I meet almost all of the bench marks that can lead to this condition. Why didn’t anyone ever mention the possibility to me? Why is everyone so close-mouthed about this if it’s so common? I’ve been wondering about that ever since I was diagnosed … and just this evening, as I was brushing my teeth, I developed a theory.

Let me start by saying this particular condition is not something that you’re going to talk about sitting in a restaurant or at a dinner party – unless all of the participants happen to be women.
By nature, it’s embarrassing – even my brother was a little put off by my description of it in the email I sent him. And he read Clandestiny without any issues. I mean, I wrote about when I started my period, my abortion, my birth experiences … and really that first one was pretty graphic. SO why is this so different? Here are my theories …

In our society today, there are very few things that are taboo to talk about in the area of physical and sexual health. We hear about condoms, and erectile dysfunction, and low testosterone and sexual lubricants, whether we want to or not. Information on tampons, birth control methods, hormone therapies and bladder control is readily available and very few people seem to be embarrassed about seeking it out. Did you notice what all of those things have in common?

Each one of them have a marketable component; there’s a pharmaceutical company or some type of manufacturer who has figured out a way to erase the mental/emotional discomfort the subject used to cause and replace it with desirability – “you need this product (or service) to make your life better”. Why, you ask? It’s all about the potential dollar signs.

However, when it comes to rectocele there’s no promotional company with a slick ad offering a solution, because basically there are only two solutions available: live with it or have surgery. I’m guessing even the most sophisticated advertising company in the world would have trouble coming up with a way to give this condition or those options any appeal.

What bothers me the most about these circumstances is that with my childbirth training, multiple births and other experiences, (plus, as I told my sister, all the “medical traffic” that has taken place in my reproductive track), I didn’t even know this was a thing – normal or otherwise. Shouldn’t this be something that women are made aware of when they have their first child – or even before? If we took the mystery out of it, women would feel more comfortable approaching their physicians at the first sign and seeking out what options were available for them before their condition moves from Grade 1 to Grade 3 – which is where mine is.

I don’t think we should wait until some enterprising executive comes up with a marketable solution, if that’s even a possibility. So, I thought I’d start the ball rolling on putting it out there in my own small way. If it helps one woman, whether I know her or not, then my admitted discomfort in pulling back the curtain will have been worth it.

Wanna help me spread the word?

Postscript: at the time of this post, my surgery date is less than 48 hours away … I’ll try to let you know how it goes – and maybe there will be more lessons learned that I can share.