I’ve got this suspicion, but not many women will talk about it. I don’t think our society talks much about it either.
“Women don’t poop! We don’t talk about that” says society.
“Yeah right! How ridiculous!”, I say.
I don’t think I’m the only one… but my bowels are ruined from pregnancy!
Once upon a time, back in my twenties, if I needed to poo, I would wait until I was able to go to the toilet, sometimes I was at work and would need to wait until the next lunch break. It was no worries. Flash forward 15 years, and 3 kids later and if I need to go, I usually have about 10 minutes, tops, between the initial messages from my body that it’s ‘go time’, and getting to the toilet. I’m sure I heard Hamish and Andy refer to these speedy poops as the ‘Gone in 60 seconds’! It’s that quick. No sitting around on the loo, passing time. Get in, get it done, and go.
You might be thinking, so what, no big deal. Here’s a story for you…
I’m driving down to the Sunshine Coast, and about halfway there when the morning coffee kicks in and I realise I’m busting for a poo!
Luckily, I know that I’ve got about 9 minutes until I reach the next little town with a public toilet. So, I’m holding on, trying to do my Kegels to keep everything in, distracting myself by talking with Middle Man who is in the car with me. Excellent, we’re approaching. I’m borderline pooping myself by this stage. I get out of the car. Middle Man starts playing on the swings at the public playground. I bolt towards the loo, and they are closed for maintenance by the council…. I’m going to shit myself if I don’t get to the toilet soon!
I head back to the car and tell Middle Man to stay in the gated playground area. I grab a packet of wipes, and walk-run around the outside perimeter of the fence until I get to an area behind a water tank. I’m hidden here on three sides. Far enough away from the playground that no one could see or smell me, I’ve got a good vantage point if anyone is approaching. Of course, I’m wearing the least convenient outfit EVER for doing a sneaky bush poo! I’ve got a pantsuit/onesie on that zips up at the back, so I have to fully undress the top half (besides my bra), in order to squat.
Oh, why are the simplest things in life sometimes so impossible?
I‘m squatting. I made it! The sense of relief is immense. That was a close one. I’ve almost finished pooping and have started to use my wipes when I hear Middle Man calling out! Shit!
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I grab a stick and try to cover up my poop, as quickly as I can. I’m using it as if it were a shovel, digging up the earth and leaf litter to cover everything up. I stand up, I’ve done a good job. Not a ‘bush poo’ in sight! I get redressed and zip up my onesie again. Thank God, no one caught me in the act! I emerge from behind the tank, making my way along the fence line back towards the playground. I’ve gotten away with my heinous crime, I didn’t shit myself, and Middle Man is fine too. Win-win-win.
But no, there’s a car pulling into the park. An older couple is out for a lovely Sunday drive. I’m holding my wipes in one hand, trying not to look suspicious, as I casually walk past them and back in through the front gate into the playground. Middle Man is still playing happily. The older couple get out of the car and they start walking in the exact direction from where I’ve just returned. I’m thinking, Oh no, I’ve got to say something. I’m busted!
“Hi, ummm, are you guys looking for the bathroom?” I ask in a squeaky raised voice from over the fence.
“Oh, yes. Is it this way? Where you came from?” The older woman questions me, looking straight into my soul.
I’ve never been a good liar. Or a good criminal. I swear, anytime I’ve broken a rule or a law, I’ve been caught (that’s a story for another day). This was clearly no exception. Dammit, I’m gonna have to fess up.
“Ahhh, you got me! I did come from back there, but it’s not the actual toilet. The toilets were locked and I was busting!”
“Oh, I see” The older man is laughing. She, on the other hand, is very uncomfortable, casting her eyes of judgement towards me. Even so, they still keep walking that way.
I’m mortified. I can’t bear the thought of them walking any closer to my buried poop.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask Middle Man.
“Not yet, Mum. Five more minutes? He asks.
“Actually. It wasn’t a question. We’re going. Get in the car, quick!” I bark at him.
“Geez! What’s the rush!?”, he mutters, as I pile him into the car, and speed off from there at the speed of a woman who has just been caught doing a bush poo!
The moral of the story is, I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s been caught in one of these awkward situations, where if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry! We’re pretty amazing, us women, growing other humans in our body, and bringing them into the world. Our bodies go through so much change and often a bit of trauma during the pregnancy, delivery and breastfeeding stages. It is no wonder we can be left with lasting consequences.
I did a quick Google search and, according to the Royal Women’s Hospital – Victoria, this issue, ‘faecal incontinence’ affects one in 25 women who have given birth. This can be caused by nerve and muscle damage sustained during pushing in labour and other factors related to pregnancy. Although common, many women do not seek help as they are embarrassed to discuss the issue.
If you’re a woman reading this and you’ve noticed changes in how your bowels function, you don’t need to suffer alone. Often these sorts of conversations don’t just come up between women, and we can feel uncomfortable talking about it, even with our GP!
It’s ok to talk shit!
I’m grateful to have sisters and some close friends with whom I can talk about these things. This can affect anyone regardless of your birthing experience.
Take care, Mummas, and get some help if you need it. You’re are incredible, beautiful and courageous.
Lots of Love,
MumOf3WR
Source – https://www.thewomens.org.au/health-information/continence-information/faecal-incontinence