Warning — as you can probably deduce by the title, this is not a post about beer. I may talk about alcohol. I’ll also discuss private body parts and probably swear a little. If that makes you uncomfortable, you may want to skip this and read something like my previous post about beer and bacon. You’re welcome. Oh, and I’m also not a medical professional. I’m sharing my personal story as a dysfunctional pelvic floor patient… and person. Let’s be honest here.
Over the last 2 years I’ve filled you in on my struggles with my dysfunctional pelvic floor.
I’m dealing with daily chronic pain because of an issue called Pelvic Floor Myalgia. I’ll link you to past articles, otherwise this one would be three times as long. Plus… goodness. I’m sick of my own health chronicles by now. But, here you go.
My issues have spiraled beyond my vagina and pelvic floor over the last year. I can’t sit without some level of pain — wow. Sitting: don’t take it for granted, my friends! I’ve been injected with pain relievers into my vagina so many times I had to start going to a surgical center because the issues were becoming too deep for my urologist to reach while I was conscious.
I also attempted a round at a pain clinic where they tried to do a nerve block on my pudendal nerve with the idea they could eventually cauterize the nerve. (Call me crazy, but, I don’t believe it’s “one” nerve) This route was too good to be true. I was treated like I was on a conveyer belt… and I felt worse instead of better. And was given a swift “well, this could take several rounds before we figure your issues out…” As in, we can see you every 3-4 months for more nerve blocks that may or may not work — so it could take a year before you feel any level of relief. Wait, what?!! Another YEAR of this?! And it’s all a big ass question mark?!! Do I slit my wrists or yours?!!
So as an alternative to suicide, I went back to my trusted urologist, and we talked… Botox. Yes. Botox in my pelvic floor. For a pretty vagina! Ha! Right. My DREAM COME TRUE!! Now, if you don’t read that heavy sarcasm font, I’ve always been an aging gracefully gal. While I have fun dying my hair to what I feel is my “true” soul-color: red. It’s not about covering up my greys. And I haven’t felt an urge to cover up my wrinkles or stretch marks. They are what they are; maps of where I’ve been and what I’ve been through. Talk to me again in 10 years, but that’s how I feel today.
Botox is not solely for cosmetic purposes anymore. Botox can help shut up wicked muscles and nerves that are causing trouble. Like mine. In my pelvic floor. Causing all sorts of issues. Firing up my sciatic nerves, down to my feet. Giving me back and hip issues. Sparking migraines. My body was a mess. Those dirty little bastards needed to be paralyzed.
I tried to read up on Botox for pelvic floor issues before I went in, and the little information I found frightened me. Most of what I read in articles and forums said I’d feel worse for 2-3 weeks before I’d feel better. IF I’d feel better.
Awesome. IF?! Really?! Insurance isn’t even covering this since Botox is not FDA approved and it’s an IF?!! Fanfuckingtastic.
But, I didn’t have anything to lose at this point; it was Botox or continue to suffer… so — 2 weeks ago, my urologist put me under and administered 200 units of Botox into my pelvic floor via trigger-point injections.
I went home… and felt… terrible.
For about 2 weeks.
Yes. What I didn’t realize, was that I’d feel like I’d have the flu. That “hit by a truck” flu. I don’t know if it was the botulism in the Botox so close to my stomach or what. And I don’t know if this was simply my personal experience or if this was a typical side effect because I don’t have many friends who can relate to this. It’s not like getting your tonsils or appendix out.
The craptastic icing on the cake? My trusty alcoholic remedy that usually helped relieve my pain? Beer. Whiskey. Tequila. Nope. Couldn’t do it. For almost 2 weeks. Even the Vicodin… ugh. I felt terrible. My typical remedies made me feel worse. I could barely get out of bed.
I felt dizzy. I felt nauseous. I blacked out a few days after surgery for about 5 minutes. Simply sitting at a table — my eyes wouldn’t focus. It’s like I went blind. I woke up the next morning with shoulder and chest pain. The nurse at my urologist’s office heard my symptoms and sent me to the ER, and I had an EKG 5 minutes after checking in because my symptoms pointed to a heart-attack risk.*
In fact, the doctors kinda blew me off after the EKG, bloodwork and other tests came back normal. “Drink water. Don’t stand up so fast.” I felt SO stupid, I didn’t want to tell ANYONE… but the hubs reminded me of that immediate EKG when I checked in… “Nope — we did the right thing by getting you checked out! Fuck that. Do NOT feel stupid. You are alive, not stupid!”
Over the following week, I still felt like I was stuck in some sick circle of hell… and I know I’m still not out of the woods, and will still have to live my life one day at a time for awhile.
My pelvic floor is actually softening up, and my pain seems to be subsiding.
I can sit for longer periods of time without wanting to cry.
My sciatic nerves haven’t been acting up, and my migraines have lightened up quite a bit as well. Any pain I’ve had has localized back to the pelvic area instead of spiraling out of control.
The Botox… is working.
Did you hear me?! *grabs megaphone* The Botox is working!!! It’s paralyzing those dirty little bastards!!
If everything continues down this positive path, the Botox should last 3-6 months… and from what I read, in some cases, it could be permanent! BWHAHAHA!! I’m absolutely not counting on THAT in my wicked case. But, I will take 3 months. And I can rinse and repeat, and know what to expect for the next round, because I can get this done again in 3 months.
I’m only 2 weeks post-op here, but yesterday… oh, yesterday was a beautiful day. I finally felt a glimpse of the old Kelli coming back. I actually felt like drinking again!! I laughed. I smiled. I flirted with a bartender.** I drank some really good beer.
Look out. I’m making a comeback, bitches.
*PSA — heart attack symptoms shouldn’t be ignored, especially in women. An EKG takes 5 minutes at the ER. Seriously people. Don’t underestimate peace of mind over, ya know… death.
** Yes, I’m married. I was out with the hubs. Who do you think was encouraging me to flirt with her?!