Karin had her vagina patched up: ‘The damage was worse than I thought’

My second came home about five hours after the first contraction. A quick, smooth delivery of a slightly bigger son than my first. This time I had a few more stitches, but I trusted that my vagina would be all right again. During the checkup, six weeks later, the midwife said something that stuck with me: “You could possibly have it repaired if it bothers you.” What could I have repaired and why? No idea. From my pink cloud I did not ask further.

In about a year and a half after that, it didn’t really bother me, but I did notice that something had changed. I didn’t talk about it, it seemed the logical consequence of two natural births. I have two healthy children and didn’t want to whine, found it embarrassing and told myself it was part of it. So my friends didn’t hear a word about the fact that when I had my period I needed sanitary pads in addition to tampons, because there was always leakage. And certainly not that I couldn’t wear thongs anymore, because they’re quite nasty crawled inside.

On the sex side, my boyfriend didn’t say anything about his experience with my vagina-after-two-children. When I asked about it – “Does it feel different? Is it still good?” — he gave the answer he thought I wanted to hear: “Everything okay.” But it felt far from okay. It wasn’t until my relationship ended and I realized that with the current state of my vagina I wouldn’t dare to go to bed with another man, did I go and see what exactly could be ‘fixed’.

The type of designer vagina

When I gave birth, my perineum, the piece of skin between the vagina and the anus, was torn quite a bit. That happens regularly, I got three stitches. But when I was fully recovered, my perineum turned out to be a lot shorter than before. In practice, that meant that my vaginal opening was quite wider. And also that my vagina was always a little open. When I had my period, the blood regularly ran down my legs.

“Didn’t I pretend? I wasn’t the designer vagina type, was I?”

A year after my relationship ended, I googled ‘perineum insufficiently attached’ and soon found a clinic specializing in this type of surgery. Still, I waited months before scheduling a consultation. Was this really necessary? Was I not pretending? I wasn’t the designer vagina type, was I? Until I realized that I could of course only go to the intake interview without obligation. At least then I would know for sure whether I was posing and I could always decide afterwards not to do it.

Soft smile during consultation

That consultation changed everything. The damage to my vagina was worse than I thought. While I lay with my legs wide in such a birthing chair – also with a hand mirror to look at, it doesn’t get much more confronting than this – cosmetic gynecologist Joke told me that not only my perineum was torn. During the delivery, two muscles had broken and had not been stitched up by the obstetrician.

“Well, after such a birth it is often quite a battlefield and then it is sometimes difficult to see which flap belongs where”, said Joke. Maybe it was because of my plight, maybe because of the nerves, but I got the giggles. I saw her eyes twinkle over her surgical mask as I tried to stop giggling.

snapped

When I was dressed again at the table opposite her, Joke summed it up for a moment. It was true that it felt less tight. One of my pelvic floor muscles and the muscle that ran directly under my vagina were now both dangling in two parts under my skin. You don’t see that, but you do notice the reduced support. In addition, my perineum was much shorter than it should be.

That something was really going on somehow gave me courage. So I didn’t pretend. And it could be repaired. Because someone had canceled there was already room in two weeks and without hesitation I booked the operation for my ‘perineum skin correction with muscle’.

In the days that followed I read everything I could find about it. My way of keeping my nerves in check. That’s how I found out that it would take about an hour and a half, under local anaesthetic. That the sutures were dissolvable and therefore did not need to be removed. And that two people would stare at my trick: cosmetic gynecologist Joke and a nurse.

Practical

Because I had to rest for the first few days after the operation, I asked my ex to take care of the children. He was the first person I told about my surgery and he was very responsive: he didn’t like me having to go under the knife and would support me. Then I called my mother to ask her to take me and pick me up. Driving yourself is not an option, because sitting is already quite an adventure, as I read in the information about the aftermath.

“Torn muscles? Yes, you should have that repaired.”

I come from a family of doctors and nurses, my mother was what I am used to from her: practical. “Torn muscles? Yes, you should have that fixed.” I didn’t tell you that this whole search had started because I realized that I didn’t dare to sleep with a new man – a completely hypothetical man. I kept it practical, just like my mother. My two best friends got all the ins and outs, but neither had had a natural birth and therefore no vaginal issues. They thought it was cool that I did this.

Read also
Angelique went to Turkey for a mommy makeover >

surgery

And there I was again, in that chair, this time without the giggles. I was especially nervous. And because of those nerves I fired a whole series of questions at Joke. Where did she live? Did she have a husband? Children? And why didn’t they actually do this under general anesthesia? That seemed like a solution to me at the moment. Joke: “That is possible, but you often have to recover from an anesthetic for a few days. And the operation immediately becomes a thousand euros more expensive, you can do nicer things with that, right?”

While I was waiting under my green surgical sheet – only my vagina was not covered from the waist down – I felt the sweat on my hands. I dreaded the pricking and the stitching, the idea that someone with a needle and thread… And then there too… Fortunately, Joke talked me through everything, without giving scary details.

“A bit like the bikini wax, but with anesthetic.”

“Here comes the first jab.” That was to. And the five after that. As if she stuck a very long needle deep into my labia. It probably was. A minute later I didn’t feel anything anymore. I didn’t find it embarrassing, after all Joke and the nurse were looking at vaginas all day long. A bit like the bikini wax, but with anesthetic.

Joke worked calmly and in a controlled manner, the nurse gave everything – a kind of episode of er which I looked between my legs. And then the stitching started. I kept seeing Joke’s hand come up with the needle, but I really didn’t feel anything. No pain, but no movement or touch either. I liked it all. It took a long time, almost three quarters of an hour, but then there was the last suture and I was allowed to get out of the chair. Guided by the nurse, I shuffled into a room where I was installed on a bed with an ice pack between my legs.

To recover

The drive home an hour later was still a thing. I sat on a rolled up towel – against the swelling – and as the anesthetic started to wear off, it became more and more painful. In terms of pain, I expected a bit the same as after the birth, but when I was at home on the couch that afternoon, I was disappointed. Every movement hurt so much that I saw stars, but lying still hurt a lot too. I took one of the prescribed strong painkillers and didn’t get off the couch for the rest of the day. In the evening I stumbled into the kitchen to heat up soup and then I went to bed with another painkiller.

The next few days were as I had imagined: by moving carefully and taking painkillers regularly, it was doable. When the children returned home a few days later, it became a bit spicy again, but it also took away from the pain. A week after the operation I walked with the oldest to school, the youngest in the pram. Walking was fine, albeit slowly.

Dare to talk

When my son was inside, Suzanne, the mother of one of his friends, came to me: “Long time no see, how are you?” I could do two things: say it went well or tell me what was going on. I chose the latter anyway. Her reaction? “What! I totally knew that was possible, I want to too!” And she talked about her birth and how different everything felt after that.

“‘I didn’t know that was possible, I want to!’ said a schoolyard mother.”

It got me thinking. How many women would there be who don’t know that the possibility exists to do something about it? Going through with a vagina they’re not happy with at all? Because it bothers them, because they don’t feel good about it, for whatever reason. And how much nicer would it be if we just dared to talk about it? Even if it’s just to support each other. For a little mutual understanding.

Experiences

We are now two months further and I have been declared cured. After that first week it quickly got much better. After two weeks I was walking at normal speed again, after three weeks I only felt it with certain movements, after four weeks I was cycling again. I talked about my vagina more than ever in those weeks. With good and less good friends, with mothers in the schoolyard, even with my gay friends.

What strikes me is that it is a subject for almost everyone that they avoid, but which they do not shy away from once it comes up. People are interested and – apart from the gays, that is – they also share their own experiences. And that guy? It’s still hypothetical, but when it comes along I’ll be ready. And my vagina too.

This article appears in Kek Mama 16-2021.

More Kek Mama?
Follow us on Facebook and Instagram. Or sign up here for the Kek Mama newsletter >