April editor’s letter


Exercise is anathema to many, but for those of us with UI, it can be particularly tricky. We’ve all been there, or else dreaded it: Running or doing a weighted squat, when—yep, that unmistakable trickle. Or maybe, because the threat of leakage is too unpredictable, or too embarrassing, we started avoiding the gym altogether (as if we really needed an excuse). And then we avoided the pool, too. Or maybe we never liked working out to begin with, so UI just gave us another reason not to.
 
For so many of us, movement is a privilege — whether we’re walking, running, or simply sitting up. And when we leak, that’s the body telling us that something isn’t quite right. Just like a leaky faucet, it’s common, it can be addressed, but it shouldn’t be ignored. So what does that mean for fitness? This month we’re taking a look at stories of women who use exercise to help their UI, or else find ways to allow UI management and fitness to peacefully coexist.
 
One writer figured that her post-pregnancy reality was just wet—until she tried the Momma Strong fitness program to start healing her diastasis recti. Another writer gives us a glimpse into her pelvic floor physical therapy diary, and we also suggest some great exercises to strengthen that pelvic floor. A fitness instructor talks us through the incongruity of looking like she’s in great shape on the outside, but constantly worrying about leaking while leading classes. And we’re also revisiting the controversy over CrossFit, gently reminding athletes of all stripes that, again, leakage isn’t a badge of honor—and providing some tips for how to work out safely if you’re dealing with UI.
 
We hope these stories are helpful reminders that UI doesn’t have to get in your way, either, and that UI and fitness—whatever that means to you—can be compatible. So keep laughing, keep running, keep moving. We’re right there with you.
 
Chelsea
 


 

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Pelvic floor physical therapy
I left my first session empowered and educated on the inner workings of my pelvic floor, and now I even have a little hope that I won’t always feel like this.
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Revisiting the CrossFit controversy
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Reviewing Momma Strong
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Fitness instructor’s secret
I’m in great shape on the outside, but as a 55-year-old fitness instructor, I’m constantly worried about leaking while leading classes
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5 exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor
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Leaking during exercise


A few years ago, a video from CrossFit HQ went viral and showed female athletes at a CrossFit Games competition admitting that they leak during workouts.

 

In some ways, this acknowledgment was refreshing, stigmatized as UI is. But in other, bigger ways, the video was alarming, advocating wearing UI as a badge of honor and not-so-subtly suggesting that peeing during a workout means you’re working out harder.

 

The video cast a pall over the world of women athletes living with UI by creating the false equivalence between leaking and strength. And even though some time has passed since then and UI has become something we talk about more now, that false equivalence still exists to some extent and still permeates gyms and studios.

 

But let’s be clear: UI is not a normal result of being strong or working out. And it’s not a limit to push.

 

Troublingly, the video also featured a gynecologist, playing up her medical expertise, who advocates for this line of thinking, saying that peeing during workouts is normal or OK. But it’s not. This is getting a little nuanced, but nuance is important here. UI is common, which makes it easy to call normal, but it’s the signal of a medical condition. It’s not something to be gritted through.

 

That’s why, in response to the video and other media like it, a flurry of responses popped up all over the internet from pelvic floor physical therapists, gynecologists, and others, all saying that the video’s message was bad for female athletes. After all, there are solutions for workout leaks superior to simply grinning and bearing it during double unders or box jumps. Most importantly, the responses said, women should know that peeing during workouts is not normal.

 

So what if you do leak while exercising—whether you’re doing CrossFit, taking a class at the Y, or just jogging around your neighborhood?

 

First of all, it’s important to understand why UI might occur during exercise. Stress urinary incontinence (SUI) happens when the pelvic floor (i.e., the muscles that form a base for your pelvic organs, like the bladder, vagina, and rectum) weakens and doesn’t tighten around the urethra. Under normal circumstances, the pelvic floor holds the urethra shut until it receives a signal from the bladder that it’s time to pee, and it loosens its grip, allowing the urine to flow. When those muscles are weaker, pee might leak out an unexpected times, especially when pressure (i.e., stress) is placed on the bladder. Such stress can come from laughing, sneezing, running, or lifting heavy things. (Sports physical therapist Meghan Rovig more thoroughly explains the anatomy of the pelvic floor here and how stress from sports plays a role in UI.)

 

And CrossFit (and other exercise) can be super stressful for the pelvic floor! To lift a heavy weight, the body builds up intra-abdominal pressure, which must then be released in some way. For some people, that comes with a scream or a grunt; for others, the pressure might be released through the back, resulting in a slipped disk; for others, the easiest release comes through the pelvic floor, resulting in urination.

 

The key to stopping UI during exercise comes with knowing your limits. Even though your arms might be able to lift more weight, your pelvic floor might not be. And if you’re peeing yourself, you need to know that you’re likely past your body’s limit. That’s not to say it’ll be your limit forever. For many of us, that limit can be moved with some training—and pelvic floor muscles can be trained just like any other.

 

In response to the CrossFit controversy, physical therapist Antony Lo offered some great solutions for training safely to mitigate UI during exercise and strengthen the pelvic floor. These solutions include:

  • Training “raw.” Training without belts, tape, or other supports lets your own body be your limiting factor. Plus, wearing synthetic belts doesn’t let pressure leave through your back or belly, nor does it require those stronger muscles to bear the weight. Therefore, what’s left is the small, pelvic floor muscles—both to hold the weight and to serve as the release valve for the pressure.
  • Working with a physical therapist. A physical therapist—especially a pelvic floor physical therapist—will help you understand your own body, both its capabilities and its limits. A therapist can also prescribe pelvic floor exercises to strengthen those muscles in particular.
  • Stopping before you leak. If you can do five sets before you leak, stop there. Don’t push yourself beyond that limit until you can do it without the leak or urge.

 


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A fitness instructor’s secret


I stand in the resort exercise room with 20 class participants, cueing them through a sequence of stretches. My watch tells me there’s 15 minutes left in the class, but my bladder screams that I need to pee now. I never had this problem until menopause, but now it seems I’m in crisis mode whenever I leave the house.

 

I speak in a calm voice and wrench my lips into a smile, hiding the grimace that wants to take over. I contract my Kegel muscles tighter, hoping they’ll keep the pee in my bladder where it’s supposed to be when I’m standing in front of a group in public. Trying not to look obvious, I glance at my watch again. Only three minutes have passed. What if I don’t make it? What if I pee myself and everyone sees that the 55-year-old instructor who’s supposed to be their role model is incontinent? The pair of pee-proof underwear I’m wearing is supposed to work, but I’m still always worried.

 

The irony of my situation makes me want to laugh. But I don’t dare do that in my predicament. Here I am, encouraging my students to relax, listen to their breathing, stay in the moment, and be present in their bodies. It’s one of the main attractions of this luxury resort spa—providing an atmosphere where guests can escape the stress of day-to-day life and get in touch with their authentic selves. I look like the ideal example of health and fitness, too. I’m slender and sculpted from decades of swimming, yoga, and the variety of classes I teach. Plus, I love to exercise—it gives me energy, an optimistic outlook, and better health—so it’s easy to show my enthusiasm for movement when I teach. My demeanor on the surface is calm and compassionate. No one would ever guess that I’m in a state of high anxiety because my pelvic floor has a mind of its own.

 

Teaching a class is always an adrenaline rush. My sympathetic nervous system kicks into overdrive because I’m not only the leader, I’m also responsible for everyone’s safety. But I enjoy the excitement, and helping people feels good. When I’m not in a state of emergency, I focus all my attention on watching each person to make sure each stretch is done safely. I’m still able to explain each movement and how it can be adjusted for a hip replacement or a recent shoulder injury, but I’m distracted by racing thoughts. Why didn’t I bring extra underwear and exercise pants today? Is it obvious that I’m standing funny? I know I’m shifting around too much.

 

I lead the group to stretches on their backs. At least the pressure on my bladder isn’t as intense lying down. Still, every minute seems like an hour. The discomfort is the least of my problems. The fear of complete humiliation is the worst of it. All too often, I’ve nearly made it—only to feel drenched panties and pee running down my leg. It would be a hundred times worse if that happened in front of all of these people! People don’t pee their pants here.

 

The class ends. A woman stops me to ask about more stretches for the IT band. Another wants to know if my Personal Best Stretch DVD is for sale in the gift shop. I should be thrilled, but all I can think about is the look on her face if I had an accident. Does she notice I’m shifting back and forth on my feet, clenching my Kegel muscles like there’s no tomorrow?

 

I’ve only put away half of the foam rollers. I’m still in bare feet. But everyone’s left the room. The rest can wait. I walk as fast as I can down the hallway and rush into a bathroom stall. I see someone’s feet in the one beside me. I wonder if she was as desperate to go as I was. A woman in boot camp class once told me she couldn’t run because the bouncing caused bladder leaks. I know I’m not the only one with this problem. But I always feel so alone whenever I’m standing in front of a class.

 


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Living with bladder inconsistencies


The first night I woke up five times to use the restroom, I figured it was a fluke and I’d had too much water before bed. My mind wasn’t scrambling for answers at two in the morning. There were no agonizing pains or leaks in my bladder, just the constant need to go. With each passing hour, I continued to wake up, pee for a second, and go back to bed, entering into an endless cycle of restlessness. After the fourth consecutive night of this, I finally went to the doctor.

 

I was diagnosed with interstitial cystitis, a chronic bladder condition caused by acidic foods, stress, or sitting for extended periods of time. After the diagnosis, I had to watch what I ate, as any one small thing could send me into a flare up. In the past, I could eat a taco with habanero salsa for dinner every day of the week. Now, anything spicier than mild puts me at risk of having to live with and fight through the flare up for what could be weeks. The anxiety and pain I experience during a flare up is life-altering. I have to be near a restroom at all times, and sitting often makes it worse. I’m constantly waiting for the will of my body to ease up. I’ve found the more spicy food I eat, the longer I have to wait for a flare up to end.

 

Over the summer I was on a road trip to Seattle and ate two chili peppers during lunch. Water wasn’t enough to contain the burn, and typically when my mouth burns for too long, I know my bladder won’t be able to filter the spice either. With the combination of spice and sitting in the car, my flare up lasted three weeks, during which I constantly felt the urge to go even when I knew I didn’t need to. On the rare chance I didn’t have an urge, there was a constant burning in my bladder. Nothing could help, and my doctor’s only advice was to “ride out the storm.” I was forced to inconvenience everyone on the trip and pull over every 20 minutes to use the restroom. It’s hard to explain to those close to me what this urge feels like and that my bladder feels like it’s constantly being stretched to its maximum.

 

But in addition to the inconvenience and the inability to eat what I want, the biggest thing I think the disease has taken away from me is sleep. Even when I lie in bed during a flare up without the urge to pee, I’m riddled with anxiety and fear that this will be my life forever. Sometimes it seems that just as soon as my boyfriend and I fall asleep, I need to use the restroom and wake us right back up. It’s a challenge.

 

My coping mechanisms are simple, but it was difficult to find what best worked for my body right away. I take AZO urinary tract vitamins every day to boost bladder health, and those seem to kick in quickly. I can feel the tension in my body easing as the vitamins work their way through my system. I find that taking these at any point throughout the day gives me a better night’s sleep. Living with bladder inconsistencies also means adapting to a different diet. With interstitial cystitis, it means staying away from acidic foods and caffeine. This took some getting used to when I was craving things like tomato soup or coffee, but I soon found alternatives that boosted my healthy lifestyle, such as soothing peppermint tea as an alternative to caffeine.

 

I’ve found that the key to living an easy life with bladder inconsistencies is not keeping items around my home that will irritate me, whether it’s food or other stressors. After all, my home plays a major factor in my overall health. I’ve learned that maintaining healthy choices for my body 24 hours a day is a key part of living with bladder inconsistencies.

 

I’ve lived with this condition for a year now, and while I didn’t recognize it at the time, it’s made me more aware of what I eat. I’ve learned the foods that don’t work with my body aren’t worth it. But the revelation of healthy eating didn’t happen overnight. I lived through a constant cycle of trial and error and my boyfriend reminding me that I’d be up all night if I bit into salsa. It also helped to have another person looking out for me all the time and holding me accountable for what I ate.

 

Now, I’ve accepted this lifestyle and believe it’s made me a healthier person. Life comes with a bundle of consequences in the choices we all make. I don’t see living with interstitial cystitis as a setback; I see it as a comeback for making healthier choices each and every day.

 

 


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Fear after pelvic organ prolapse


About three years ago, a fear I had never imagined showed up on my doorstep, and it still looms in the background every single day. One Sunday evening, I was sitting in my home trying to enjoy the Super Bowl with my family, but the pressure on my bladder was relentless. I kept trying to go to the bathroom and adjusting my position, but nothing helped. I panicked. I had no other choice but to head to the emergency room and hope that a doctor could end the misery.

 

My regular gynecologist was out of town, and told me on the phone that I probably had a UTI. Nonetheless, after weeks of bouncing around between other doctors, I found myself sitting in a urogynecologist’s office, vulnerable and anxious. What would he find? Would I ever feel better? When the doctor told me that my insides were starting to fall down, I began to sweat and almost passed out. I didn’t hear the rest of his diagnosis and recommendation that day. All I knew was that my worst fear had come true: My body had failed me.

 

Fast forward through pelvic surgery, weeks of post-surgery pain, multiple doctors, acupuncture, and physical therapy. My inter-related prolapse and urinary incontinence–most likely caused by a vaginal birth and unlucky genetics, according to the doctors–took over my life during that time, and the cloud of anxiety followed me around wherever I went. I don’t know about you, but when I feel like there is something awfully wrong with my body, every minute feels like torture.

 

Was I just supposed to live my life like nothing had ever happened? I now viewed my body as weak and shattered. I had done nothing to deserve this! The anxiety led to anger, frustration, sadness, and disappointment. I am not sure that I will ever stop feeling afraid that my organs will fail me again.

 

Sure, it has gotten easier over time now that it has been a few years since my surgery, but not without some major adjustments. I no longer run, jump, hop, or skip, because I worry that my insides are not strong enough. I no longer work out in the gym to the extent that I did before. No heavy lifting. No pilates. No intense ab exercises like crunches. And definitely none of those large machines that everyone else is using to build strong muscles. I may be overreacting, but I couldn’t get a straight answer from the various experts about my exact restrictions. They gave me specific guidelines for those first few weeks after surgery, but then I received conflicting advice about how much I could lift, if I am allowed to run, and whether I can do ab exercises. So, I err on the side of caution because of the overwhelming fear that continues to linger everyday: of experiencing discomfort and pain again, or of having another surgery. Whenever I see a woman running, I cringe, thinking that her insides could be on their way down at that very moment.

 

But the absolute worst part of this experience is that I had to stop carrying my daughter, who was three years old at the time of my surgery. I still worry that she feels rejected by me, her own mother. I should be able to lift my baby girl up to the sky and twirl her around. But the fear overpowers me, because I don’t have confidence that my body will be able to withstand the pressure and weight from activities that I used to so easily take for granted.

 

My daughter still talks about “mommy’s belly problems,” the term I chose to explain why I couldn’t carry her anymore. Besides missing out on that irreplaceable bond, taking her to a public restroom also causes a great deal of stress. There are times when I have to lift her up on the toilet to avoid germs on the seat, but that leaves me choosing between two awful fears. I panic that my issues will come back just from simply helping my daughter go to the bathroom safely.

 

Fears often race through my mind. Fear that my organs will fall out of my body. Fear that I will pee in my pants. Fear that I will suffer prolonged pain. Fear of embarrassment. Fear of not being able to be intimate with my husband. Fear of more surgery that will only make matters worse.

 

We get uncomfortable when we see incontinence commercials and laugh at the jokes about women peeing in their pants, but when will we start sharing our fears so that we can all realize that we are all struggling together? Someday I will tell my daughter my story and hope that she will do what she can to prevent this from happening to her. From doing Kegels to simply being aware and in touch with her own body—this is the gift that I can pass along to her after my challenging journey.

 

And maybe one day, I will learn to love my weathered body without the panic anymore.

 


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The vagina monologues


On my first day of pelvic floor physical therapy, I filled out a questionnaire that asked if I had experienced any sexual trauma or assault—as so many of those questionnaires do. For nearly 17 years, I’ve just avoided the question, or denied the honest answer. But on that day, before I embarked on a type of therapy that already had me a little anxious, something made me check “yes.” Of course, I prayed I wouldn’t have to go into detail about it, that it wasn’t something my therapist and I would actually discuss. After all, I was being seen for UI due to multiple prolapses, not because I was a sexual assault survivor!

 

But I am a sexual assault survivor. And the night that I was raped has been the catalyst for all of the physical issues I’ve experienced pretty much since I was 19. The vagina is a muscle that remembers, and when it experiences trauma—unless it’s dealt with in a healthy, productive manner—the vagina will not forget. So while I was busy trying to forget what happened to me, my body was holding it all inside.

 

Here’s what my vagina remembers: In 2001, I was sexually assaulted by an acquaintance on my college campus. It was ugly and brutal, and because I was scared to death of the potential fallout (no prolapse pun intended, I swear) of that night, I didn’t deal with it properly. I did not seek medical assistance, go to the police, or do any of the things we’re taught to do when a trauma of that nature occurs.

 

Instead, I ran. I transferred to a school close to home, where I figured my assaulter would not be able to hurt me again. I hid what happened from my family, I told very few friends, and I never told my doctors. Telling people would mean reliving it, and reliving it was not high on my list of things to do. I never imagined that the pain and trauma he had inflicted could continue to hurt me, even outside of physical proximity to him.

 

This vaginal memory led to vaginismus, a painful disorder where the vagina adversely reacts to sex and sexual stimuli. For years, I did not know that it isn’t normal to feel pain and dryness in anticipation of sex. I wasn’t aware that my body wasn’t supposed to tighten up right before sex and feel pain and pressure for hours or days after. I thought wanting to avoid sex at all costs as often as possible was normal, and since I had no control over my physical and mental reactions to it, I assumed this was just the way it was supposed to be. I also didn’t know that my severe uterine prolapse and two types of UI might not be the result of four pregnancies in five years, as I had suspected. I didn’t know that this was all happening as a direct response to trauma.

 

As the weeks went by, and my pelvic floor physical therapist and I talked more about my body, the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. Pelvic floor dysfunction, including prolapse, is noted in many women who have survived sexual abuse and trauma, and I’m a prime example. As more conversations took place surrounding this, I was able to see how hiding from the rape and trying to forget it has ultimately done more harm than good.

 

So where can I go from here? It’s a process, but I’m learning. The first step was for me to confront what happened head-on, which led to a conversation with my parents 17 years after it should have occurred. This was not the healing experience I needed it to be, but I am moving onward. Next, I am seeking counseling for the first time in my life and taking an antidepressant, which also happens to help withchronic pain and the daily effects of UI. I’m on the right track and feel good about where things are headed for the first time in a long time.

 

In terms of UI, I’m also working with my physical therapist on training my vagina to trust again. Its trust issues have built themselves up over the years into a tight ball of little angry fists saying, “You, sir, shall not pass.” To make sex less painful, I’m taking matters literally into my own hands with the help of vaginal dilators, devices of increasing size that are inserted into the vagina to help the muscles learn to relax. When used properly and consistently—and in conjunction with therapy and counseling—they can help treat vaginismus as well as other vaginal dysfunctions. They help increase muscle control, which in turn helps manage UI.

 

Right now, I’m on the second-to-smallest dilator and working my way up. It’s going to be a process to get where I need to be, but I’m learning that anything worth doing is worth doing the hard way. After all, reflecting on and processing my UI’s true causes has been painful, but through it, I’ve learned I’m really strong. And, it turns out, my pelvic floor is too.

 


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March editor’s letter


Here’s the thing: UI is common. But as important as it is to normalize and destigmatize the experience, it also really just plain sucks sometimes.

 

It’s OK not to be positive all the time. It’s OK not to always seek out the silver lining in that UI cloud. So this month, we’re focusing on the struggle. Because even in those dark damp storms, you’re not alone.

 

One of our writers takes us through her experience with postpartum depression and discusses how UI exacerbated her feelings. Another mother tells us how prolapse impacted her relationship with her daughter, and herself. We also share a story about a journey of self-discovery prompted by pelvic floor physical therapy, where one woman began to confront how sexual trauma contributed to UI and other issues—and how she also eventually began to find relief. And one writer shares how perimenopause came early, and with it UI, but she managed to use natural methods to treat it.

 

These stories, like so many that relate to incontinence, are ultimately stories of resilience.

 

But remember: If you’re feeling angry or upset about your UI today, or this week, or this year, you’re not alone in those feelings, and there are ways to cope, from physical therapy to products designed for LBL. And on that note, we’ve got some exciting new product tests coming up. Want in on the testing group? Respond to this email or sign up here and I’ll get you some samples.

 

Chelsea

 


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My postpartum darkness
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Fear after prolapse
Treated for pelvic organ prolapse, but the fear hasn’t gone away
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Muscle memory
The surprising relationship between sexual assault, UI, and coming to terms with the past
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Perimenopause came early
How I used natural methods to treat my UI
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What is pelvic organ prolapse?


What is pelvic organ prolapse?

Pelvic organ prolapse occurs when any (or any combination) of the pelvic organs fall or droop from their regular place in the body. It might include the bladder, uterus, vagina, or rectum. And although prolapse can make itself known in many ways—sometimes it just causes mild discomfort or isn’t felt at all—it often results in organs seemingly falling out of place in the body or creating visible bulges coming out of the vagina. Although that sounds terrifying, the good news (yes, there can be good news!) is that these bulges aren’t dangerous, prolapse can be treatable, and you’re definitely not alone. One in three women experience prolapse of some kind throughout their lives.

“Pelvic organ prolapse” is a fairly general term, but there are several types, depending on which organs are affected:

  • Cystocele occurs when the bladder falls into the vagina (and is the most common type of prolapse)
  • Rectocele occurs when the rectum bulges into the back wall of the vagina
  • Uterine prolapse occurs when the uterus falls into the vagina
  • Vaginal vault prolapse happens when the top part of the vagina droops into the bottom of the vaginal canal

Often, multiple types of prolapse occur together, and one can often influence the other. So it’s important to get checked out for all of it, if only because knowledge is power. The key? Remember that a diagnosis of prolapse doesn’t have to control you.

What causes pelvic organ prolapse?

The reason the pelvic organs can move around so much in the first place is that the pelvic muscles form a sort of floor or sling that holds these organs in place. When those muscles weaken, they’re unable to give that necessary support. This weakening can happen for a lot of reasons, including pregnancy and childbirth, age, obesity, hysterectomy, or even respiratory problems that lead to frequent coughing. For the most part, it’s a fool’s errand to try to pinpoint one specific thing that triggered prolapse. For the most part, we really don’t know.

What happens to the body during pelvic organ prolapse?

You might not immediately know you’re experiencing pelvic organ prolapse, because the symptoms might come on gradually or not be felt until they become quite severe. Some women also just assume it’s normal and comes with aging. And looking at the prevalence, that might be true—to a degree. In the early stages, you might experience backaches, painful sex, constipation, or UTIs, which come from the (falling) bladder being unable to empty completely because it’s bending the urethra.

Many people who have prolapse also find themselves experiencing some bladder leakage. One study found that up to 60 percent of women with prolapse also have stress urinary incontinence (SUI), and nearly 40 percent of women with UI also have pelvic organ prolapse, to some degree. SUI leaks can happen during activities like exercise, heavy lifting, laughing, sneezing, or coughing, because the pelvic muscles aren’t properly holding the urethra closed. In some ways, it’s not surprising the two conditions coexist because it all comes down to the same root: a weakened pelvic floor.

When prolapse becomes severe, the organs may drop so low that they visibly protrude from the vagina. Though it may be uncomfortable, or cause painful sex, this is not in itself dangerous. But it shouldn’t be ignored, either, and there are treatments available that can help the body return to its normal state.

How is pelvic organ prolapse treated?

Depending on the type of prolapse and its severity, there are several routes for treatment:

  • Pelvic floor physical therapy. It’s always a good idea to find a reputable provider to work with. Regardless of your prolapse’s grade, strengthening the pelvic floor muscles can do a lot of good. And arming yourself with info can do a lot of good, too.
  • Pessary. A small ring can be inserted into the vagina to provide additional support for the organs.
  • Removal of the organ. This is extreme, we know. But some experts will advise for some situations that the best solution for a prolapsed uterus, for example, is simply a hysterectomy. Though it’s not always required, it is often done either to remove the affected organ or to make room in the pelvis to treat the other organs. A hysterectomy can sometimes be done vaginally, rather than abdominally, making it a less invasive surgery.

 

What can you expect after treating pelvic organ prolapse?

If you and your care team decide your best bet is to undergo surgery, you can usually expect a one- to two-week intense recovery period and about 6 to 12 weeks total during which you’ll be told to avoid lifting anything more than five pounds, avoid sex, and avoid heavy exercise. You may also experience some discomfort and trouble peeing during this time, but this is expected to clear up with time.

Pelvic floor surgery strives to return the pelvic anatomy back to pre-prolapse conditions. But about 5 to 15 percent of prolapse surgeries fail, requiring either a second (usually lesser) surgery or pessary support. In order to prevent a second prolapse, some lifestyle changes may be in order. But it depends on the individual, and common, but blanket, pronouncements like “no more squats” or “avoid certain exercises—forever!” aren’t on the mark, either.

Exercise in general is good and recommended. Good exercises to do after pelvic organ prolapse surgery include dumbbell chest presses, rows, hips thrusts with bands, and inclined treadmill walking. In general, it’s best to ask your provider what you’re cleared to do, learn appropriate modifications if necessary, and know what sensations to look for to know if something’s not quite right.

Pelvic organ prolapse is one of those things that people don’t talk about much but that affect more people than you might realize. A good first step is knowing about it and knowing what signs to look for. If you have experience of your own, drop a comment below.

 


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Can you prevent incontinence?


Urinary incontinence affects millions of women at practically any age. But for most women, it arrives as a surprise, maybe during pregnancy or after menopause or as a symptom of other bladder conditions—or maybe for no reason at all. Once it’s been identified, there are a number of treatment options and ways to make your life easier. But can you prevent incontinence from even starting in the first place? Well, it depends.

 

There are some factors that are known to exacerbate UI, and addressing them and making some lifestyle changes can certainly help prevent incontinence. Of course, even if you do everything perfectly, sometimes the bladder just wants what the bladder wants. But if you think you might be at risk for UI—like if you’re planning to get pregnant, are approaching menopause, or have a genetic predisposition—taking these things into account can’t hurt, and just might help prevent leakage in the long run.

 

Ways you can prevent incontinence

 

  • Do kegels.We talk about Kegels all the time—but hate ’em or love ’em, if you have a weak pelvic floor, they can be an effective way to strengthen it. (If you have a tight pelvic floor, Kegels won’t help—which is why a visit to a PFPT is a good idea; they can tell you what’s going on down there.) The key to doing Kegels effectively to prevent incontinence is to do them consistently. For instance, do a set of 10 every morning and every evening every day. If you want to add in some variety, try other pelvic floor exercises too. In general, maintaining a moderate exercise regimen is good for your pelvic floor. This can include squats, ab exercises, and even running.
  • Hydrate.It may seem intuitive that if you want to pee less, you’d drink less. But that’s not quite right—and anyway, it doesn’t help you prevent incontinence. Dehydration can wreak havoc on your body in a lot of ways, and importantly, it can really irritate the bladder, which makes UI more likely. Stick to the recommended six to eight glasses of water a day. But of course, drinking a ton of water all at once will have you running to the bathroom, so to help prevent incontinence while also staying hydrated, try spreading your drinking out throughout the day.
  • Steer clear of caffeine, alcohol, and bubbles. It’s really not fair that some of life’s most delicious drinks are all bladder irritants. But when the bladder gets irritated, it can start sending signals to the brain that it’s full—even when it’s not. This can lead to urge incontinence. On top of that, caffeine and alcohol are also diuretics, which will have you peeing more than you want to. So if you’re serious about preventing incontinence, it might, alas, be time to put away the La Croix.
  • Stop smoking. Smoking makes you cough, which puts a lot of pressure on the pelvic muscles. If you want to prevent stress incontinence, avoiding coughing is one of the best ways to do that—and quitting smoking is, in turn, one of the best ways to avoid a chronic cough.
  • Maintain a healthy BMI. Being overweight is one of the biggest factors contributing to UI because having extra weight puts undue pressure on the bladder, leading to urges and leaks. But the good news is that losing weight definitely helps. One study found that after a 5 percent weight loss over a year and a half, incontinence improved in women by more than 70 percent.
  • Eat healthy. There are a lot of reasons to maintain a healthy diet, and you can add preventing incontinence to the list. For instance, constipation puts pressure on the bladder, so making sure to get plenty of fiber helps. Low vitamin D can contribute to a weakened pelvic floor—so maintaining good levels of vitamins is also a plus. Get fiber by eating lots of whole grains and hearty vegetables like broccoli, and get vitamin D from dairy, sunlight, or over-the-counter supplements.

 

If you’re looking to prevent incontinence before it happens—or even manage symptoms after you’ve sprung a leak—incorporating even one or two of these tips into your lifestyle can go a long way. Got other ideas about what’s worked for you? Let us know in the comments!

 

 


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February editor’s letter


The romance industrial complex has made sure that the whole month of February is associated with love, but let’s be honest: Sometimes dealing with UI makes loving ourselves—or feeling that others can love us—difficult, and Hallmark’s certainly not writing any cards about loving us for our UI and all.

So this month, we wanted to take a look at love in lots of forms. Self-love, a mother’s love, and, you know, makin’ love. One of our writers talks about learning to trust herself when it comes to understanding her own body after years of misdiagnoses; another talks about how UI brings a new perspective to motherhood; and one gives us a very intimate glimpse into a tentative return to sex after pelvic floor therapy. We also review Icon underwear—perfect for a hot date without having to worry.

UI is so often thought of as a physical thing, but just as often it takes an emotional toll — calling into question that most basic ability to love and be loved. But everyone deserves big, fulfilling love, leaks and all. And that’s something to write greeting cards about.

Chelsea


 

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