12 weeks to go

By way of update, my case has been rejected for the third time by the local council, in my bid for home help. The social worker did her best and there is just no room to move in the budget - the elderly get priority and the rest of us must scrounge for money to private operators or recruit friends and family to clean our houses while we are disabled. Me? I have no family within this region, and given what all of this is leading up to, I'd rather save the offers of help for nearer the time the baby is due and when this baby is born, without burning out the few offers we've had to date.
I was off crutches for two weeks and then we had a whirlwind session of cleaning up our house to a) set up our Christmas tree (already delayed by lack of space in the designated room, much to the chagrin of the children) and b) make it presentable for my visiting sister and her family. The reason I need help to clean the house is that I can't bend down without pain, or stand for the time it takes to fold laundry without feeling the effects well into the night (mostly until after I've fallen asleep). However, there was so much to be done that I ended up doing all of the contraindicated activities that lead to a pelvic meltdown.
I couldn't show my niece and nephew around our new place and I would have loved to have saddled up a pony for them, or even taken one out of the paddock to groom with them. Instead, I got the crutches out to hold myself up, deciding that the wheelie walker would be very confronting to my sister, who has never actually seen me being affected by PGP because she lives in another country.
I rested up for two days after this and, feeling overconfident, decided that Christmas Eve would be a good time to get a lot of washing done (weather and time-wise). Between this and my effort to bring the washing in Christmas morning before we had to head into Melbourne for the family get together, I ended up being in painful discomfort the whole drive into Melbourne (which took about 2 hours due to traffic, and normally would have been an hour and a half), and being immobilised to a chair once we got there, feeling miserable.
I've been having trouble walking ever since. This is my kids' most boring summer ever, and I feel terrible that I can't take them on adventures on their holidays. They didn't ask for my disability, they just wanted a sibling.
I've been cleaning the shower with the aid of the shower stool, and I use my feet whilst seated to swipe the floor over with a microfibre cloth until the waxy feeling has given way to the smooth, clean feeling. I know it's not great for my pelvis, but it's a lot more comfortable than being on my hands and knees (especially now that I have got some degree of muscle separation again in my tummy), and it beats having a shower on a progressively stickier floor. It's also not great for water usage, but the man of the house who insists he has been cleaning the shower has clearly been deluding himself. Waxy floor and walls do not maketh a clean shower cubicle...
I'm resting a LOT during the days. If I don't then I am on my back by 5pm and dinner is torturous for me to cook. Dinner is slightly less painful an affair if I spend much of the afternoon off my feet. I have been reading many, many books, and averaging a book every 3 days. I have just about finished my library book collection that I had hoped would take me through January, so I have been spending quality time on Goodreads constructing an extended 'holds' list through the online library system.
Bedtime has its measure of depressing elements. I have to sleep on my left side because I still can't figure out a less painful way to sleep on my right hand side. My thigh pillow is my best friend and I don't think it's too late for me to splash out on a body pillow, which I'm sure would make sleeping bearable. I have to be able to slip out of bed without much movement, so I'm sleeping on the left side of the bed. This largely precludes me from cuddles that I desperately need (I feel I need them all day long to get me through) because the other half sleeps facing the other way. This impacts directly on intimacy, as I am petrified of any further relations that cuddling, knowing how much pain I have to endure for the rest of the day involved. It doesn't mean I don't want to be touched, it just means I cannot express myself in the way he would prefer. It seems to be an impasse. I can't help feeling that my need is greater, being what I am going through for all of us.
Yesterday I was in tears of pain before taking my kids to the skate park. My son noticed, gave me a hug and a kiss and said "it must be so hard for you, Mum". What did I do to deserve him? He's only 7 years old and he said the perfect thing.
12 weeks to go. How hard can it be?

A random moment

Today I was at the pool with my kids, sitting on the bench with my crutches beside me and reading my book. From time to time I would look up at my daughter, and my son was in a training session at the other end of the facility.
The young lifeguard came around a couple of times, before pausing to marvel at my daughter's confidence in and around water. We chatted briefly about that and then he came around a bit later, when my son had finished his session and joined his sister in play, so I could show him that both my water-born babies were similarly confident.
At this point he asked me what the crutches were for and I explained that my pelvis had packed it in with pregnancy. I told him I would normally be in the water but for my pelvis and that I'd had my final surf over the weekend. We talked more about surfing and I gave him some tips, as he'd tried a couple of times with no luck. He asked my name and he asked how long I'd been in the area and the conversation was easy and very friendly.
After he left for more rounds of the pools I picked up my book again, and put it down at intervals to keep an eye on the kids - mainly to make sure they weren't being overbearing for other kids in the water (which they normally aren't, but I didn't want to be accused of not caring should the unlikely scenario arise). The lifeguard came over again and asked if I was on any medication for my pelvis and I said I wasn't, telling him heat, rest and hydrotherapy were really working for me.
What happened next I couldn't have predicted. He tentatively asked if he could pray for me. I asked him to repeat it in case I had misheard, and also to buy some time to think of how to respond. It didn't take me long and I told him that if he thought it would help then that was fine. He asked me if I thought it would help and I answered that I didn't particularly believe it would, but that I didn't mind if he wished to pray for me.
Had I been anyone else he may have copped a spray for his approach. I don't believe he was 'grooming' me in any way and he didn't offer anything else, like a chance to come to his next bible study. You see, this is the kind of territory I left behind many moons ago, so it was not a case of two worlds colliding. I could also sense his sincerity and that he wanted to be constructive, instead of merely sympathetic. I know what it is like to feel like doing something and I could not deny him his opportunity to do what I like to do as well: leave the world a better place than I found it.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said it wouldn't take very long. I sat quietly and he didn't particularly bow his head or anything other than have his hand lightly on my shoulder. When he was done he asked if I felt different. I had to answer honestly and say that it didn't. I extended that by telling him that it was a nice energy from him to know that he wanted to help and that, on another level, was helpful in itself. I only half-jokingly offered that he could try practicing reiki with that energy. After all, the "laying of the hands" is a similar concept of healing, though the energy is ascribed differently.
And, so, I believe I experienced my first "laying of the hands" (despite years of 'fellowship' in my youth), and though his beliefs no longer translate to my world, his energy and intent were understood by mine.
I got home and felt like hell, and somehow lightened by the gesture of someone I'd only just really met.
I've had a great week of being around people who are helping to make things a little better for me, even though they recognise that they won't make this PGP go away. Every little gesture counts, for me; from the lady in the supermarket organising a hand to my car, to the kindly elderly people warning me about the path to the beach (I couldn't tell them that I know it like the back of my hand).
My pelvis is having a terrible week, but my spirit is lifted because of the people who offer their help. Because of my pelvis I know a lot more of the kindness that many people believe does not exist, the kindness that surprises the jaded.
I don't know about 'purpose' in all of this, I just know that I have to extract from my situation all that comes my way that brightens the path ahead.

SPD before and during the second pregnancy

Not only did I have developmental reasons for wanting my children to have a bigger age gap, I also wanted to give my pelvis a good chance at recovery before falling pregnant again. I felt safe enough to do so from the time that would mean a 3 year age gap.
I continued with yoga for as long as I could in my next pregnancy and bought a locally-produced pregnancy yoga DVD. I didn't last long with either real classes or the DVD ones. I remained active for about 22 weeks and I had to stop riding at about 23 weeks because of the familiar sensation of a sledgehammer being driven up between my legs every time I dismounted, even when using a really tall mounting block. Reluctantly, I put up my bridle and spelled my horse, yet again. Not that he minded - his lazy nature is quite suited to pregnancy-induced breaks!
I aggravated my pelvis much less in the second pregnancy because I was much more aware of it from the beginning, and also because I was seeking the right help as soon as it flared up again. My tubi-grip got a second run, I had crutches at the ready and I had lined up a course of acupuncture for later on. I even treated myself to a pregnancy massage. My osteo appointments were every 3 weeks for a couple of months and then fortnightly, until the last 3 weeks of the pregnancy when I was going weekly. At each session she would bring my pelvis back into alignment, after the right side would slip so far forward as to be at a 45 degree angle to the left side. Amazingly, I didn't really feel this through my lower back, though I know my sacrum was working overtime to keep some kind of balance.
I had also arranged for a disabled parking permit, by now, to facilitate my attendance at university classes, as well as general errands requiring the car. I would not have even thought of it, but a dear friend with mobility issues herself, suggested it and convinced me that I wasn't defrauding the system.
I used the crutches for one day in that entire pregnancy, and instead of going to social occasions with resentment I decided to pick and choose which invitations I'd accept depending on the anticipated topography and seating arrangements.  No matter how much people pledge to be of help, if I know I'm going to be uncomfortable I just have to listen to my inner voice that knows better.
This time we planned a homebirth and the midwives (one of whom was involved in my first pregnancy) were well and truly up to date with my SPD treatment. During the birth itself I realised I would have to turn around and be on my knees for crowning because my pelvis had, more or less, dictated so. It was the first time in either birth that I had felt my pelvis complain and I assuaged it immediately, with no drama.
Again, I had a week or two of the illusion that the SPD was gone, and this time I was prepared for its return.
I went back to my osteo (I had changed clinics again by the time I was pregnant this second time) with my newborn and had more adjustments done. By this stage I was using another osteo, as my favourite one had gone on maternity leave!
I continued to use the osteo at this clinic until we moved to the country a year later. Meanwhile, I went back to yoga classes when my next baby was old enough to leave behind for a couple of hours and the studio was only a short walk from home, anyway. My horse riding was intermittent and largely dependent on how heavily my conscience weighed on me for unfinished uni assignments. Every ride was savoured and gave me something to work on. Dismounting posed no issue for my pelvis as it had during pregnancy.
These are my recollections of life with a dodgy pelvis. I have now had SPD for almost 8 years. It's not a defining feature of my life, it is just one I have to account for. For me, the SPD did not go away after birth, as happens for some women, and it did not become less of a problem for the second pregnancy, though it was much better managed in between. I was able to surrender my disabled parking permit by the time my second child was 3 months old.
In daily life I have to be mindful of my ergonomics and adhere to my well-learned occupational health and safety practices (from my work life before children) if I was to avoid a fix-it trip to the osteo. I had lapses in my body use awareness where I would have to make a last-minute appointment to alleviate the pain and start again, but generally, moving my body in the way everyone needs to be mindful of keeps my pelvis happy, in its non-pregnancy state. The upside to this is that when I'm not pregnant my pelvis is no more an impediment to my volunteer firefighting than many other volunteers' beer bellies...in fact, much less so!
More to come on my PGP since my second child, so stay tuned if this has been of interest to you thus far. Even if this does not resonate personally, you may very well come across someone in your life who has PGP or doesn't realise that she has it. If you don't know what it is, you can't get help for it!

In the beginning...

I was pregnant with my first child in 2005. I had the customary nausea, which cleared up by 19 weeks, in the New Year. I kept myself active with my yoga classes walking the dog in the park and riding my horse.
By week 24 I started to feel heavy in the belly and it turned out that my muscles had separated, so I wore a tubi-grip that the midwives at the Family Birth Centre gave me. The tubi-grip was an enormous help, so I kept riding, though the fatigue in my belly was really felt when I was at work for my casual job in retail.
By week 26 I knew something else was going on with excruciating pain in my groin. The GP I had asked unhelpfully offered that it was 'part of the territory'. I never mentioned it again to a GP in that pregnancy and subsequently I found references to a condition called Symphisis Pubis Dysfunction, or SPD. It is a pelvic girdle pain caused by the early loosening of the ligaments in some pregnant women.
I asked the midwives about it and they confirmed my self-diagnosis, giving me tips on how to manage it, as far as they were informed about it. Further internet research led me to the wonderful Pelvic Instability Association of Australia, as it was known then and is now simply PIA (due to increasing awareness that not all pelvic girdle pain, or PGP is due to instability).
At about week 33 I went to a comedy show in town and managed to fracture the ball of my foot from climbing the steps to my seat during loo trips and intermission. As a result, I spent a good 3 to 4 weeks on crutches. I had never used crutches before and I was using them all wrong, which caused upper body problems to boot! The crutches, I realised, also took a lot of weight-bearing from my pelvis and provided relief, even though I had soft tissue bruising under my arms.
Night-time loo trips were painful and, mercifully, we lived in a house with a narrow hallway, so that I could hold onto the walls to get to the loo. Getting myself in and out of the car was painful and going to people's places with stairs or inclines involved turned social occasions into resentment-inducing occasions.
I slept with a pillow between my thighs for side-sleeping and that seemed to help with the pain overnight. Apart from that, all I had was my heat pack and a hospital physio who generally just made things worse for me.
In the days leading up to the birth my pelvis had decided to give me a break and I had other things to concentrate on. We had invested in HypnoBirthing classes and had planned a waterbirth with the FBC midwives.
The birth was glorious and went right to plan. After the birth I was able to walk around and we left for home the next day. I commented that the literature was right, and that the pelvic pain had gone away after the birth.
I was wrong. Not 3 weeks later the familiar tugging returned and I resumed appointments with the hospital physios. After the 3rd appointment, a couple of months later, one of the young physios looked at me sympathetically and said that she had heard that relaxin was the hormone implicated in SPD. She said (and I already knew) that relaxin was present in the body whilst breastfeeding, "so, how long does breastfeeding last...3 or 4 months?". That was my last hospital physio appointment, as I needed a caregiver who was, at the very least, familiar with the World Health Organisation's recommendation to breastfeed for a minimum of 2 years. Breastfeeding got off to a rocky start and I wasn't going to give it up due to not-very-evidence-based advise about relaxin exacerbating my pelvic condition.
When my son was about a year old I asked the question on the Australian Breastfeeding Association's discussion forum and was directed to a good osteopathy clinic near me. I have never looked back and osteopathy has been a part of my life ever since. I already had a myotherapist, but my condition wasn't responding to her modalities and one single osteo treatment had me walking in much more comfort than I had since before the pain had set in.
I started doing yoga again, I was back horse riding (though, with other life commitments now, my riding habit was much-reduced in frequency) and in the pool a lot with baby swim lessons.
Next post: second pregnancy and life in between.