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Yes, Ladies, Vaginal Prolapse Is a Thing and It Happened to Me

Sad teen receiving bad news online in a smart phone sitting on a couch in the living room at home
Photograph by Getty Images/iStockphoto

It happened the day after Thanksgiving. Not that one tends to forget monumental days such as this.

The day I had my first period, the day I lost my virginity, the day I gave birth to each of my babies: days revolving around my lady bits seem to be permanently ingrained in my mind, so it would make sense that the day my vagina fell out was no different.

I remember nothing monumental about my toilet experience — no pain, no substantial straining. I did a thorough wipe of my booty and then, as is my habit, finished up with a final swipe of the "up front" for good measure.

That was when it hit me: Something was very much not right. Something was bulging out.

My heart started racing as I did what any sane woman in her 30s would do: I grabbed a hand mirror and did my best to investigate, trying not to shake. Not having spent a lot of time staring at my lady bits prior to this point in my life, I didn’t really know what to expect. All I knew was something was wrong. Nothing hurt. There was no blood, but it looked very much like parts intended to be on the inside were now attempting to escape.

I did my best to stuff what was emerging back up in there (for lack of a better description) and pressed my knees together. I clenched all the parts I knew how to clench as I slowly made my way to our couch and sat down, resigned to never leave that position again. Convinced I was going to need to be rushed to the hospital, I called my doctor and left what I can only describe as the most insane sounding voicemail of my adult life.

“Um … hi. I’m just calling because I went to the bathroom just now and I’m pretty sure my vagina is falling out. So, yeah … um … please call me back when you get this.”

After what seemed like hours (reality was maybe 15 minutes), my doctor called me back. To my relief and confusion, she did not seem overly concerned.

“What you are most likely experiencing is a vaginal prolapse.” She said.

Healthline describes a vaginal prolapse like this: "Vaginal prolapse happens when the muscles that support the organs in a woman’s pelvis weaken. This weakening allows the uterus, urethra, bladder or rectum to droop down into the vagina. If the pelvic floor muscles weaken enough, these organs can even protrude out of the vagina."

This was a major event. This was traumatic.

She went on to explain that a vaginal prolapse is actually fairly common, especially for women who have had traumatic vaginal deliveries.

“There are a few treatment possibilities,” she continued, as my mind raced with expectations of painful surgeries. I tried to brace myself to accept that I would likely never have sex again. But to my surprise, she explained that, while surgery is sometimes necessary, usually doing some simple exercises (think: Kegel exercises) will strengthen your pelvic floor enough to keep your innards in.

She gave me a list of simple exercises to do, told me to abstain from sex for a couple of weeks and call back if it didn’t improve. With a bit of relief and a substantial amount of doubt, I hung up the phone.

This was a major event. This was traumatic. Why did she not seem to realize that? Had years of watching things emerge from vaginas desensitized her from the reality of the situation? But a simple Google search confirmed what she had told me: This was not an uncommon problem to have and usually was easily treated without surgery.

I decided to listen to the doctor, do my Kegels and proceed with caution.

It has now been almost four years since that momentous experience. I’m happy to share that the doctor was correct and I have been back to “normal” pretty much ever since. I’ve been able to enjoy an active sex life that has led to another healthy pregnancy and beautiful daughter. All is well with my nether regions.

But I promise, I will never, ever forget the day my vagina fell out.

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