A lot of women see quite dramatic changes to their bodies after they have a hysterectomy. It could be because they have new (and sometimes very dramatic) scars. It could be that their weight changes. It could be out of sync hormones (or lack thereof) after their ovaries are removed. Almost all of us end up with some sort of a “paunch” on the lower part of our abdomens afterwards. And all of us contend with the dreaded “swelly belly” (Latin: swelly bellicus) for months (and sometimes years) after surgery. More than any other issue, discussions of body image dominate post-hysterectomy conversations.
I’ve never had a flat stomach. Ever. And I never will. I accept that as I also accept the fact that I will never have “skirt legs”. But my body did change after my hyst. After three lots of surgery through my belly button, I couldn’t stand anything touching it, and couldn’t wear jeans, trousers or belts that cut across it. Despite actually losing a bit of weight after the surgery, I didn’t fit into most of my jeans or trousers anymore as they were too tight for comfort around my belly. I have the permanent, post-hyst paunch. Despite the amount of weight I’ve lost over the past few months, I still have it. It ain’t going anywhere.
Around my first “hysterversary”, I decided it was time to just accept that I was not going to fit into my old clothes and had a big clear out. I took two bin liners full of clothes to a charity shop. I was never going to wear that size of trousers again (so I thought), so I got rid of them. It was extremely cathartic. It was an act of acceptance. This was the price of ending years of chronic pelvic pain. This is the new normal and I can’t change it, but I can buy jeans that fit and don’t irritate my uber-sensitive belly button.
Issues of body image also dominate a lot of discussion amongst Crohnies, especially for those of us who have lost a lot of weight quickly or those who are dealing with Prednisolone induced weight gain (which for some unknown reason, is the one side effect I haven’t had). I think the same mantra of acceptance about “the new normal” applies to Crohnies too.
However, I will fully admit that this is easier said than done. I will openly admit that the weight loss has completely shattered my usually confident body image. I’m not one of those women who has ever dieted or obsessed over their weight. Like all teenage girls, I did have a bit of a body complex (comes with being the first to grow boobs in your class), but I grew to love my body by my late teens and early 20s. I’m not bothered about the scars from various surgeries on my tummy. In fact, I joke about being able to play “connect the dots” between them.
But I will fully admit that this usually curvy girl is struggling with the skinny “new normal”. On a very low day back in January, I took the larger mirror down in the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. Very few of my clothes now fit. I have bought and sent back at least half a dozen bras this month trying to find one that will fit my new shape. I hate clothes shopping at the best of times and the thought of standing in front of a full length mirror in a High Street shop changing room not being able to find anything that fits just upsets me.
Needless to say, “making peace with my new body” is not coming easily. But I need to remind myself that it took almost a year to do that last time. . .
I’ve never had a flat stomach. Ever. And I never will. I accept that as I also accept the fact that I will never have “skirt legs”. But my body did change after my hyst. After three lots of surgery through my belly button, I couldn’t stand anything touching it, and couldn’t wear jeans, trousers or belts that cut across it. Despite actually losing a bit of weight after the surgery, I didn’t fit into most of my jeans or trousers anymore as they were too tight for comfort around my belly. I have the permanent, post-hyst paunch. Despite the amount of weight I’ve lost over the past few months, I still have it. It ain’t going anywhere.
Around my first “hysterversary”, I decided it was time to just accept that I was not going to fit into my old clothes and had a big clear out. I took two bin liners full of clothes to a charity shop. I was never going to wear that size of trousers again (so I thought), so I got rid of them. It was extremely cathartic. It was an act of acceptance. This was the price of ending years of chronic pelvic pain. This is the new normal and I can’t change it, but I can buy jeans that fit and don’t irritate my uber-sensitive belly button.
Issues of body image also dominate a lot of discussion amongst Crohnies, especially for those of us who have lost a lot of weight quickly or those who are dealing with Prednisolone induced weight gain (which for some unknown reason, is the one side effect I haven’t had). I think the same mantra of acceptance about “the new normal” applies to Crohnies too.
However, I will fully admit that this is easier said than done. I will openly admit that the weight loss has completely shattered my usually confident body image. I’m not one of those women who has ever dieted or obsessed over their weight. Like all teenage girls, I did have a bit of a body complex (comes with being the first to grow boobs in your class), but I grew to love my body by my late teens and early 20s. I’m not bothered about the scars from various surgeries on my tummy. In fact, I joke about being able to play “connect the dots” between them.
But I will fully admit that this usually curvy girl is struggling with the skinny “new normal”. On a very low day back in January, I took the larger mirror down in the bathroom so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. Very few of my clothes now fit. I have bought and sent back at least half a dozen bras this month trying to find one that will fit my new shape. I hate clothes shopping at the best of times and the thought of standing in front of a full length mirror in a High Street shop changing room not being able to find anything that fits just upsets me.
Needless to say, “making peace with my new body” is not coming easily. But I need to remind myself that it took almost a year to do that last time. . .
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