Archives for posts with tag: getting healthy

Should you ever require a butt operation, I highly recommend my hospital. With the luxury of private health cover (due to the stupid taxation department and the insistence of parents), I have spent quite a bit of time here at St John of God Subi. I had Indi here almost 8 months ago, a five day stay post emergency c-section, with not an ounce of pain, gorgeous nurses, yummy food and a queen size, yes queen size bed. 7 weeks later I had an over night stay due to a breast abscess (my child was a messy eater from the get go), once again it was pretty dang comfy, they even brought in a cot for Indi, who stayed with me because I was still breast feeding*. This time its a three day stay, the loveliest nurses, DELICIOUS food and a room all my my lonesome. The place is pretty sweet.

I must admit that I have been slightly disappointed with the play by play of my latest stay. My expectations were a tad grand. In my head an operation on my cheeks (technically its just one) involved a bucket load of pain and me being limited in my range of movement due to my butt being in the air (think- scrubs style comedy sketch with patient in randomly placed casts, strung from a series of pully systems- my brain is a comedy show gold mind). It was all a bit lack luster in reality.

I woke from my drugged up nap, only to have a little spew (always classy) and discover that I was laying on my back. The only thing hooked up to me was an IV, which was removed after the first night. As a bonus, I had full range of movement and could do as I pleased with in the room **. They kept offering me pain relief, of which I found I didn’t need. Not really the horrible, painful, humiliating hospital stay I had planned.

Oh and I’ve learnt a few things being here too. They have a butt ward. Yes a butt ward. I’m on the butt ward. When I discovered this today I was pretty chuffed. I’m hanging with my homies over here. I didn’t have to stress that the nurses were all gossiping about me behind my back “no you go and change the dressing on the crazy ladies butt, I want to hold the newborn”. Yes, I worry about people trash talking my bottom. I’m only human. And to my great delight I am some what a novelty on my ward. By far the youngest, with a not so hard core bottom issue. One day I will get that put on a badge.

This evening I asked my lovely nurse ‘Kerri’ how it is one comes to be on a butt ward. I know if it was me I couldn’t imagine being in a room and jumping up and down saying ‘pick me, pick me’ when asked who wants to deal with the poo end of a human. Kerri explained that the nurses on the bottom and vagina ward (yeah I said it, I’m a health teacher, I can totally say vagina) –insert gasp VAGINA AS WELL– are some of the most skilled nurses due to the level of the complications, pain, specifics, delicateness and embarrassment of their clients. Translated, that means I have some of the best nurses tending to my hiney.

The stay isn’t horrible, most of the time I’m left to chill by myself because I am the least demanding patient. I like that. I actually napped today. I read a book today. I may have eaten a small block of chocolate today. If I could get a pedicure, it could almost be classified at a holiday.

So this is a shout out St John of God Subiaco. As much as I have ‘loved’ hanging out, it would be real nice if we didn’t see each other until I pump out some more tiny humans.

Much love peeps xxx

Side notes:* Yes I am a freaking mamma machine. Child first. My only motto. **Tempting as it is, I resisted the urge to do yoga with an open arse wound.

Post baby body. Oh yeah now that’s sexy. Not.

Almost as soon as the squid was born (when the glorious epidural had worn off) I was amazed at how much my body could endure. I had incredibly empowering thoughts about what I had been through and held a woman’s ability to carry a child to the highest degree. Walrussing for months, aching, sweating, growing and pushing all those annoying internal organs out of the way to create a special little. I may have been high on all those crazy hormones that had been going off like fire crackers all through my body, but the pride and admiration I had for my body was pretty dang big.

It stayed that way for about 24hrs, partly because one of my favorite parts of staying in hospital was learning that things were getting back to normal. By that I mean, I could do a real wee for the first time in months. Not a quick dash to the loo, only to re visit it half an hour later. But a real wee. Anyone who’s had a baby will be able to relate, its heaven. So the pride in my body grew.

That was untilĀ  I got to have a real shower. It must have been day 3 (I was hooked up to all sorts of things for the first couple of days so only got to hand wash). I hadn’t really prepared myself for what I saw. When the hell did I eat all that pudding? Nope sorry, must be a 4 day old half deflated balloon? Or is it a dead pig? A giant wrinkly mushroom? WHAT? Its my BELLY? Luckily there was a beautiful tiny human to distract me from the horror of my newly achieved body status. So the issue of jelleh belleh got put on the back burner.

I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight about 3 weeks after Indi was born. By pre-pregnancy I mean the weight that I wasn’t really happy with prior to getting pregnant. Proud that I had got there, still not super happy with what my stomach was doing or with the number in general. I also began to fall in love with cake, and boredom encouraged me to bake (read the story here). Its here where I added ‘cake weight’ to my already not so glamorous number.

I feel its my responsibility to warn all preggos around the world that post baby, everyone will want to ‘catch up’ with you. This will no doubt include a cuppa and cake. At about 2 people per week, times that by four months, it equals 34 pieces of cake (real number will be much bigger, trust me). If you end up having a c-section or a rough labor, exercise is at a minimal. Hence the term cake weight. So deliciously worth it, but so much harder to get rid of.

Lets just re cap.

A not so fabulous number to begin + post pregnancy body + cake weight = a hell of a challenge to a woman who is allergic to running and hasn’t stopped eating since she gave birth 5 months ago.

And so I begun my ‘body’ challenge.

I signed up for the 12wbt.


We threw out all the bad things in the fridge, freezer and cupboard. Brought exercise dvds, weights, mats and new runners. Looked up classes at the gym and planned what we could fit in with the tiny human. We were gonna do this HARD, not chicken out. It was game on in our house, and poor Aidan didn’t have a choice but to go along with yet another one of my crazy plans.

*Side note, he might have been dragged into to it, but the boy is doing better than me. Brought his first pair of skinny jeans this week. He is looking gooooooood!!
Pt 2 coming soon

Much love peeps xx


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