ABOUT THE AUTHOR: BECCA IRONSIDE
In the year 2012, just as I was getting stuck in a rut in my profession of being a physical therapist, I took a job in a nursing home. As you can imagine, I wasn’t expecting it to be the job of a lifetime. But it became the job that I will forever look back upon with great fondness. Within this particular nursing home, I grew to know a variegated group of older adults, many of whom had fought in WWII. They had the stories and grit from this era in America, but they also had a spunk and will to keep living which surprised me. Not only was there romance, adventure and intrigue amongst the residents of this place, but the vibrancy of the staff was infectious. The greatest outcome of those years was the sense of connection that we young workers developed with our patients who were decades older. The nursing home pulsed with life and became our haven; we felt less scared about the world by being around those who had lived through far more than we could ever fathom. It was because of those experiences that I wrote the book Dovetailing; so that the world could see how much we share with those in any age of the lifespan and to recall these memories with laughter.
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Yet after a few years of working in this nursing home, I began to cry each weekend. I couldn’t sleep at night and poured my life into the older residents; these were people that we as workers knew and loved, people who ultimately all died. I went to two different physicians, looking for a cure for my broken heart. Both of these doctors helped me determine that there was only one solution for my despair. And that was to quit my job at the nursing home. On top of the depression of so many losses, the pelvic pain which I had known since my twenties had returned with a vengeance. I didn’t want to leave my job, but my body was telling me that I could not remain there, and I was forced to listen.
I suppose it was that pelvic pain which led me to discover the world of pelvic floor physical therapy. With my heart heavy from missing all of my WWII veterans, I signed up for classes to become a pelvic floor PT. I recall driving home from my very first three day weekend of training for the pelvic floor; for the first time in a long while, I felt hope. Hope that I could get to the root of my own pelvic pain, and even more hope that I could help others to do the same.
These days, I work at a pelvic floor clinic, treating both women and men. The satisfaction is enormous, though it is quite the challenge. There is an element of problem-solving and mystery to this line of work that is unmatched by my previous jobs as a physical therapist. I have learned so many things from my patients and in so doing, have helped to recover from my own pelvic pain. While none of my patients have passed away, as they used to in the nursing home, the dark shadow of pelvic pain and pelvic floor dysfunction is fearsome to those who know it. It is our job as practitioners to assist patients in removing that fear from their lives.
I began working as a pelvic floor physical therapist treating women. Women know the reality of having our unmentionables being poked and prodded. And we often have a sounding board for our pelvic conditions, because women will likely share this information with friends and loved ones. It was not until I began treating men with pelvic floor dysfunction that I was confronted with their inability to communicate their struggles to anyone. This is not because men are poor communicators, either. This is because our world does not allow for male vulnerability or weakness. And when a man is having difficulty with urination, sex or bowel movements, he has no avenue down which to travel and speak his truth. I wrote a book about the male pelvis to shed light on these problems. I wrote it about men, but it is helpful for anyone who longs to see the underbelly of the male psyche. The title of the book is On the Sneak Tip: The Male Pelvis Revealed.
I miss the residents of the nursing home more than I could ever articulate. But it seems as though my fate held other things in store. It is with great honor that I now work with men and women who are up against enormous pelvic challenges. Their stories mean something. And I firmly believe that those veterans from WWII, now deceased, would absolutely agree.
I suppose it was that pelvic pain which led me to discover the world of pelvic floor physical therapy. With my heart heavy from missing all of my WWII veterans, I signed up for classes to become a pelvic floor PT. I recall driving home from my very first three day weekend of training for the pelvic floor; for the first time in a long while, I felt hope. Hope that I could get to the root of my own pelvic pain, and even more hope that I could help others to do the same.
These days, I work at a pelvic floor clinic, treating both women and men. The satisfaction is enormous, though it is quite the challenge. There is an element of problem-solving and mystery to this line of work that is unmatched by my previous jobs as a physical therapist. I have learned so many things from my patients and in so doing, have helped to recover from my own pelvic pain. While none of my patients have passed away, as they used to in the nursing home, the dark shadow of pelvic pain and pelvic floor dysfunction is fearsome to those who know it. It is our job as practitioners to assist patients in removing that fear from their lives.
I began working as a pelvic floor physical therapist treating women. Women know the reality of having our unmentionables being poked and prodded. And we often have a sounding board for our pelvic conditions, because women will likely share this information with friends and loved ones. It was not until I began treating men with pelvic floor dysfunction that I was confronted with their inability to communicate their struggles to anyone. This is not because men are poor communicators, either. This is because our world does not allow for male vulnerability or weakness. And when a man is having difficulty with urination, sex or bowel movements, he has no avenue down which to travel and speak his truth. I wrote a book about the male pelvis to shed light on these problems. I wrote it about men, but it is helpful for anyone who longs to see the underbelly of the male psyche. The title of the book is On the Sneak Tip: The Male Pelvis Revealed.
I miss the residents of the nursing home more than I could ever articulate. But it seems as though my fate held other things in store. It is with great honor that I now work with men and women who are up against enormous pelvic challenges. Their stories mean something. And I firmly believe that those veterans from WWII, now deceased, would absolutely agree.