It’s 13 years since I had an emergency c-section, to save my life, and the life of my baby (thank you NHS!)
The operation was performed in minutes. The violence of it, coming after such a long and painful Labour, caused me to dissociate. My baby was alive: I was elated!

It was hard to re-integrate with my body, afterwards. The extraordinarily long labour; the pressure on the surgical team that meant my section was so delayed; the imminent post-natal depression that was crashing down on me. I didn’t recognise myself

My stomach had been cut: not the tidy, 10cm incision you get with an elective section. A 30cm cut that was necessary to get to my baby as quickly as they needed to. And the psychic shock of someone doing that to your body with only a few minutes notice, is huge

I’m not sure what the ‘normal’ amount of nerve damage after such surgery is. All I know is that my dissociation wasn’t helped by the complete lack of sensation that I experienced, from my belly button to my incision. The skin felt like it belonged to someone else

As they always do, the hospital team reassured me that it would be soon ‘back to normal’ (as if any part of my life in any way ever resembled my pre-motherhood days!)

The truth was: we don’t know if it will ever feel like your belly, again

My belly felt rubbery: like a costume. I had no sensation, at all. In the scheme of things, this was unimportant, since my baby and I survived, and my priority was getting treatment for my post-natal depression. It felt selfish to worry about my belly skin

4 years later, another pregnancy. This one complicated by pelvis symphysis dysfunction. When my pubic symphysis joint separated, they told me I would have to deliver by another c-section. This time, an elective one.

This section was, in contrast to the first, calm. Even relaxing. At no point did I think that my baby or I were in fear of our lives. The incision they made was tiny, compared to the first section. They took time to dissect the layers: there was no panic. My surgeon was female.

My baby immediately became seriously ill with haemolytic disease of the newborn. ( https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/rhesus-disease/ ) so I had other priorities, during our time in the Mother and Baby unit. This time, the danger was post-birth. Again, post-natal depression descended

My recovery was hampered by the loss of mobility that is acquired during the pregnancy, and the shock of my baby’s life-threatening illness and the awareness of my descent into depression meant I didn’t even realise how dissociated I was from my body, again

Thankfully, my baby recovered. My mobility didn’t improve. My depression worsened.

And I still had no sensation in the skin on my belly, although for obvious reasons, this wasn’t my biggest problem.

Coming up to 10 years since my second c-section, I still have seriously reduced sensation on the skin of my belly. This lack of sensation has significantly affected my sexuality; and it takes effort to not dissociate when I touch or wash my belly.

I’m so grateful for my kids, this seems a small price to pay! The reason I share this story, is to explain how major surgery changes is, in ways we can’t anticipate. Surgery is a massive violation of the body’s integrity, and the body remembers.

Major surgery involves damage to muscles and nerves and lymph vessels. With the best intentions, and huge skills, and even when surgery is successful, there are significant long-term effects that need to be openly acknowledged.

The cult of gender, and its casual use of surgery as a ‘solution’ to mental distress is hugely damaging. If you’ve never experienced major surgery, you may not appreciate that your body will never again feel ‘normal’. It may never again feel like ‘yours’

It seems so obvious, when you consider this, that feelings of dysphoria, or separation, or dissociation, are not necessarily resolved by doing something that surgically creates physical damage to the fibres we rely on to feedback sensations from our body

It may seem ‘kind’ to support someone’s desire for surgical intervention. Unless your life or health are at serious risk, surgery isn’t the solution. It may seem that the risk is worth it; but how do you quantify the impact of never again feeling part of you belongs?

You may look in the mirror and see it, but part of you may no longer register on your body map. Is this going to help you?

P.S. If the electrifying touch of your lover is important to you, don’t damage the nerves that give sensation.