The One With The Pelvic Floor and INNOVO

Mumsnet Sponsored Post

So here's the thing. Since having the boy 6 and a half years ago I haven't dare laugh, cough, sneeze or go to a fireworks display.

Having a baby does terrible things to your pelvic floor. After giving birth they give you exercises to do and I promise I did them. For a bit. But having a small child kind of takes over your life.  

I've been wearing some kind of pad for years. As I've got older he situation has got worse. I know I mess about a lot but stress incontinence is no laughing matter - well you daren't. You'll wee yourself.

Then the opportunity to product test INNOVO came along and I grabbed it with both hands. Well both thighs as it turns out.

INNOVO is a non invasive treatment for stress incontinence. There's also a programme for urgency incontinence, which I'm going to try next but that's a whole other story. 

With the tagline 'restore the floor' INNOVO uses pulses through sticky pads that you strap to your things and bum to lift and tighten the pelvic floor. The pads are attached to cycling short type garments that wrap around the top of your legs and are hooked up to a central control panel where you regulate how strong you want the pulses to be. 

You do this for 30 minutes a day 5 days out of 7 every week for 12 weeks. Bingo your floor is restored, sensitivity returns and you have a better feeling for doing the pelvic floor exercises you need to maintain the strength you've build up.

Well that's plan.

The box arrived with all the kit and I got e-mail instructions to watch a video and read some blurb before my phone consultation to get me started.

Then 12 weeks ago a very nice Irish lady called me and talked me through how to put the garments on, plug it all in, the best position to lay in and then stayed on the line for my first half an hour strapped in for action as it were. She talked me through every stage and discussed the sensations I was feeling and where they were to make sure I was going to get the best out of the product. 

I mention she was Irish because her beautiful accent put me at ease. So much so that after chatting to her for only 15 minutes or so when she asked if I could feel the sensations between my legs  I said 'Oh yes I can feel it up me bum too - does it help for that kind of incontinence as well?' 

Apparently it does. I have IBS. I was on to a winner here. 

I started slowly with the pulses. They come (stop laughing at the back.... ) every 5 seconds, then subside for 5 and then back again. I pressed the button on the control panel up to 28. 

'Ohhhhh that tickles. It's quite intense. What number am I aiming for eventually?' I enquired.

'70' came back the lilting Irish brogue.

70!!!!! I'll spontaneously combust. I never thought I'd get there. Last night after my 12 weeks I was on 73 and I could've taken more. Not sure if I should've shared that with you?

So what you want to know is does it work?

It's a serious piece of kit and quite an investment (£249 currently on their website although you can pay in 6 interest free instalments - it's got a 2 year warranty and free delivery) but for me yes it has worked. I now feel confident to go out without pads on for protection. I'm going less frequently and by frequently I mean every five minutes ( ask Lemon Cake Lady she'll tell you what a nightmare I am to go out with 'Can we stop? I need a wee" ) and most importantly I'm not leaking when I sneeze, laugh, cough, get surprised suddenly or bounce on the boys trampoline. 

I feel like I need to keep it up and have been advised to continue with three times a week for a while as I'm still not feeling the correct sensation when I try to do the kegels (posh for pelvic floor exercises) myself but hey I have the machine now I might as well keep using it. 

One of the beauty's of it is because it is non invasive you can lend it out (replacement sticky pads are available to buy as they do lose their gumption after a while) to someone you know and trust so even though it's a lot of money to pay out you can share the love, although that person won't get the phone call and after sales support you receive, which is excellent. 

I have to say also I've enjoyed the discipline of knowing I need to lie back for half an hour while the machine does it's work and read, watch TV, muck about on my phone or do nothing. It's been a bit of me time each day I could justify because I knew I had this blog post to write. It's also done amazing things to my bum and upper thighs. You can see and feel them being lifted with each pulse as well as feeling the pelvic floor lifting too. My bottom is firmer and tighter, which has been an unexpected bonus by product.

I'm going to carry on using INNOVO and have a go at programme 2 for urgency incontinence as well, which as far as I can see is a ringing endorsement of the product because it could quite easily be resigned to the loft now as yet another gadget but I genuinely like using it too much to stop.

And no that isn't just because strange things happen when you go above 70.......

“I am a member of the Mumsnet Bloggers Panel, a group of parent bloggers who have volunteered to review products, services, events and brands for Mumsnet. I have not paid for the product or to attend an event. I have editorial control and retain full editorial integrity. 

www.mumsnet.com/bloggers-network

The One With Bing Bunny And The Bit Of Inspiration

You know me. I'm never going to win any 'Mother of the Year' awards but the other day I surpassed myself. 

I was getting the boy ready for school and he was quite reluctant to clean his teeth, wash his face, have a wee, get dressed, generally do anything he was being told to do. You know the usual morning drill. 

He just stood there in the bathroom looking grumpy.

'Don't be angry honey.' I said in soothing tones 'You need to blow the angry away' 

I must explain that 'blowing the angry away' is a concept in a cartoon on CBeebies called 'Bing'. 

Bing is a large and annoying bunny who seems to have no gasp of basic grammar and who I once told the boy I'd like to put in a pie because he annoys me so much. This of course amused the boy greatly and now he insists on watching Bing Bunny on the I-Player just to wind me up.

'You want to put him in a pie don't you mummy?'

'Yes I do darling.'

'With the Chipmunks, don't you Mummy?'

Oh don't get me started on the Chipmunks.

So anyway back to the story.... I suggested to the boy he blow his angry away and let it all out.

'I don't want to blow my angry away. I want to stay angry forever' the boy declared with a red face and a stamp of the foot.

Time was ticking by, we were both still in our PJ's and nowhere near ready to leave for school. In desperation I came up with the following bit of inspired nonsense,

'You can't stay angry forever. If you don't let the angry out it's got nowhere to go and..... poo shoots out of your nose.'

Yep ladies and gentlemen, I was that desperate I went with a poo gag. 

The boy started laughing,

'It doesn't.'

He was smiling and starting to get ready so I ran with it.

'Yeah it does. If you don't blow the angry away then poo will definitely come out of your nose.'

'Really?'

'Oh yeah that's well known that. And you can't have poo shooting out of your nose all over the place.'

The boy was really giggling now. He'd laughed his angry away and was getting ready for school quite happily.

It might not be orthodox but it worked for us. We were chuckling all the way to the school gates and as the boy walked down the corridor I could see him shaking his head and muttering 'Poo. Out of your nose. Outrageous.' 

Job done. Now if I could just get some pastry round that bloody rabbit I'd be laughing too. 

The One With the Power of the Positive

I've written a story for Mode again, this time all about saying yes to yourself and the power of the positive. 

Saying yes to ourselves and our children just isn't something we do enough of in my view. 

The whole article was inspired by the first link in the story, all about a lady who decided to say yes to her children all day. It's not as mad as it first sounds and she ended up really enjoying herself too.

I'm thinking about having a yes day with the boy soon. If I am brave and do it I'll let you know how it goes. 

Check out The Power of Positive – Saying yes all day.
by Georgy Jamieson at Mode

The One With The Non Uniform Day

Today is Sports Relief, which means the boy had a non uniform day at school.

Normally this isn't a problem but currently the boy has an obsession with being very smart and wearing certain clothes. Hubby is at a loss because he quite clearly doesn't take after his 'fashion sense' (and I use that expression loosely). 

Of course todays theme meant you had to wear sports gear, football strip, trainers, tracky bottoms that kind of thing. This isn't in keeping with the boys current garb. For his birthday he wanted a tuxedo suit complete with waistcoat and bow tie from myself and hubby. Seriously.

This morning I made the rookie mistake of completely underestimating how much you have to prepare an autistic child for any kind of change in their week. 

Even though I'd said he didn't have to wear uniform on Friday I hadn't specified the boundaries of what he had to wear.  This morning the boy was determined to wear a smart white shirt and black jeans. It took a lot of persuasion, tears and will power to talk him into black joggers, a white T-Shirt and a hoodie. 

'I just want to be like the headmaster and wear a suit.' he bemoaned. 

'But it's Sport's Relief darling. Everyone will be in sporty stuff, including the headmaster.' I said hopefully with my fingers crossed behind my back.

The major stumbling block was the jeans. I know it was a non uniform day but I thought jeans was pushing the 'sports clothes' brief that bit too far, so I'd picked out joggers but it was a battle I can tell you. 

When hubby arrived at school with the boy the headmaster was indeed in casual attire, no suit, just a t-shirt and... wait for it... black jeans.

Luckily the boy didn't seem to pick up on this and a crisis was averted.

It just goes to show even if you think you've done something loads of times before and it'll be ok, you can't assume it will be. 

Preparation is the key... that and checking in advance what the headmaster will be wearing..... 

The One With the A Word

So here's the thing. I haven't blogged properly for a long time because although there's been loads to talk about I haven't known exactly how to say it.

So I just need to plunge in and say it. 

The boy has been diagnosed with high functioning autism. High functioning means he's the lower end of the autistic spectrum and more able to function in everyday society. It's sometimes called Aspergers - but to be honest when I read about Aspergers I don't recognise a lot of the characteristics in the boy at all - and apparently the modern day thinking is to use the term 'high functioning' anyway as that's more positive. 

So there you go.

Even though we were kind of expecting it after all the appointments, observations, reports and analysis it still came as a bit of a shock to hear someone say it out loud.

It felt a bit final, even though this is an initial diagnosis and there's more tests going on, but to be honest with you I don't expect it to change greatly. 

Part of me was relieved to be getting somewhere at last and part of me was heart broken that it wasn't all a massive mistake and they'd got it wrong. 

Several weeks have now passed since we saw the paediatrician and life has settled into a normal pattern again. The boy is still the boy. He hasn't changed. His world is still as it always was and we're very keen to keep as much stability and normality in his life as possible. The school are being brilliant and so supportive. We have an additional homework schedule in place to assist with his phonics, letters, numbers and handwriting and as a result they are all improving.

Which begs the question is it just that the boy can't be arsed but when he does turn it on it's all there?

I'm not denying he's 'quirky' and doesn't fit the boxes and he does display some autistic traits but there's always this feeling in my heart that sometimes, just sometimes, he's playing us all. 

Time will tell I guess, but after the initial shock, the 'why us?' and upset I've actually cried less and felt more positive since the diagnosis. We're no longer in 'limbo' waiting for something to happen and feeling lost somewhere in the system. 

Don't get me wrong there are days when I look at the big blue box file I keep all the reports and observation notes and appointment details documented in and I want to take the bastard thing outside and burn it. But on the whole things are good.

The boy is as funny as ever. His manners are beautiful. He's caring, getting more sociable each time I see him with school friends, he has the growing maturity to deal with his rages and think about making the 'right choices' as they say at school. I see progression as a person, academically (when he can be bothered) and socially every day. He's my pride and joy, he's my life, my love and we all adore him.

We're very lucky and things are ok.

On several occasions we've been told 'the trouble is he doesn't live in the real world', to which I've replied 'who the hell wants to live in the real world? I'd rather live in his world thanks' - and drawn worried looks from doctors, therapists, SEN co-ordinators and health professionals.

But you know what, the boys world is safe, warm, full of love and support. And I for one am more than happy to live in it with him. 

The One Where We Ask Is It Ok To...?

Alright I know, it's feast or famine with me isn't it. Well I said I was back and I realise twice in one night is going a little two far, but I have another one of those 'Stories' for you and it was inspired by this. 

I've grown my hair long. Longer than it's ever been. Longer than it ever was when I was a little girl and mum lopped it all off the day before school started. She thought it would be easier to manage for PE and swimming but then I got to school to see all these girls in my class that could sit on their hair and I cried. 

Why I've grown it I have no idea. Maybe that little girl who cried on the first day of school has never got over it; although I'm a long way off my being able to sit on it. Maybe it's just because I can. After all it's growing better and stronger than it ever has and hasn't got stuck at that awkward stage, so it could be my body having one last hurrah of hormones before the menopause sets in.

Or maybe I'm doing it to stick two fingers up at the people who always said you can't have long hair over 30, let alone 40. It used to be frowned upon in all the fashion magazines. The advice was have a nice short cut, or a bob if you must, but nothing longer than your chin. It'll look better when it goes grey and will be easier to shampoo and set. 

Well curlers to that. 

I'm such a rebel. 

Check out Is it ok to…?  Trends you can still follow over 40.
by Random Woman at Mode

The One with the Stories

Hello, it's me. I know, I know I've been gone for ages and I've got loads to tell you but right now I want to tell you about a new venture.

I'm writing stories for Mode. Now by stories what I mean is posts from the T'internet that illustrate a certain point of view or a theme.

I've published my first two tonight and I hope to do loads more. 

So yes I'm back blogging and I'll be with you all much more now but first off let me know what you think of this 

Check out Getting Away. Me time for when motherhood gets too much.
by Random Woman at Mode

The One With The Listening Project

I'm not really sure why I didn't blog about this at the time, but it appears I didn't.

I thought I had. My friend Ice Cream Sundae from the radio station who set it all up thought I had.

But I didn't.

So I'm doing it now.

For those not familiar with The Listening Project it's a partnership between BBC Radio 4, BBC local and national radio stations, and the British Library. The idea is to record intimate conversations between friends or family to put together a picture of life today. Some of the conversations get broadcast and all get stored in the British Library. You can find out more about it here. 

Your local BBC station, where you recorded it, will broadcast an except from that conversation and some get chosen for BBC Radio 4.

Back in 2013 myself and Lemon Cake Lady had one of these conversations all about motherhood.

I've been reminded of this recently because The Listening Project is back in Suffolk, recording more conversations and making more memories. 

I listened back to ours today and it made me laugh. Not just because some things don't change, but because some things do. If that makes sense. 

This conversation was pre- 'Can we have a word?', pre- early years developmental specialists, pre- speech and language therapists, pre- IEP's and pre- endless forms, reports and observations. 

Listening back my main concerns seem to be, did I have enough rules for the boy and people tutting at my parenting skills in public.

Didn't know I was born did I? 

I have a copy of the full conversation on CD and it's one of my most treasured possessions. How often do you get to record you and your best mate just talking. A time capsule of your life and friendship on that day. Then to have it broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and archived at the British Library, well that's pretty special in my book.

You can hear us wittering on here - we hope you enjoy it. 

And mums, whether you're a Penguin or a Vulcan don't beat yourself up about it. 

Either is just fine. 

The One With The Ups and Downs

Well, after the 'little victories' of parents evening the other day, the roller coaster of parenting took a dip today.

I've just come off the phone with our health visitor. He's a nice enough chap and mostly very helpful, but on this call I couldn't help feeling that I'd... well... to coin a Nanny P expression... pissed on his matches.

He's got it in his head that the boy is autistic. He's observed him once. Don't get me started on that one. Hubby and I were sent a questionnaire asking all sorts of things about his behaviour and social interaction at home. We filled it in very honestly and sent it off.

This questionnaire, along with the health visitors report, observations from the school and the report from the speech and language therapist, (who came and saw the the boy three times, but whom I've never met and who's report I've never even seen), are all to be sent off to a paediatrician for a formal assessment. 

Trouble is now we've messed with his system, because the boys score for autism has come back low based on our answers. 

"The thing is he doesn't seem to behave at home as he does in school' came the glum sounding voice over the phone.

Well no shit Sherlock. Sorry to piss on your parade matey but that's how it is. Show me a child that does behave the same at school, as they do with their mum and dad. You're never the same with your mates as you are in front of your parents. Neither should you be. 

'Well we'll send it off anyway but if they send it back then we'll have to explore other avenues.' he said sounding very annoyed that his theory was falling apart.

'It could be ADD. But that's a different department you see.'

Is it. Is it really. Does that stop us trying them next then? Or can paperwork not be sent off twice? 

Vintage Songtress has always said there's an element of box ticking about all this, and if there has ever been a box ticking exercise going on, it has been highlighted with todays call.

Well fuck your boxes and fuck your parameters. If we have to ask a million people for help and advice rather than opinions and half baked theories, then I will keep asking so my child can learn at his pace and to his abilities. 

The boy is not a problem to be solved or a case to be closed and brushed under the carpet because 'If it's too hard I can't understand it.'. He's a child, a human being, and once you get to know him you can understand him perfectly well thank you. 

We talked about the physical excursion he needs everyday to tire himself out, and how he can concentrate better when he's got it all out of his system, so I tried to finish the conversation on a positive note. 

'It's sports day later. He may not join in with all the events but at least it will wear him out.' I said

'Oh dear,' came the morose reply 'Well try and enjoy it anyway.'

Oh I will sunshine. Believe me I will. 

The One With The Little Victories

In that way people do when they talk about Christmas, when it comes to the first year of school, 'This time next week it'll all be over'. 

There's just the school disco, concert, class party, sports gala and bring your own toys in day left. We've had parents evening and school reports have been issued. There might be a week left to go, but I think we can say we've, almost, made it to the end of term relatively unscathed. Well I say unscathed, the boy is currently sporting a terrific shiner from a wayward ball smacking him in the face at playtime. 

In the last week or so my Facebook timeline has been awash with proud parents saying what clever little darlings they have.

Do I begrudge them their joy? Of course not. 

Do I feel happy for them? Of course I do

Does it get on my tits? Of course it does. (alright, alright.....joke)

But that's the nature of Facebook if you don't want to see it, don't log in. I know the rules. 

It didn't stop me one night, fuelled by red wine and frustration wanting to post,

"Ok, so my boy may not be able to read or write yet but he can play Beethoven's 5th on the ukulele with his bum. " 

He can't. I was taking the piss. So luckily hubby persuaded me not to. 

We don't have these huge achievements to celebrate you see. With an SEN child it's all about the 'little victories', as Fletch in 'Porridge'  would say. 

Thankfully those 'little victories' have been emerging, to use school report speak, this week.

We had a reasonably successful school trip to a local farm park, with no major incidents to report. In fact it was lovely to see him playing with his class mates. Social skills are coming on, he's playing with other children now not just alongside them. 

His school report was warm, genuine and full of love. No he's not top of the class but he's gaining confidence everyday. It was a joy to read a report on the boy from people who actually know him and haven't just come to observe him, then think they can tell me all about him after half an hour. 

I have a box of those reports and quite frankly some days I want to take the damn thing outside and burn it.

Then parents evening rolled round.

I have to admit hubby and I were nervous. The previous terms parents evening hadn't gone well. There were behaviour issues and disruption in class. We were devastated.

Since then we've all worked really hard to iron these problems out with stickers, rewards and a daily deal.

Every morning the boy and I shake hands and he repeats, 

'No wee wee or poo poo accidents. I will sit nicely at carpet time. I will listen to my teacher. I will line up when they blow the whistle. Then I will get a rocket ice lolly and some buttons. Deal?'

Deal.

Well it all seems to be working. This parents evening was a very different experience. The boy has progressed in every area of his IEP (Independent Education Plan) and everything is moving forward. Slowly, but it's going in the right direction. 

I'm now looking forward to 6 weeks of not worrying about it. The pressure will be off and we can just muck about and play, before the leap into Year 1 in September and all the challenges that's going to bring.

The current theory by health professionals is we could be looking at autism. His teacher, hubby and I remain sceptical, but we do realise autism comes in many forms. 

Of course I've still got ADHD in my mind, although the hyperactivity has calmed right down recently. That could be due to the conscience decision to cut back on sugar or it could be he's just knackered at the end of term.

Lemon Cake Lady's theory is that he has inherited my 'buggering about gene' handed down to me by my Dad.

Whatever it turns out to be Lemon Cake Lady has a point. The 'buggering about' is strong in this one and thank god it is. 

It's what makes him the funny, cheeky, imaginative, creative, special little boy he is. 

Not special educational needs.

Just special. 

The One With the Snooker And the Phonics

We are still having a daily struggle with the boy and his reading. He loves books and he loves stories, but the moment you sit him down to do his reading from school it’s like you’re torturing him.

His ‘mark making’- which is bloody stupid trendy talk for writing- is getting much better. Currently it’s all about drawing pirate treasure maps, with X marks the spot, so that’s one letter he can do.

But the reading isn’t going anywhere. Granted the reading books from school are piss boring, but he’s not even trying. There’s only so much ‘Sam has the nut. The Nut is up the tree. Sam goes up to the nut’ that I can stand, so no wonder the boy buggers about rather than read that lot.

So on the advice of other Mums I’ve started trying to engage him in looking at letters and words in everyday life; cereal boxes, signs, shopping lists, DVD covers and captions on the TV.

So last week, when the snooker was on, I pointed out the player’s names to the boy on the screen. This didn’t inspire any interest in him until Judd Trump was playing.

Now someone on the telly called ‘Trump’ is the height of sophisticated comedy to a 5-year-old boy.

‘Those players are called Ding and Trump’ I explained

‘Trump?’ the boy said with his eyes wide with wonder. ‘Trump?’

‘Yes. His name is Judd Trump.’

‘Trump’ he was really laughing now ‘Mr Trump’.

‘Yes Mr Ding is playing Mr Trump’

He was rolling around on the sofa now holding his sides.

‘Ding and Trump’

Hysterical.

He went over to the TV screen and pointed to the name ‘Does that say Trump then?” he asked

I joined him and sounded out the letters as I ran my finger along them. Luckily Ding and Trump sound out beautifully and aren’t ‘tricky words’ - which is bloody stupid trendy talk for words whose letter sounds don't then sound like the word when they're 'blended' - which is bloody stupid trendy talk for using the letter sounds to read the word. 

He was still giggling about it all when he went to bed about half an hour later.

So this got me thinking. Maybe the only way to get the boy interested in phonics – which is bloody stupid trendy talk for learning your letters – is to teach him rude words.

Not really bad rude words. Not your four letter eff’s and jeffs. Just some mild schoolboy stuff. After all his main vocabulary currently consists of not just trump but bum, poo, wee, winky, boobies, stinky, smelly and pants, so why don’t we write them down and sound them out? We could spend a pleasant afternoon together trying to ‘blend’, stinky, bum and poo.

Yes I’m that desperate for him to read.

Shall I call social services or do you want to do it?

The One With Paddington Bear

The boy is obsessed with Paddington. We went to the cinema to see the film and then on holiday recently he spent his pocket money on a toy Paddington bear. He’s even developed a taste for marmalade sandwiches.

As a kid I adored Paddington too. I loved the books and the cartoon series on TV. When I bought my first car, a clapped out old Mini, I called it Paddy because it was the same blue as Paddington’s duffle coat.

So as an Easter present we got the boy the Paddington movie on DVD. We had all enjoyed the film, and we figured that with the boy’s hyperactivity issues it would be a less dangerous gift than loads of chocolate Easter eggs.

Little did we know…

Last Sunday afternoon I was in the tip that doubles as my office, when the boy kept running in with mischief written all over his face and declaring,

“I’m not doing something.’

This. without fail, always means he is doing something and that ‘something’ is always something he shouldn’t be doing.

I went to look in the lounge but I couldn’t see any thing untoward going on. The boy kept laughing, looking sheepish and running in at regular intervals to reassure me that he wasn’t doing anything.

I went to have another look but he stopped me,

“Go back to the computer,’ he giggled

I was getting nervous now.

It’s at this point in the story I think I should tell you that hubby was up a ladder clearing out the guttering at the side of the house, so when I heard running water I assumed that it was coming from him.

But it wasn’t.

The sound was too close.

The boy was still holding me back and laughing.

I pushed past him, through the kitchen, to the downstairs loo. There I found a small, red, crab finger puppet, wrapped in a baby wipe and jammed into the plug hole to stop the water from both taps, which were on full, from escaping.

I had reached it just in time to stop the water from overflowing the small cloakroom sink, which was currently full to the brim.

Needless to say we had words and the seriousness of what nearly happened was explained him. I think it went in, but you can never be sure with the boy.

Then I asked him why he’d done it?

He looked up at me, with his big, brown, soulful eyes and said in all innocence,

‘I wanted to be like Paddington and flood the house.’

If you’ve not seen the film you’d better watch the trailer and then you’ll see what he means.

Paddington Film Trailer

Next Easter I’m buying him chocolate. It might cause mood swings, but at least it’s cheaper than replacing everything in the house.

I could swing for that bloody bear.