05/31/2026
T̳̿͟͞h̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞ P̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞l̳̿͟͞v̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞c̳̿͟͞ F̳̿͟͞l̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞ I̳̿͟͞s̳̿͟͞ M̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞ T̳̿͟͞h̳̿͟͞a̳̿͟͞n̳̿͟͞ J̳̿͟͞u̳̿͟͞s̳̿͟͞t̳̿͟͞ t̳̿͟͞h̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞ P̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞l̳̿͟͞v̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞s̳̿͟͞
Case Study
A 36-year-old female presented to Labor & Delivery at 28 weeks pregnant with severe abdominal pain, difficulty walking, and significant indigestion. She reported experiencing increasing pain for three days but continued pushing through because she didn’t want to miss her daughter’s kindergarten graduation.
The morning of admission, she woke up with the worst pain she had ever felt—10/10. She described it as feeling like something had torn along her right round ligament.
Her husband took her to OB triage.
An ultrasound was performed, but the results were inconclusive. Unfortunately, the pressure applied during the exam significantly increased her pain. An MRI followed. By this point, she was unable to walk independently and required assistance for nearly all mobility.
The OB team returned with unexpected news.
This wasn’t labor.
It was acute appendicitis.
And because she was 28 weeks pregnant and receiving care at a rural hospital, she needed to be transferred immediately to a larger medical center.
The transfer process became increasingly urgent. The ambulance was delayed for hours while her condition worsened. Discussions of air transport began as concerns for sepsis increased.
When she finally arrived at the receiving hospital, she was told she would need emergency surgery. The team also explained that they could not guarantee her baby would remain safely in utero during the procedure.
Her appendix had ruptured.
The infection had spread throughout her abdomen.
The goal now was to save both mother and baby.
As she waited for surgery, she and her husband prepared for every possible outcome. They discussed baby names and what life might look like if their daughter was born at just 28 weeks and required a lengthy NICU stay.
She was terrified.
Not because of the surgery.
Because she didn’t know if she and her baby would be okay.
In the operating room, there were two teams waiting—one for her and one for her baby. Before going under general anesthesia, she prayed for both of their lives.
When she woke in recovery, the first thing she did was place her hand on her stomach.
Her baby was still there.
The surgical team explained that throughout the entire procedure, her daughter remained stable and safely tucked on the left side of her abdomen.
Against the odds, both mom and baby made it through surgery.
The recovery, however, was only beginning.
As an occupational therapist, she couldn’t help but notice how difficult simple tasks had become. Sitting up. Walking. Dressing. Toileting. Basic daily activities suddenly felt impossible. Yet there were no OT or PT services available on the antepartum unit despite the complexity of her condition and surgery.
And if you haven’t guessed by now…
🆃🅷🅰🆃 🅿🅰🆃🅸🅴🅽🆃 🆆🅰🆂 🅼🅴.
Exactly two months later, I underwent a repeat C-section.
Two major abdominal surgeries in two months.
Without question, it has been one of the hardest physical and emotional challenges I’ve ever faced.
The first surgery created complications that continued into my postpartum journey. Healing while pregnant isn’t straightforward. The antibiotics, abdominal trauma, incision healing, and eventual scar formation all impacted my recovery. I developed significant scar sensitivity, keloid scarring, numbness throughout portions of my lower abdomen, and ongoing discomfort around my upper incision.
Even now, I continue navigating those challenges while nursing, raising two daughters, running a business, and carrying the mental load that so many mothers know all too well.
What this experience taught me is something I tell my patients every day:
The pelvic floor is never just the pelvic floor.
Everything is connected.
Our scars matter.
Our nervous system matters.
Our abdominal wall matters.
Our emotional experiences matter.
Our stories matter.
Recovery is not simply healing tissue. It’s rebuilding trust in your body after it has carried you through something incredibly difficult.
I’ve leaned heavily into the same tools I teach my patients—nervous system regulation, scar mobilization, movement modifications, breath work, and giving myself permission to heal at my own pace.
This experience made me a better therapist.
Not because I wished for it.
But because now, when a patient tells me they’re frustrated, exhausted, overwhelmed, scared, or struggling to reconnect with their body after surgery or birth…
I truly understand.
And if you’re in the middle of your own recovery journey, please know:
You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are healing.
And sometimes healing is far more complicated—and far more beautiful—than we ever expected. 🤍
This was one year ago today ❤️
