When I met a new fella, a painful problem was making things between the sheets tricky. Would I ever get doctors to listen? By Tanya Witham, 57
The music started and my dance partner and I began jiving enthusiastically around the floor.
I loved dancing to rock 'n’ roll music so much, I’d set up my own club.
But as I twirled around, I became aware of a feeling down below. Horrified, I realised I was leaking.
Can anyone tell? I wondered. Can I last until the end of the record without completely losing control?
Luckily, I did — but as soon as the song ended, I told my partner: ‘Just off to the loo.’
I hurried to the ladies’, where I breathed a sigh of relief when I realised my leak wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.
But the following week, I took a spare pair of knickers with me just in case the same thing happened again.
It was a good job I did, because after one particularly lively jitterbug, I had to do a quick change, stuffing my wet undies into a plastic bag I’d put in my handbag.
Next time, I bit the bullet and wore a pad. By the end of the night it was soaked through and I knew I had to face facts — my incontinence was getting worse.
When I was 20, I’d had a son who’d weighed a hefty 10lb. Then 12 years later, my daughter had become stuck in the birth canal.
I was in labour for 20 hours until she was born, weighing 8lb 4oz.
Afterwards, I was diagnosed with a prolapsed bladder. Pelvic floor exercises helped to stem some of the leakage, but sometimes if I coughed or lifted something, a trickle would appear.
Now 17 years on from my daughter’s birth, the trickle had got a lot worse and was blighting my rock 'n’ roll evenings.
I went to the GP who recommended a pelvic mesh. It was a net-like device that would be inserted into my vagina, to give extra support to my weakened internal tissue and stop the leaks.
‘I’ll be able to dance without rushing off to the toilet,’ I told my daughter.
I had the procedure to put the mesh in place and was advised to take life easy for the next six months.
‘It’s worked,’ I said happily to my daughter after a few weeks.
I was looking forward to hoofing it up on the dancefloor without worrying.
But six months after the op, I started to feel pains in my legs and tests showed I had E. coli.
How on earth did I catch that? I wondered.
I took a course of antibiotics, but once they were finished, the pain flared up again.
A cold sensation down my legs took hold and I couldn’t seem to get warm. Then sharp stabbing pains behind my knees began making me flinch too.
‘They’re like electric shocks,’ I told the GP.
'Take this thing out of me'
Soon the pain began to affect my groin area.
‘Could it be the mesh?’ I asked doctors.
But they told me it wasn’t.
By now, when I walked, it felt as if something was pulling and cutting at the top of my legs.
Despite that, I was determined it wouldn’t stop me getting out and about.
I’d been a single mum since my daughter’s birth. But one night in a bar, I got chatting to a guy called Paul.
A few weeks later, my car sputtered to a halt and when I got out to call for help, another car pulled up beside me.
‘Can I help?’ said a voice.
It was Paul.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’ve phoned a friend.’
Paul stayed with me until my friend arrived.
‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked me.
‘I’d like that,’ I replied.
Soon we were going out. But trying to be intimate was agony. I felt as if something inside was stabbing me.
‘You’d be better off without me,’ I said, tearfully. ‘We can’t be a proper couple.’
Paul wrapped me in his arms and said: ‘I’m here for you.’
By now, I was in pain most of the time.
‘I don’t want to be like this any more,’ I sobbed.
Convinced my problems were caused by the mesh, I did some research and discovered there were hundreds of women suffering severe pain like me.
‘Just take this thing out of me,’ I begged doctors.
But they seemed reluctant, so I went for a private consultation and was referred back to the NHS for surgery.
Nearly seven years after the mesh had been inserted, it was removed.
‘We’ve got it all,’ said the surgeon.
I saw a photo and was horrified. My flesh had grown through the mesh.
Instantly, the pain began to subside.
And four months later, a little scared, Paul and I finally became a proper couple.
I’m much better now, but I still feel so angry for the many other women who have suffered such agony because of the pelvic mesh.
But I’m glad that my dancing days will soon be back.