'Days after my hysterectomy, I knew something was wrong.'

On November 29, 2017, I was admitted to Albany Health Campus for a hysterectomy and anterior/posterior vaginal repair with Dr George du Toit. That surgery made me part of a club no one wants to join: I’m one of 170 women making official complaints against Dr du Toit after botched obstetric and gynaecological surgery.

Membership benefits include bladder leakage, the threat of further surgery, and symptoms of PTSD.

As you can probably imagine, vaginal surgery is uncomfortable and embarrassing. But I'm lucky - until this point, I had never been violated. Until this point, the most intimate parts of my body had only been touched with love. I can't imagine the compounding effect an experience like this would have on a victim-survivor of sexual assault.

By December 2, a large bulge had formed on the lower left side of my torso. I even gave her a name: Kylie. I started to feel concerned but the hospital staff did not share my concern.

While you're here, learn more about hysterectomy below. Post continues after video.

That night, my nurse was a woman on a mission. She was very focused on the amount of fluid in my bladder, which led to her scanning my bladder repeatedly over several hours.

I dutifully drank lots of water and emptied my bladder. The instructions were simple: lean slightly forward, feet flat on the floor, take a deep breath and just—empty your bladder. The scanner found 250mL, then 350mL. It found 650mL, then almost a litre of fluid in my body. Again and again, I was told that I must be doing it wrong.

I know my body. I know what it looks like. Since I was trying to be a 'good' patient, I had politely flagged the bulge several times. When I suggested (again) that maybe the scanner was detecting liquid in the massive bulge on my side, I was told it was normal to have swelling after surgery. Later, the bulge got red and angry and I spiked a fever.

In the end, I stood with my dressing gown wide open and demanded someone look at my body. Half naked, I gestured to the right side of my torso and said "this is what my body looks like," then pointed to the distended left side and demanded, "What is this?"

Finally, that got their attention. But it shouldn’t have been necessary.

Dr du Toit let me know my ureter had been damaged. Such is the power of passive voice—'your ureter has been damaged' is a very different sentence than 'I damaged your ureter'. In any case, it would need to be surgically repaired.

I didn’t understand until later that the repair required an abdominal incision, a five centimetre incision in my bladder, and what equated to a power washing of my abdominal cavity. After enduring two vaginal births and a hysterectomy, I was devastated to learn I needed abdominal surgery.

But the thing that stands out to me is the disconnect between two truths. I remember looking at Dr du Toit and thinking:

One: This doctor has injured me and potentially made a mistake during this procedure, and

Two: I am now expected to trust this same doctor to fix it.

Emergency surgery is a whole different kettle of fish.

What I remember most (and a key detail of the flashbacks I regularly endure) is my bed being pushed through a dark doorway. I am on my back with the darkness behind my head. The nurse is framed by a light from behind. I am smaller, more vulnerable than I've ever felt. I am terrified, weak, and insignificant.

To this day, I've had a total of five operations as a result of this experience. I’ve never really understood why he had to cut my bladder to repair it—but, after five years, it appears I might actually get some answers after his rampage in Mackay.

When I complained in 2018, Albany Health Campus told me Dr du Toit's complication rate for that procedure was 'not statistically significant'.

Recently, I learned that George Du Toit has been banned from performing surgery. Over 170 women made complaints after obstetric and gynaecological surgery at Mackay Base Hospital, including a decent number of cut bladders and crushed ureters.

Women who had been brave enough to get angry and shout about it.

Women whose collective voice highlights that the man who hurt them—the man who hurt me—has a statistically significant issue.

Women whose injuries are statistically significant.

It took me straight back to what happened to me five years ago. And reading Janita McVeigh’s story in particular made me wonder whether I had even been told the truth about what had been done to my body on that November day. 

This experience made me believe that my body was broken. I understood that my body had failed. But when I learned the truth about George Du Toit, I started to feel less betrayed by my body—and more betrayed by the health system.

'Look for the helpers,' Mr Rogers told us. It's become an excruciatingly overused meme. But here's the thing: the hospital, the healthcare system, and the regulatory bodies that oversee them? They’re supposed to be the helpers.

And I can’t help but wonder if there is more they could have done to protect the women of Queensland and Western Australia from George du Toit.

Martha Barnard-Rae is a copywriter, TEDx and keynote speaker, emcee, and neurodivergent business owner. She is the founder of Word Candy and moonlights as a feminist scholar, and sore loser of board games. Setting boundaries is her super power. Her love language is Instagram reels.

Feature Image: Jenny Feast.