'It was supposed to be a "quickie". It took 6 months and 3 hospitals to recover.'

It was supposed to be a carefree weekend for my partner James and I to reconnect after months of sleep deprivation and the constant demands of a new four-month-old baby girl. Little did I know, the fun, carefree weekend we'd been looking forward to was about to turn into an unthinkable horror story that would span three states, three hospitals and leave me the (very likely) world record holder for a sexual mishap.

We had just travelled from Queensland to Canberra to drop our baby off at my parent's place for a long weekend, before continuing on to my best friend's apartment in Melbourne. We were excited for the break, and the chance to enjoy a bit of our old life again.

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The day began normally enough. We arrived at my friend's apartment in high spirits and immediately started catching up — just like old times. The wine flowed freely.

As we were getting ready to head out on the town, James and I decided to seize a rare moment of alone time for a quick, intimate encounter in the shower. You know how it is, taking advantage of a rare uninterrupted moment, the type so rarely afforded to parents of newborns. What could possibly go wrong?

Apparently, EVERYTHING.

We were mid-doggy style when, in an instant, things went horribly wrong.

James "missed the mark," which — let's be honest — has happened to the best of us. Normally, it's just a quick jolt of awkward discomfort. But this time was different.

He hit a little too far off-centre, and the pain I felt was both immediate and excruciating. It was as if my entire pelvic region had been set on fire. I screamed so loudly that my friends rushed into the bathroom.

What followed was nothing short of a nightmare. A massive haematoma (a collection of blood that occurs outside the blood vessels, usually due to trauma) began swelling between my legs, inflating like a balloon right in front of our eyes. One friend, in her panic, asked if I could be pregnant or in labour, thinking she was witnessing a spontaneous pre-term birth.

James looked on in horror as my vagina morphed from its usual appearance into something that resembled a large, sad marine creature (a dugong, he later told me). Meanwhile, the pain and the confusion was all-consuming for me, and I fell into a state of shock.

Paramedics arrived quickly, but their faces told me everything I needed to know. These professionals had seen it all — or so I thought — but even they were rattled. They exchanged concerned glances and called in the critical care paramedics — this was "above their pay grade," they told me. I was then told if my body didn't clot the haematoma soon, I could bleed out and die.

Their words — that I could die — echoed around my head as I was rushed to hospital.

While I don't remember much of the trip, the emergency room is something I'll never forget. A doctor with over 30 years of experience took one look between my legs, turned pale, and muttered, "I just need a minute."

Then, my best friend fainted onto the emergency room floor. That's when I knew things were worse than I had imagined.

The medical team debated whether to drain the haematoma surgically or let my body reabsorb the blood naturally — a process that could take weeks or even months.

Out of fear that I would bleed out on the table, they soon concluded that surgery was too risky. So, I was left with this horrific injury, waiting indefinitely for my body to reabsorb it. But just when I thought the situation couldn't get worse, things took an unexpected turn.

During my two-week hospital stay in Melbourne, I was given so many heavy-duty painkillers that I became severely constipated — a common side effect of these medications. By the time I arrived back in Canberra — where my daughter and parents were — I was confronted with a new nightmare.

Now in a Canberra hospital, my constipation was so severe that it too three enemas and six suppositories before I finally felt the urge to go. If you've ever given birth and dealt with post-birth stitches, you'll feel me when I say the last thing you want to do with a massive haematoma is push. It was that same postpartum trepidation I'd had of bursting my c-section scar… but tenfold.

Turns out, my fears were warranted. Halfway through, my massive poo stalled, refusing to move one inch further. Tears streamed, I screamed, and in a moment of panic, I hit the emergency button. Desperate for relief, I begged the nurse for a "poop c-section" — she later told me that was a first for her.

Three hours later, I fell asleep, exhausted. I woke 30 minutes later with the biggest urge to go, and within two minutes, the job was done. OH, PRAISE THE POO LORDS - the relief was akin to being born again!

After a week in hospital in Canberra, I asked to be transferred to my hometown hospital in Queensland.

They agreed, and I was discharged, but faced a 12-hour drive to get home. By this point, I'd renamed our SUV 'the pain dungeon from hell' and my partner had grown accustomed to hearing my agonising screams from the back seat, which were in perfect sync with every tiny bump we traversed.

At this hospital, I was met with a new team of staff but the same shock and fascination at my sea creature-like, record-breaking haematoma. At approximately 22 x 14 cm, this was by far the largest they had ever seen. To put that into perspective, the largest documented case I've found (after extensive research across medical journals worldwide) was about half the size — 10 x 14cm. My high school English teacher did always say I was a high achiever!

This kind of injury, known as a vulval haematoma, happens to about 0.8% of women at some point in their lives — but mine has set a new, horrifying standard.

After another month in hospital, I was finally discharged, and thankfully, my vagina has returned to its former self — after six long months of recovery, mind you.

James and I joke about it now, but the experience was worse than a scripted horror movie. We both suffer mild PTSD, especially during the now-infamous doggy style. And while I may never find another case as extreme as mine, I might just hold the world record for the largest haematoma sustained from a sexual mishap.

Featured Image: Getty.