So…The time has arrived again for my monthly quarantine. Where I just allow myself to suck it up and accept the fact that this is another obstacle women have to deal with. I find myself talking about this monthly problem to anyone of the female species who will listen. I keep wanting to double check, “Is this right? Is this normal? Am I really supposed to bleed this much?”
I find it preposterous that I am supposed to cope with this on a monthly basis! I am literally debilitated. I am not even joking or exaggerating, I wish I was.The vadge-splitting, ovarian stabbing, excruciating cramps have not been this bad since childbirth labor contractions. Only each month, I do not have an epidural to cope. I would consider myself a pretty tough chic, but this is my kryptonite
With Aunt Flo’s arrival, I am also blessed with menstrual migraines from the hormonal fluctuations. These migraines have me waking up to skull-crushing pain on the side of my head; and will not subside until I take my prescription migraine medication. I have a friend who has severe cases of vertigo with her migraines! She cannot even drive at times! How terrifying!
The only thing that got me out of the house yesterday was my daughter’s two volleyball games and my commitment to my volunteer duties of concession stand. My leaving the house was made possible by: four Motrin, then two Extra Strength Tylenol and multiple different witch doctor remedies I have tried over the years to function. I do not even bother with tampons anymore. I feel like my baby-maker would actually laugh out loud if I even tried to put one of those in.
Baby-Maker says to Tampon: “Psshh”.
So I opt for the extra-long overnight pads to prevent accidents even during the day. They are one step below what we receive in the hospital after we deliver a human being out of a hole as big as a quarter that expands to fit a football. (Why aren’t we paid equal wages as men again?) Anyways, these bad boys usually don’t miss anything unless I am unable to change them frequently; about every 45 minutes or so. You know, because I have nothing else going on in my life.
Anyways, as I served Gatorade, water, ring pops, nachos, and popcorn to cute, adorable kids way younger than mine; I neglected to notice the 45 minute mark had passed. We were now in the red zone of 90 minutes and counting. I missed my time to change my diaper and now it is havoc. I was quickly reminded when I felt my jeans get hot and swampy while laughing at some hilarious women.
These women were ecstatic about how we finally got Diet Coke at the Concession stand; there reactions were cracking me up. They made the Diet Coke sound so tantalizing that I considered having one myself, which I would have had to steal because of course I had no cash😂. My thievery idea was interrupted when I was suddenly paralyzed by the sensation of laying an egg in my jeans. The more I laughed or moved, the more I triggered my uterus to shed…during the day…in public. Don’t mind me everyone, I am just passing a clot…from my vagina, no big deal.
When my concession obligations ended, I walked to my car slowly as if I didn’t want to wake a sleeping child; do not wake the beast. This missed diaper change resulted in an “accident” and my having to wash my clothes and another vain attempt in finding some kind of clothes that were “diaper” worthy. I remembered when my kids diapers would leak, I had to put a onesie on them to keep them in place. I was beginning to consider the onesie idea for myself; except my tummy is so bloated and tender that would be difficult for me to pull off snapping the crotch alone.
I woke up on this Sunday morning in January, feeling grateful that I didn’t sneeze at my daughter’s games yesterday (which usually results in the floodgates opening.) I was thanking God and baby Jesus that we had no games today so I could stay in the privacy of my own home and bleed out. I decided to allow myself to embrace Aunt Flo for all the joy she brings.
Her arrival is a gentle reminder that I am not having anymore children, that I am not crazy because the last few days of rage were just hormonal related and my scorching case of irrational hunger is not from a tape worm.
Then I saw on my calendar today was not empty! We have a Mandatory Mass for Catholic’s Schools week.
My God, why have you forsaken me? I am not ready to put on real pants again. I can only hope that God understands it is not my fault and it is the hormones I was blessed with. I want go but if I have to take these baggy-black-loose-waisted-maternity type pants off again, I may loose my mind.
So I did the unspeakable today.
They both got ready in their uniforms, I dropped them off at church and…I went back home.
The guilt is almost too much to bear. Since none of the meds have kicked in yet, I got over the guilt quickly as another wave of rip-roaring pain growled beneath. I have endured hot wax being poured on various parts of my body and had the hair ripped out by its follicles; I could tolerate that with little effort. However, Aunt Flo’s wrath is one that kicks me when I’m down. Aunt Flo waits for no one and clearly does not care if it is Catholic Schools week! She doesn’t care that I need to be on my game. If Aunt Flo is Catholic, I imagine her like this:
I already called my doctor, a left a message. Yes on a Sunday, so I do not forget to do something about this. Once she leaves town, I forget about the hell she just put me through…until next month!
I will not allow myself to forget this time that Aunt Flo violently strips down the walls of my uterus resulting in excruciating pain, rage and feeling unable to function for three days! I am sick of feeling terrified to sneeze or laugh or revolving my schedule around this skank.
Be it Tube Litigation, IUD, Hysterectomy, the pill…I do not care. I am done. This bitch is goin down!
Please feel free to share any funny or traumatic experience in the comments. It feels good to get it out and laugh about it!