I currently am on my period, or, to put it mildly, “cycling”. That has to be the pleasantest euphemism imaginable for such an ordeal. It puts one in mind of the natural order of life, as opposed to its direct connotations of spewing out blood, endometrial lining, various lubricants, and of course the Nucleus of Life, the Egg, once a month for approximately 35 years of your adult life. It makes me credulous that half of the Earth’s population could be sentenced to such a fate.
It isn’t enough that, twelve times a year, my gender must be subject to a solid week’s worth of gore oozing from their nether regions, losing quarts of blood at a time. No, this monthly depletion of life’s fluid must be accompanied by the sensation of having one’s innards scooped out with a soup ladle, while at the same time having a large pointy object shoved violently up the seat of your femininity.
Sitting is the worst. There is no sensation quite like sitting down quickly while on your period. When that happens, the aforementioned soup ladle tranforms into a salad fork, and the pointy object reaches beyond your abdoment, pressing against your lower back.
And I’m one of the lucky ones. I know girls who experience the same period for weeks on end, sometimes more than once a month. Such massive blood loss inevitably leads to bouts of fainting from iron depletion; it’s the same as if you had a continuous bleeding wound that wouldn’t heal for days and days. It inevitably weakens you. And anyone who tells me that women are physically sub-par to begin with obviously has never experienced the Joy and Wonder of the Ability to Create Life, either in menstrual form or childbirth (although, mythical Virgin Births notwithstanding, you obviously need to experience the first to accomplish the second...).
I personally doubt that there is such a thing as PMS. Mood swings aren’t tied to menstruation; if you were experiencing stabbing pains akin to having a marshmallow stick shoved up your ass, either during or in anticipation of massive blood loss, you’d be cranky and unpredicatable too.
On top of the aptly-dubbed Curse, I am experiencing moderate-to-severe “flux”...or, in layman’s terms, diarrhea. I’m constantly needing to “do my business” (as I term it when my dog pees), only it hurts so badly from my period, I end up nearly screaming. If you’ve never had diarrhea while on your period, I have two words for you: liquid pain. The double whammy of exsanguination and dehydration quickly leaves you physically exhausted, and you feel too weak to move even if you could get off the toilet. Every time you relieve yourself, the motion of the muscles of your abdomen compresses your bladder, aggravating your already tender tummy, and both compulsions are impossible to stop.
At least I finally have a sanitary device. For about a half-hour I was just horribly despondent for lack of personal supplies...my sister forgot to get more pads*, and let me tell you, I was suffering for it. When you don’t have access to pads on your period, they suddenly become worth their weight in gold, because there is nothing quite worse than being forced to contend with an overripe pad. The feel, the smell...it’s basically hell on earth. And there’s a reason why we should all thank the heavens above for the invention of “wings”...who thought that two little strips of fabric, cotton and adhesive would be so appreciated by so many? Fortunately my mother located a fresh, sterile pad for me, or I would have reached a near-homicidal state. As it was, I felt pretty damn uncharitable towards the world in general.
*No, I don’t use tampons. I never have, and probably never will. I’m very small, and to be honest I frankly don’t relish the idea of having to stick an object the size of a hot dog into what is already a painful region. I know they’re purported to be more comfortable, convenient, environment-friendly, whatever advantage they claim to possess. I just don’t wanna use ‘em.