I am almost six months post partum which means I am in that wonderful terrific ideal gut wrenching terror zone known as: Is it coming back? Jesus god, was that a cramp? NOOOOOOOOOOO.
I think it stands to reason that if you don’t like reading about periods or women’s health, you should probably skip to your loo and..I dunno, do whatever you do in the loo. Read a book. Facepoop or something.
I’d say “Grow up, jesus.” but, the fact is, there’s a certain irony in my saying grow up and then ranting in the way that I am about to. Yes, there will be Carlin-esque unusable words, but since when are there not? I am going to preface this with one disclaimer: I speak for me. As in, this woman. This woman is not you. This woman is not all women. This woman is this woman and this is how this woman’s fucking period happens, what it feels like and what I do about it. If you get offended, you read past the disclaimer- and that’s just a bit like whenever someone hands you something and says, “Holy fuck, this tastes like shit, here, try it!” and you do. You gonna piss and moan because you ate the damn thing? Probably, because people who are chronically offended do that. Anyway.
I have no idea if my period is about to come back. I just live in mortal dread of that. Why? Because I’ve got debilitating cramps, that’s why. The hormonal changes that take place in my body have inspired me to write numerous ranty pants blogs on the subject because, quite frankly, it fucking sucks shit through a coffee stir stick.
I usually write them on the second day after the zombification style fatigue, explosive Exorcist style vomiting and OHMYGODMYUTERUSISCOMINGOUTOFMYBELLYBUTTON subsides, somewhere along the lines where it’s starting to look a bit like a Slayer show in my pants (RIP, man, RIP.) and feels like I’ve been walking balance on a wooden fence, slipped and rammed the top rail..uh. Yeah. Top all that off with the cherry on this turd sundae? I get what the hillfolk refer to as The Hershey Squirts. Only, these aren’t any ordinary ambush butt-pee style poos. Oh no. They come on so sudden and so fierce that every fart sends me racing to the bathroom because woe betide those who do not heed the warnings, for they will know the evil that is….a shart running down your damn leg and into your sock like some kind of Golgothan poo slug. To un-gross that very gross little journey for you, once a month when I am not pregnant or nursing: three days of my life are a total living hell wherein the only thing to do is to live in a hot bath, the bed, and watch as those near and dear to me chuck vicodin and chocolate in the door and run for dear life. Not because I get moody. I have two moods during my period: screaming in pain while curled fetal and weeping in a whiny little ball of pain the likes of which a Cenobite would grin proudly at. Top it off, once this joy ride’s over, and I am just getting back to “Yay, no pain, no pain”- that’s when the after party begins and WHACK. Three day migraine!
It fucking sucks.
What in the hell does this have to do with homesteading?
Well, in the first place: I often write about off topic stuff. So there.
In the second: okay, say all those crazy scenarios the preppers think are on the way are on the way. Are you stockpiling tampons? Pads? Do you make cloth pads?
I’m going to confess something right here and now: I loathe tampons. I think at best they might be useful as entertainment fodder if you can put them in a gun and fire them out like flamey vampiric tea bags. I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’d pay to see it. My sons and I once made mice out of them. You can do a really funny walrus impersonation with them, if you’re so inclined but apart from that?
Okay, so, I’ve never done it, but sometimes I imagine tampon use is a bit like having a really, really bad headcold and thinking it’s a good idea to stuff toilet paper up your nose. Only, one time, your decongestant kicks in and the toilet paper gets stuck in there, ripping sensitive inner skin as it comes out, but leaving you wondering: is it still stuck in there? (And I believe we all have heard or know of someone who lived the urban legends regarding tampons.) And toxic shock? Holy shit. You could literally DIE for clean panties. Of course, pretty much everything will kill you these days, so, moving on to the other side.
I soak through a super soaker tampon in less than a half an hour give or take on my first day of a period. Nope, not kidding. Yep, seen countless doctors and nobody knows why my period is not only painful, but messy as hell. Hey, hey, getting to knoooooow you, getting to know all about yooooou, right? Okay, well, anyway- have you ever had a tampon, so soaked with blood that it oozes out of you and then kinda hangs out in your panties?
Yeah, don’t, it’s not pleasant. Even less pleasant when you’re wearing a broomstick skirt, sans underpants. In the mall. With all your friends. Eating a cinnabon, sippin’ an Orange Julius.
…not that I know anyone that happened to.
Then, pads. Ever had the sticky part of the pad bunch all up and get caught in your pubes?
I don’t even think I need to go into the other issues, that one’s plenty enough if it’s ever happened, am I right?
Oh and I did forget that once, someone suggested something called freebleeding to me. My response was, “Okay. So, when the cops follow the blood trail to my house, would you explain to them I’ve not murdered anyone, I’m just having my period? Thanks.”
Plus, I’m not that enlightened. Gross.
So, these options suck. That, and I imagine if you are the prepping type, they take up quite a bit of space: which leaves you with a couple options, believe it or not. First, being make your own pads. I have no experience with this apart from the panicky wad of toilet paper in horribly public scenarios where I am smiling this crazy joker smile while trying to not fall over in a screaming, fetal heap.
….but I have read that both cloth pads and…cups help that. Do they?
Cups. This is where I am at. My dear friend Eva sent me this:
Tremendously thoughtful gift because she does know I have tried pretty much everything short of burning the shit out of my uterus to get this nightmare to stop. (No, really, I did look into that.)
It also doubles as a dapper little cow hat.
So, here I am. I had a serious case of the sleepy, mild nausea, Reece’s cravings, and mild cramping earlier. I am in a fearful state of, “Oh god, please no. Please no. PLEASE?” but, prepared to shove a dapper little cow hat in my vagina in order to deal with the monthly hell ride that is my period. While I am pretty sure that cloth pads are much more sustainable, this does seem a do-able option and…well, I’ll let you know how it goes.