Friday, September 15, 2006

See Spot Run

I have decided to call my period "Spot."

I know that standard terminology for a period is AF, which stands for "Aunt Flo." This is too passive for me. My period begins with a tenative, crumby appearance on toilet paper; some might call it spotting...get it? Yet, I have no way to know exactly when my period will start in force. None of my aunts would be so unpredictable in their arrival. Secondly, they certainly wouldn't forget the progesterone, even when showing up uninvited.

But the truth of it is that "Aunt Flo" sounds very warm and cozy, like someone who would crochet a soft blanket or make cocoa. My period is not like that. Let's review:

Spot makes me hormonally unbalanced and may yet be responsible for me divorcing an otherwise acceptable man.

Spot makes me bleed heavily on previously undetermined days (and has ruined many a pair of cotton underwear).

Spot makes me cramp.

Spot gives me headaches of the ilk that make me want to vomit for relief.

Spot makes me jealous of women who are pregnant.

Spot makes me jealous of women who are trying to get pregnant.

I've heard some women talk of getting their first period as though it were a tribal celebration. The elder women in the family would gather round, give the newly initiated woman a backrub and a steaming hot cup of tea. Then they would muse in hushed tones on the joys of being a woman.

There is but one joy associated with menstruation, that I can think of. The ability to get pregnant (although as we all know, that can and does happen to girls who have probably not yet menstruated, also). That is the only "benefit" to this monthly (or whatever) inconvenience.

The cruel twist is that getting your period assures no one of being able to get, stay or healthily remain pregnant. And now that I've experienced the crushing blow of getting periods when I wanted to be pregnant, or having my first period after losing a precious pregnancy, I don't think menstruating is such a good deal.

I've read about women who doubt themselves because of their infertility. They are, in their own words, bitchy, petty, angry, bitter, confused, you name it. They (and I) feel betrayed by their bodies and the bodies of those around them that seem to gestate effortlessly. It is treacherous to be a woman; Spot is at the center of this particular maelstrom.

Don't expect to hear me say "Good dog" any time soon.

1 Comments:

At 4:22 PM, Blogger Hetty Fauxvert said...

Heh. Yeah, my period was a bitch too, before I tamed it with a myomectomy. (I used to just call it "Niagara Falls.")

 

Post a Comment

<< Home