I don’t really blame her. I had to pick her up from school
last week because she was so miserable. It was day one of her ragtime, and she
was so nauseated and crampy she couldn’t sit in a desk. In fact, her teacher
made her go to the nurse’s office because she was dry heaving in class and then
almost fainted. The nurse insisted that she go home, as the school has a policy
that if a student faints in class, EMS must be called to transport that child
to the hospital, and she preferred not to have the headache of the paperwork
that goes along with that scenario. Not to mention the part where children
shouldn’t be fainting from their periods.
I took the teen home
and pumped her full of ibuprofen and hot tea and settled her on an arrangement of
heating pads. She remained there until it was time for her harder classes, and
I drove her back to school with one of those adhesive heating pads stuck to her
belly. Have you ever seen one of those? They look just like a sanitary pad
filled with rocks, only without wings. I wonder how many women have stuck them
in the crotch of their panties, waiting for cramp relief that doesn’t come. I don’t know how long it takes to get used to having your period, but I am pretty sure it is until menopause.
The teen definitely hasn’t adjusted, even after a few years of being a woman now. She still won’t use tampons, not because the school convinced her and many of her female peers that she will lose her virginity by shoving a plastic tube filled with a wad of cotton in her cooch, but because the idea of sticking anything in her cooch disturbs her, to which I say, thank you Jesus! She sticks to pads and panty liners, unless faced with the possibility of being at the beach, in which case she closes her eyes and blindly aims for the right hole with something more covertly absorbent.
Knowing her feelings about things happening below the belly
button made the conversation we had the other day even odder. She brought up a
third option of feminine hygiene, the menstrual cup. A menstrual cup is a
little cup that you stick inside your vagina to collect your menstrual flow. Although
menstrual cups have been around since the 1930’s, I had not heard of them until
Whole Foods came to town. They have a feminine hygiene section just for the
granola vegan crowd, complete with what I think are washable and reusable pads
and menstrual cups, sold under the brand name Diva Cup. Anyway, I guess a
couple of other teens and my teen were talking about Diva cups after having
seen them while shopping for overpriced organic snack food with their mamas.
Here’s how it went down:
The teen: Mom, have you ever heard of a Diva cup?
Me: Yes, why have you?
The teen: Some girls were talking about them at school.
Me: Really? Seems an obscure topic of conversation, but
whatever.The teen: Well, have you ever tried one?
Me: No. I am quite comfortable with regular old cardboard tube Tampax. I don’t really see the need to make changes now, after over thirty years. Why?
The teen: I’m curious about them.
Me: Seriously?? You won’t even use a tampon, not even with
the plastic applicator, the kind that ruins the planet for the next generation
of bleeders. But you’re curious about putting a small cup in your vagina?
Please.The teen, laughing: I know, right? I just can’t imagine putting a cup in there.
Me: Me neither. How long does it stay in there, anyway? Does
it start to smell? What if your cup overflows? And then what do you do with it?
Run it through the dishwasher? Or is it disposable? I don’t understand how that
is any better for the environment. Can you use a Dixie cup in a pinch, because
I still have a whole box of those under the bathroom sink if you want to try
them out.
The teen: (more laughter)Me: Do they come in different sizes, or are they a one size fits all kind of product? How do you put it in? And worse, how do you take it out? What if it tips over when you remove it?
She stopped laughing and redirected me, which was a good thing, because I could seriously have kept going for at least another five minutes or so.
About a week later, I kid you not, I met a woman who had
actually used menstrual cups. Now, this was one of those situations where a
casual acquaintance ends up telling you something extremely personal that you
rather not know about them, ever.
A woman I barely know and I made small talk during a
volunteer event. We were discussing our daughters, which is what women do who
have very little else in common to discuss. She is an older mom with kids a
little younger than mine, and we talked about how girls get hormonal and moody
when puberty starts. Her daughter had not yet started her period, but since
mine is a few years older, she asked me about how I taught her about
menstruation. I told her about a class the hospital offers that does a great
job making girls feel comfortable with their bodies and such. She thought that
sounded great since she wasn’t really sure she knew how to teach them to use
tampons. Then she said, “It’s been years since I had my period, since I am past menopause, but I didn’t use tampons when I did have mine.”
“You didn’t?” I said. “Oh, I remember those giant pads, with the belt you had to pin them on. What a pain!”
“No,” she said, “Although I do remember those too. Like a diaper. No, I used those cups.”
Okay, finally I found someone who has tried the mysterious
and lesser known menstrual cups, and it’s an almost complete stranger, but one
that I will have to see and talk to again. I don’t want to have to think about
her period, let alone her choice of feminine hygiene, but now, every time I see
her, it will be the only thing I remember about her.
“I’ve never tried them,” I said, because really, what else
could I say? I couldn’t tell her I threw up in my mouth a little. “I don’t know
what to tell you about teaching your daughter about tampons. Mine is still
uncomfortable with the idea of them.”
“Oh, then she would never like cups, because you have to
stick your whole hand in there,” she told me.
No, no, no. I can never, ever, shake this woman’s hand
again, and the idea of hugging her is even more off-putting. In fact, I don’t
think I can make eye contact with her ever again unless I develop dementia and
forget this little nugget about her. And no matter what, I will never join her
for a glass of red wine.
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