The Birds and the Bees

School is back in session around the country and for those of you with 4th/5th/6th graders you know what’s going to be coming home this year. Sex Ed permission slips! Yay! Do your children a favor - do not use made up names for body parts and let them know what happens after they reach a certain age. Why? Here’s my story:

****cue Law and Order music****

BUM BUM

AUGUST 2022

So, here’s a very real frustration for me: the uterus.

If you were born with one, you go through the beginnings of you life without a care in the world - you don’t even know what it is because your parents give you some dumb story about cabbages and storks because of the shame religions and prudes put on human reproduction. You go into the fifth grade thinking your mom ate cabbage and that grew a baby in her tummy and she needed to go to the hospital to meet the stork so she can get your baby brother.

Then the teacher plays the video…

Oh, HELL NO! I’m gonna bleed? From my PETUNIA?!? What kind of messed up shit is THIS? Do the boys have to bleed from their ding dong? No? Then what the HELL! Waitaminute, I have to shove a wad of towels in my pants, and your only concern is for me not to flush it down the toilet? I’M BLEEDING OUT! LIke, THOUSANDS OF GALLONS of blood once a month, and everyone is ok with this?!?

Grown ups are stupid. I ain’t bleeding. I’ll just cross my legs together like when I have to pee. That doesn’t work? Well why the hell NOT? Because it isn’t connected?!? IT’S IN THE SAME PLACE! I wet my pants, it’s on my underwear; if I bleed, it’s on my underwear. See? Same place.

…What the hell is a vagina? I thought THAT was what I was peeing out of! So where is the pee coming from?

I was sent home with a note for my parents. And my step mother had “the talk” with me. Not the in depth talk, like exactly how babies are made, but the functions of the female body and all the wonder that it is.

It’s crap is what it is. Getting little things that stick out of your chest only to get them caught on door jambs, which sends THOUSANDS of needles shooting throughout your chest and you swear you’re dying because you KNOW you tore your baby booby right off of your body and you’re bleeding down the front of your shirt. Wake up one morning, and you have a frigging vertical mustache growing between your legs - scares the shit out of you when you first see it because you think a mouse or a tarantula got into your underwear. Not to mention hair in your armpits! Nothing like stealing your dad’s razor and scraping it off only to get blindsided by your smell. What the hell DIED in my ARMPIT, and why didn’t I smell it before? Oh great, now I have to wear DEODORANT?!? Why can’t I just leave the hair so I don’t have to smell it?

…What’s a hippy?

Over the summer into sixth grade was the worst summer I ever had. My boobs sprang up over night from little speed bumps to frigging grapefruits. I was given a hand-me-down bra and told to wear it. What kind of contortionist do you have to be to put the damned thing on?!? I swear, I dislocated my shoulder TWICE before I said forget this crap. I did the clasps and pulled it over my head like a shirt. I didn’t know the point of wearing it; it was like wearing a tank top. Why would I need to wear this contraption when a tank top works just as good? Sure as hell wouldn’t have dislocated my shoulder trying to put it on, that’s for sure. The bra stayed in my underwear drawer.

That summer, my mom had bought me a new outfit and after digging the bra out and putting it on at her demand, my uterus, who had been so quiet for 12 years, decided to introduce herself to me. In front of my mom’s new boyfriend - whom we were meeting for the first time. I don’t know who saw it first, him or Mom, but I noticed I felt wet all of a sudden - like I peed my pants. I looked down and saw the black and white polka dot shorts were changing color - specifically, red. The shorts were ruined. I ran into the house bawling, not just from embarrassment, but the fact the new clothes I had just gotten permission to wear on the first day of school the following week was destroyed. My mom came to check on me and I told her I hated being a girl - boobs and periods were stupid, bras were dumb and I just hated all of it. My mother’s words of wisdom?

“It gets worse.”

Kill me now. Mom wasn’t kidding. Apparently my uterus’s introduction to me was so shocking to HER, that she didn’t speak to me for TWO WHOLE YEARS. That’s right, I had my period once when I was 12 and didn’t get it again until I was almost 15. And my uterus was shy - my periods were so light, a pantyliner was all I ever needed, if I needed anything at all for the three days it lasted. They were so light, my dad and step-mom thought to reassure me that it was normal not to have my period until I was 16 - I guess they thought I felt bad for not having it after an episode of The Cosby Show when it was Vanessa’s turn at “woman’s day.” I informed them that I already knew that and explained my periods to them. That was when I would come home from school and find a pile of used pads on my bed. Not heavily used, but enough for me to know they were. But not by me. Toilet paper shoved in my underwear was enough to handle my periods. A single maxi pad (that was all that was available to me back then) would last me the ENTIRE TIME - I wasn’t about to wear a pad for three days straight.

Over the following months, my uterus became more comfortable with me, and my periods became heavier. The toilet paper trick wasn’t working anymore. I wore a maxi pad for the first time during the summer after I turned 16. Gross. Nothing like feeling like you’re wearing a frigging soggy diaper all day. And the SMELL! I was reassured no one could smell it, but every time I sat 'Indian-style,' on the floor, I caught the whiff of dried blood and death. I was too afraid to change it - I didn’t want a pile of heavily used pads dumped on my bed - so I took to spritzing perfume 'down there' until I thought it would be ok to change the pad.

Changing the pad was an unpleasant adventure in of itself. Remember the mustache between the legs? There’s nothing quite like the feeling of your pubic hair getting YANKED OUT when you change the pad because it got stuck to the tape…somehow. To this day, I have yet to figure out how that happens. I had had enough of this crap. There has to be a better way…

Tampon commercials to the rescue! No odor. No leakage. You can do ANYTHING when you use tampons!

I’m sold. I sneak into my parents’ bathroom and swipe a couple of my step-mom’s tampons. If only I stole the instructions too…but the commercials show the girls talking with their friends about tampons, so that’s what I did. I learned a lot. Like a vagina is actually called 'the fuck hole.'

…The what now? The hole guys put their dicks into and make you pregnant.

Ewww! GROSS! They PEE with that thing! That’s never happening to me…

My friend’s further instruction was just as informative. You just stick it in the fuck hole and you’re good.

…So, it’s like a plug? SWEET!

No. Not sweet. PAINFUL. And confusing. How is the plastic enclosed cotton supposed to absorb the blood? And how in the hell am I supposed to wear CLOTHES with this thing hanging out of me?!? I figured out how the applicator worked and the pain on inserting the cotton plug further hurt immensely. Why in the hell would women use these things?!? Taking it out was worse. Nothing like grabbing a few pubes with the string then YANKING the tampon AND pubes out. Not to mention there wasn’t much blood in or on it. Worthless. My friend asked me about it days later and I told her it hurt.

Apparently I lost my virginity. To a tampon. That’s why it hurt because losing your virginity is supposed to hurt. I didn’t even know I HAD a virginity! That was when I decided to keep those kinds of questions to myself. Like most things, I’ll figure it out or research it myself. And that worked for awhile. I still wasn’t crazy about having a uterus and the fact she never stayed consistent. Some months were light, some were normal, some were heavy. Always 3 days long - to the hour, that’s how punctual my uterus was when she stopped throwing her hissy fit. She wasn’t very punctual on WHEN she threw her fit, but as long as I knew when it was gonna end, I was good. Me and my uterus got along fine.

Until I turned 38. It seemed my uterus was forgetting what she was supposed to do. When I missed my period, I freaked out - Kristopher did NOT want biological children - and the last time my uterus didn’t speak to me, I was pregnant. Three pregnancy tests later, my uterus screamed and the red river flowed like a frigging dam broke. This was during the time when EVERYONE was out of tampons and pads. Kristopher came home with pantyliners and thought HE was going to convince ME that they were pads. I shoved the box in his face - PANTYLINER in feminine script across the bottom of the brand name. He had to squint to see it and then proceeded to vent how feminine hygiene manufacturers did that shit to make the men look bad. I was back to shoving half a roll of toilet paper down my pants. Kristopher took to sleeping in his office - God forbid any blood got on him while we slept…

*** I feel the need to interject this thought here. Men are frigging STOOPID when it comes to menstruation. They don’t want kids, yet fear the blood time when it shows up. DUDES! If she’s bleeding, she’s most likely NOT pregnant. If anything, those of you who don’t want kids should be treating your bleeding women as QUEENS during the blood-letting. Yeah, she may be cranky - just give her chocolate or whatever else is her favorite treat - and tell her how beautiful and majestic she is cuz if you had to go through it, you. would. die. ***

Anyhoo, the whole period thing got worse after my stroke when I started taking my blood thinner. I didn’t know human body could expel THAT much blood without passing out, much less not dying. My tampon and pad budget increased because I had to use BOTH just to keep my clothes from getting ruined. Not to mention that I had to relearn my impending doom cycle all over again! Which put a HUGE dampener on my sex life - if you can’t predict the cycle, it’s a crap shoot as to when it’s safe to not bother with protection; and since I had yet found a condom that didn’t make me itch or smell gross from my nether regions, I was basically in a loving, yet sexless marriage. Well, we had Bill Clinton’s version of not having sex, but it wasn’t like before.

My uterus and hormones took 2 years to even themselves out and become somewhat predictable. Again, all normal according to the doctor. I got a second opinion. I went to WebMD - which I should have done in the first place and saved myself the $85 office visit (and that was WITH insurance). Another year and me and my uterus were in sync once again; I knew when she was going to throw her hissy fit for not having a bun in the oven. If I wanted to beat Kristopher or my son to death for eating the last of my favorite cereal or using the last of the body wash, my period was 2 weeks away. When I was feeling especially amorous and Kristopher took to locking himself in his office, I knew I was a week away from the blood bath and needed to make sure I had enough supplies.

*** I think I’ll inject this thought here for the ladies. Now, I know I have no scientific basis for this, nor do I have a degree in human biology, but I seriously think that when a woman is exceptionally flirty or sensual, when she normally isn’t, it means she’s ovulating. It kinda makes sense since reproducing is an instinct; we ARE, at our core, animals, and when a female animal is in heat, it means she’s ovulating. Just my opinion, take it for what it is. ***

After Kristopher died, obviously my periods became wonky again. I hadn’t taken my medications for over a year which made my periods more like what happened in my twenties and thirties (to which I would like to point out, no ill effects to stopping them cold turkey and no stroke from not taking them - I serious think my brain had no idea what to do when I wasn’t at DefCon 1 all day like I was at Walmart, just sayin’). Since I wasn’t feeling poorly physically, I wasn’t worried about it.

Until Christmas last year (2021). My uterus decided to give me a present by refreshing herself TWICE - once to start the month off with a blood bath (my usual time) and again two frigging hours after I buried my cat on Christmas night! Nothing like rubbing pounds of salt into open wounds… I started 2022 thinking twice a month was going to be my new normal (I frigging HATE that phrase) and practically stockpiled tampons and pads. February rolled around and I realized I hadn’t heard from my uterus - which made me panic like I did last time until I realized…I havne’t had sex in 3 years. I cannot POSSIBLY be pregnant - and no, I am not the proper vessel for the anti-Christ, so no immaculate conception. After the idiotic self induced heart attack, I just went about my life when in April, I noticed I hadn’t touched my supplies.

I counted the months. Four. How many months do I have to go to be done with this shit? I saved myself some money and Googled. Twelve. 12 months until I hit menopause.

I told my uterus to keep her big trap shut.

In May, my uterus threw the biggest temper tantrum ANY living creature could throw:

*Excruciating lower back pain - the kind that requires 3 heating pads, a purring cat and the fetal position just to find relief. I had none. I did squats and back arches behind the checkout counter and the remaining cat was NOT a snuggler so I was SOL when I got home from work.

*Abdominal cramps - the kind that felt like a white hot poker was stabbed through one side of your gut, and just for good measure, raced back and forth like you were being cut in half with a dull saw blade. Only women who experienced normal birthing contractions would understand what that is. I did not have normal birthing contractions, nor had I ever experienced ANY type of menstrual cramping. I had to ask my little sister - who is 14 years younger than I am - about them cuz I thought I was going to die.

*Screwed up bowel movements - the kind that, even though you have eaten NOTHING for a day and a half, somehow your intestines felt a purge was necessary. With the explosive kind of gas warfare to boot. Even the DOG wouldn’t come near me! I was the pooping-est, fartiest person alive. Thank God I still had candles left and I had two days off from work so my uterus could get it out of her system.

*Feelings of affection - the kind that if there was a man in my life, a locked door wouldn’t have helped him. Hell, a locked door surrounded by anti-personnel mines, a fire breathing dragon, acid spitting spiders, and a horde of flesh-eating zombies wouldn’t have stopped me from getting to said man and having my unspeakable, lustfully wicked way with him. I can tell you, cold showers do not help with that feeling so whomever came up with that idea - you’re an idiot.

And that was all BEFORE my uterus unleashed a red river that rivaled the one in Egypt during Moses’s time! Two weeks. TWO WEEKS of heavy bleeding. So heavy I went through a regular tampon in an hour and my overnight pad was soaked through. So heavy, I started getting dizzy. I called both my cardiologist AND my primary doctor to see if my medication was causing the blood flow (which it had when I initially started the blood thinner in 2016, but didn’t when I started again in 2021) and was it normal. My cardiologist said to keep taking the blood thinner (crap); and my primary, after performing more tests (well, the ones I could afford anyway), more pap smears, more looking into the cavern that is my vagina, found nothing wrong. The primary did say my blood tests showed I was becoming anemic and I was slightly malnourished. What was my diet like?

Coffee. Coffee was my primary diet with a smattering of veggies and chicken tossed in for variety - along with pizza, cuz lets be honest, I have to have SOMETHING unhealthy. Both doctors told me to eat more and my primary said to take a one a day. My cardiologist loosened up diet restrictions - instead of 3 ounces of red meat a week, I was able to have it twice during shark week. I was told by both of them that if I was still bleeding uncontrollably after 24 hours to get my butt to the ER. Yeah…not gonna happen. I bought the Flinstones vitamins because the grown-up ones make me constipated, more supplies and some hamburger. I popped the vitamin as soon as I got to my car and made the juiciest hamburger I’ve ever made - which is to say it was ran through a warm room (it was very rare). My uterus continued to vomit blood like a dying vampire, but the dizziness was gone, so I wasn’t worried about it. I called the doctors to give them a sit-rep two days later; while still heavier than what I’m used to, my period was manageable and the dizziness was gone outside of the usual vertigo I get when standing up too quick. Three months later and I’m still getting my period for two weeks out of the month. Maybe. Who knows anymore. I asked my doctor at my checkup if this was normal.

“Yup. Sucks, don’t it?”

Why is it every female of menopausal age DELIGHTS in telling me how this stage of my uterus’s life isn’t unicorns and rainbows? What I find annoying about this whole process is NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING! Sure, you’ll send us home with permission slips for our parent’s to sign allowing you to tell us we’ll be bleeding for most of our lives when we’re in the 5th grade, but you won’t tell us what happens when our bodies are done making babies? Because that’s certainly not pertinent information…

PRESENT DAY:

Seriously folks, explain the whole damn thing to them. Its vagina, or clitoris. Not petunia. It’s a penis, not a dick, ding-a-ling, one-eyed snake… why do we have so many names for a penis but one for a vagina? This is BIOLOGY. These are our BODY PARTS. There is no shame in your kids knowing the names of their body parts - even when they shout clitoris in church (trust me, they do it for shock value). There is no shame in our bodies and it’s high time society’s puritanical standards get loosened up for a nano-second.