Uterus Issues, Running Late
By: Rachael Hope
Tags: Menstruation, Body, Womens Health, Feminism, Women

I am bleeding.

After nearly two weeks of spotting and mood swings and expectations of something more substantial, I can finally feel my uterus aching inside me, sending insistent cramps into my left hip and down my leg.

It hurts. It isn’t debilitating, but it’s a distraction. It throbs, my sciatic nerve lights up, and I wish I was in a hot tub instead of sitting at my desk at work. I take specially formulated “menstrual relief” cocktail pills or ibuprofen and acetaminophen together, hoping the combination will work better than one or the other and dull it enough so that I can clear my head and work.

I go to the bathroom often, because I don’t want to deal with the inconvenience of making a mistake, misjudging things, and having to deal with stains on my favorite jeans. Somehow, 25 years in, it still happens. It seems like by now I’d know my body and pad manufacturers would be able to create pads for different types of bodies and sizes of underwear.

The last time I had my period was 99 days ago, my cycles are completely wonky now. This is likely a symptom of perimenopause, the earlier arriving, unspoken younger sister of the menopause all women meet later in life.

When I told my two female co-workers that I had been having my period for 10 days, and that I just want it to be over, one shifted in discomfort. The other gave me tips on how to encourage the weak, lazy flow to come so I could start to feel better. The next day, I complained out loud: my uterus hurts, and she asked if I needed anything. I didn’t, but it was nice to be asked.

I believe in talking about my period.

Out loud. In public. To family, boyfriends, co-workers, and friends. On the internet.

Truthfully, I am not entirely comfortable speaking about it out loud. I sat staring at my phone this morning with my thumb hovering over the send button for several minutes before I pressed it. This is not something we talk about. When I say that I’m not feeling well because my life force is literally draining from me, I still hear that voice in my brain wondering what I am doing. I don’t let the discomfort dampen my urge to connect, my desire to speak out lout. I push through it, and I spill the words out anyway, I push send. This is who and how I am in this moment, and it is okay.

If this discomfort were located anywhere else in my body, I would talk about it. Anyone would. Last week, a coworker indirectly told all of us about her stomach bug, an indirect window into bathroom issues. Is it really more acceptable to talk about poop than menstruation? If I had an earache or toothache to this degree, would I be at work? For either of those I’d likely be at the doctor, but when we have our periods, we must persist in going about our business and just trying our best to ignore it.

When I arrived at work today, no one asked how I was doing. If I had texted that I had an upset stomach or headache, I guarantee the response would have been different. I’d have heard “How’s your head?” or “Are you feeling better” from multiple people. But because a uterus is something only women possess, we don’t talk about it. There is no concern or sympathy for whether I’m feeling better or just powering through it so I can get paid.

If I’d called in sick due to cramps, would that decision have been respected? Or would it be viewed as weak and unnecessary? If I had gastric-related stomach cramps this bad, I’d likely spend the day on the couch and receive sympathetic texts.

What about staying home because the idea of making sure you change your pad every two hours is just too much to handle at work? Or because you feel weakened in the same way you might if you’d been unable to eat? These aren’t acceptable reasons to skip planned events. Why not?

I am not ashamed that I am bleeding.

It irritates me that I’m expected to be silent about something that is a part of my life. In the past year, my body has changed, no longer regular or decipherable, so it’s become a bigger part of my life than it ever has been in the past.

We bleed naturally and often, and there is no reason to hide that fact. We tuck pads into our waistbands and hide tampons inside our sleeves as we walk to the restroom. Why? I’m a fan of talking about the things that are happening to me, even when it goes against what I’ve been taught about what is taboo. I tend to be more willing to speak out about things other people shy away from. Divorce, polyamory, sex, finances, bodily functions, fat positivity. The more we talk about these things, the more everybody has the chance to realize that they are normal and that it’s healthy to talk about them.

I have spent too many hours in this lifetime feeling alone because of what I was going through, and I am done with that.

I have spent too much time isolated, in pain, afraid, when there was love and support out there if I just reached for it. What is the purpose of being a part of a community if we are not able to support each other in all parts of life?

Even in 2017, talking about periods is still taboo. The idea that women’s menstrual cycles are gross or unclean or inappropriate is deeply rooted in patriarchy. In cultures dominated by men, periods are misunderstood, vilified, and pushed out of the public conversation. If men had periods we’d talk about them all the time. Making menstrual cycles taboo is a manifestation of the sexism that pervades many cultures. source

Our society is not a body-positive one, but there are people working every day to change that.

I focus a lot of thought and energy on trying to change the way our world views fat bodies.

Body positivity isn’t just about the outside.

I want girls to be able to be body positive not only in how they perceive their reflections, but in the way their body works. I could get into all of the political, cultural, and social ramifications of WHY this is all still something we whisper about, or the way our cycles are used as an excuse to dismiss and invalidate our emotions and life experiences. That’s a whole topic in itself, and an important one, but it’s not necessary to dive that deep to know that this is not something to be ashamed of.

I talk about my period because I support other women, and I want to turn to them for support when I need it. I talk about it because if my sons marry women and/or have daughters, I want them to be knowledgeable, sympathetic, and helpful when whose women bleed. I want them to be the kind of men who can buy a box of tampons without feeling ashamed or embarrassed. Who will not flinch when they hear the word uterus.

So. Want to complain about your cramps? I’ll listen. Need to rant about your irregular cycle? I’m game! Need some chocolate? I’ve got a drawer-full at my desk. Need to borrow some hydrogen peroxide? I’ve got a huge bottle under my sink.

Are you bleeding? You can talk to me about it.