1/22/2016

Somebody rammed a rusty fork into my uterus, but I am not allowed to talk about it.



There is something special about menstruation cramps. They are like a toothache for your nether regions, a stabbing, gnawing sort of pain, that sneaks up on you, just to hit you at full speed and bring you to your knees. It's just a little backpain at first. Just a tiny bit annoying. And then - when you least expect it - KABOOM it goes. It keeps you up at night and makes you whimper when standing up from a chair. It makes your lower belly pop out a bit, it makes standing or walking or sitting or lying down unbearable.


You might also get swooning moments so intense, that you have to grab on to anybody and anything and then breathe very deeply, to make it go away. Often in public, often to the bewildered stares of total strangers, who are just standing next to you at the supermarket and suddenly have to function as some sort of human crutch on which you lean whilst whispering "Make it stop. Make it stoooop!". It is quite a dramatic sort of thing. Not "dramatic" like "Oh my god, something is actually wrong" - more like "OH MY GOD, let's pretend we're in Bollywood movie, and someone just shot the main character!" sort of dramatic. You know it will be gone in a few days, you know it is perfectly normal. You're not gonna die from it. 



BUT - there is one thing about it, that really annoys the living bejeezus out of me. Why oh why, are we not allowed to talk about it? Only to our close female friends, only behind closed doors. Only with grimaces and pointing and mouthing "down there" a lot. Or - when the conversation has turned a bit more frank, after, like, three drinks - with phrases as "It's like someone slaughtered a pig. I might just as well sit down in a bathtub with a bottle of Tequila for the next four days!".

"Well, it's private..." you might say. And it is. Just as private as having a cold. Or a headache. Yet I never see my female friends or co-workers wave around their tampons and painkillers in the same way sick people (and let's be honest here - most of them are men!) wave around their tissues/nasal spray/menthol pastilles/nose showers/whatever.

And this makes me very sad. Mostly because feminism. But also because this means that nobody will ever come over with a lot of pity,  some cheese and/or cookies and softly stroke my head while I watch Youtube clips of funny squirrels and cry for a bit.



(all GIFS are taken from here and here)

No comments:

Post a Comment