I’m betting every female of a certain age had an immediate flash back when they read the title of this blog. Most of the Dude’s are mystified, unless they have sisters or raised daughters and then they might have a semblance of where this post is going. I could just let this play out with a devil may care type of attitude and let those unsuspecting Dudes find out the significance of my chosen title naturally, or I could insert a disclaimer to forewarn them.
Hmmmm what to do???????
Disclaimer: This post is about lady bits and associated functions. You have been forewarned! Read at your own will and peril. Aren’t you lucky the holiday spirit is still alive and well in me! Non-holiday me would have been too tempted to pull you into the story to the point of no return and then would have dropped the bombshell, which would have left you regretting your choice read this post, but also wanting to know how it ended.
Grade 5 was the year in which I and my peers officially learned about puberty. All the girls were ushered into Ms. G’s classroom and the boys into Mr. F’s room and once settled we learned about the horrors/beauty that would soon await us. Lucky us, hair would be growing, sweat glands would be maturing, boobs would start reaching for new peaks, dreams would start getting wetter and for the ladies menstruation would commence.
It was a lot of material to cover in one afternoon and I am sure the School Board didn’t want to overwhelm our little brains, so we were only taught the specifics that applied to our gender. This left room for a lot of speculation and theorizing, at recess, as to what the other group talked about and learned.
Our sponge like brains and avid curiosity hungered to find out the deats as to what the other group was told. In typical fashion it wasn’t long before double dog dares were thrown down… “I double dog dare you to ask so and so (insert the working theory of moment). We cobbled together the factoids we were told to get a better appreciation as to what the boys had in store.
Puberty felt like a ticking time bomb. On one hand I didn’t want it to happen and actively willed it to be years away, but on the other, I also didn’t want to be the last one to go through it.
Time went on. As curves arrived for the Ladies, voices dropped for the Dudes. We all became familiar with essentials such as razors and deodorant… some faster than others.
Playground banter changed from “You’re a poopy head!” “Nah uh… boys aren’t better than girls!!!”, to gems such as “Are you related to Sasquatch?”, “Listen Pepe le Pew you need industrial strength deodorant!” Of course the latter was said while nonchalantly trying to sniff your own pits to make sure the offending odour wasn’t emanating from you.
It was around Grade 6/7 that one of the girls discovered Judy Blume and her original how guide on navigating the pitfalls and angst of puberty… “Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret.” That book became the sacred bible for the girls in my Grade. Reverently referenced and used to plot out the trajectory of and to usher in our womanhood. Who could forget such classic lines such as “We must, we must, we must increase our bust!”. Seriously it is seared in my memory along with the hours spent doing the described exercise to increase said bust line.
If the proof is in the pudding the size of my bust from junior high through to university would totally discredit that I spent hours doing this exercise, as it did absolutely nada to increase my bust line. Maybe I wasn’t as dedicated as I thought I was or maybe the exercise was totally bollocks, regardless that book was a game changer!
One by one we would hear through the grapevine that another classmate had her first visit from “Aunt Flo” and those of use who were still waiting, were on tenterhooks wondering if we would be next. Although I could no longer get away with wearing an undershirt and had graduated to full on bra, starting one’s period was the ultimate sign that you had entered the Ughville district of womanhood and would be stuck in this zone for an eternity. I remember pondering if it was possible to skip straight to menopause, as that seemed like the best alternative given all the choices.
Science class burst that bubble. The inevitable was going to happen, so I doubled down with preparing myself. I convinced my mother to allow me to practice inserting tampons, so that I would be prepared when “IT” finally happened. She rolled her eyes while shaking her head, but agreed to a limit wastage of feminine hygiene, as she ultimately she is as much of a sucker for preparation as I am.
Armed with the paper “How To” instructions, I tried to figure out exactly what the diagram was trying to depict and where exactly it was supposed to be inserted. For those who have never seen this guide, it showed the user inserting the tampon into a cross section of the female body. Not very helpful for confirming and referencing body parts when what you see in the mirror is full on lady bits! Oh yes, there were multiple mirrors involved in the learning process. There were trips out of the washroom armed with the insert to question what exactly is this? Where should I be looking for that? My mother patiently answered my questions and went about what she was doing before I interrupted her.
What my mother failed to tell me was how painful it would be to try and insert a tampon when you are not menstruating. Well in fairness, she was probably never dumb enough to try it and might not have know. There is only so much discomfort one can endure in the name of progress and I eventually gave up and decided to put faith in my ability to naturally figure it out when my period finally arrived. I did wonder if the pain was a sign Aunt Flo would be visiting me soon enough. It wasn’t. I had another two years before I was finally ushered into Ughville… I mean the beauty of womanhood.
Now you might ask, why not start with pads?
No way, no thank-you.
I had born witness to the atrocity of pads when my older sibling started menstruation. At that time the only option for pads was to wear this elastic garter system which you had to insert the ends of the pad into. It looked cumbersome, uncomfortable and just plain nasty. I vowed that I would never, ever, ever be subjected to this horror show… NEVER EVER!
By the time Aunt Flo finally paid me my first visit, the “new and improved” peel and stick pads had arrived on the market. Although the garter was gone… BONUS… nothing had been done to reduce the overall bulkiness of this odious product. All I could imagine was how obvious it would be wearing one under my painted on jeans, and how it would negatively impact my ability to do what I wanted to do, so pads remained a HARD pass.
Bet you didn’t think you would get a history lesson on the evolution of modern day female hygiene products. Well I never thought I would be providing one, but age has a funny way of removing the filters that prohibited discussing my period and the impact it had on my life.
I will say the arrival of Auntie Flo was as crap a$$ as I thought it would be. Something else that needed to be tracked and attended to. Sigh… Growing up is a hard thing to do!
It did not help that I consistently had extreme cramping on Day 2/3 of my period and that I always seemed to have commitments on Day 2/3 of my period. I swear to God my Dad had a spidey sense as to when I was entering the zone of maximum pain, as without fail, that was the time when he always decided that it was time to shovel grain. Coincidentally it was also either the hottest or the coldest days of the year when grain shovelling happened. Picture it, having to perform extreme physical labour, in hot and dusty conditions, while you feel like you have gnomes trying to pick-axe out of your innards. Not fun in the least bit. At least the grain acted as a “Magic Bag” that I could lay on and take the pain levels down a few notches, while Dad was delivering the grain to the elevator.
Probably the worst cramping I have ever had was when I was doing a placement in Ponoka. I was in the middle of treating a client and I broke out into a cold sweat, the pain was so bad. I couldn’t move without grimacing. I felt like I was being cleaved in two, and there were a couple of moments when I almost passed out. My supervisor, thought I was getting sick and made me take the rest of the afternoon off, even though I was game to solider on. As intense as this monthly pain was, it was over as quick as it started and I had a 28 day reprieve to look forward to until it returned.
Reflecting back on this, I just had a “Ah Ha” moment. No wonder I have such a high threshold for pain.
- Shockwave set to the highest setting… merely annoying.
- Walking on a broken bone… uncomfortable but doable.
Nothing has come close to period pain for me, and if I can live through that, I can live through any other type of pain.
As the years progressed I continued to long for menopause even knowing all the wicked symptoms that were associated with it. Those prayers were finally answered at the start of Covid. One day Aunt Flo decided to quit visiting and never came back. So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen!
I admit I have been feeling a little superior with how my body has been handling the dreaded menopause, as it has been very anti-climatic. I didn’t have to suffer through “surprise” visits from Flo. Leading up to menopause I had a few occasions where I felt a surge of power that made me feel like I could shoot fire out my finger tips, but no hot flashes. Absolutely no anxiety, heart palpitations, sleep problems, brain fog, bloating, change in taste, burning tongue or night sweats. The only thing that has occurred has been the dawning of my “beard years”, but hey a beard will keep my face warmer in the winter! I couldn’t ask for an easier transition to this next phase of life and have pranced through these last few years doing a happy dance.
Well that lofty attitude appears to be coming back to bite me in the butt. This was the year of the bi-yearly physical, which means blood work, mammogram and the poo test. I used my extended time off to get all my medical appointments completed, as work weeks tend to be too busy to fit in non-work related appointments.
First up… the mammogram. This is my second round with the mammogram machine and let me tell you there has been a change in the elasticity of the patagajellies. The first time round, my breasts were perkier and quickly sprang back to life after being squashed by the machine. This time not so much. It was very hard not to burst out laughing when the Technician uttered these words after the first scan “You can now lift and remove your breast from the plate.” Yup, lift and remove! The squishing action had deflated my fun bag so much that it had lost the will to live and couldn’t muster the strength to spring off the plate by itself. The same line was repeated 4 times over the course of the visit and each time it was hard not to titter like a juvenile or cackle like a deranged hyena.
The other thing that became apparent during my mammogram was I really need to work on flexibility. You have to be positioned in a very specific way to get a good scan. Your hips and feet pointing straight forward, your shoulders in a different direction and the inside shoulder dropped. The Technician commented that if I felt uncomfortable at any point in time during the “trash compactor” process, I could bend my knees to relieve the pressure. There was absolutely no way my knees could have bent, even if I wanted them to. It seems spending a year recovering from dislocating fibulas has caught up to me. Yes my new name is Tin Woman.
How can one top a mammogram? Why one can book a physical. I can honestly say I have reached my quota of exposing parts of my body for people I don’t know, for few years at least. Initially there was some concern, as my blood pressure was high on the first reading, but it turns out it was only because I was answering questions while the reading was being taken. The second reading was infinitely more like it. I left the appointment with a script for blood work. I figured in for a penny, in for a pound and high tailed it over to the lab to get it all done.
Sadly the blood work came back and it seems I am no longer cuspie hypothyroidism and have silently transitioned to full blown, your thyroid is on strike status. I say silently, as I didn’t have any of the well know symptoms such as fatigue, unexplained weight gain and hair loss. I have had weight gain, but that can be explained by my need to treat myself for performing basic functions such as showing up for work and not swearing outloud!!!
Well done you!
I have now spent a disproportionate amount of my vacation Googling and reading about the thyroid. I have also started medication which is what inspired this post. See the surging feeling is back after a ten year hiatus. It has left me wondering if the reason I have not had hot flashes, is because I have been hypothyroid this entire time. One of the symptoms of hypothyroidism is cold intolerance, as in that your body typically runs on the cold vs hot side. What if the hypothyroidism has been counterbalancing the hot flashes and has created a net neutral effect in my body. What if starting the medication obliterates this equilibrium and hot flashes and night sweats commence. That will make me very, very angry indeedy!
Fingers crossed the wheel of fortune lands on Fire Fingers!
PS I wonder why Judy Blume never wrote a book about Menopause?
PSS The poo test is the only thing I didn't accomplish over my vacation, as it has to be sent by mail and the Postal Strike put a wrench in getting that task ticked off my 2024 To Do List. I guess the powers that be wanted to ensure I had something to look forward to in 2025!
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
Just in case you were wondering what the common symptoms are for hypothroidism… go see your Dr if you have:
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| “Atlas of Human Anatomy”- Netter |
- Fatigue
- Hoarseness
- Weight gain
- Muscle weakness or soreness
- Numbness or pain in hands
- Brain fog
- Depression
- Anxiety
- Dry, coarse skin
- Confusion
- Hair loss, sparse, course or dry hair
- Constipation
- Slow speech
- Dull facial expressions
- Drooping eyelids or puffiness around your eyes
- Inability to tolerate cold temperatures
- Muscle cramps and/or joint pain
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