Flo' With Me: Periods be perioding

It was May 2001 and I was sitting in the back of Mr. Soukup's history class wriggling around like a caterpillar. I could not focus all day. I didn't eat all day. I was miserable.

I had already gone to the bathroom three times, and at this point, Mr. Soukup must have thought I was making it up. I had a knack for oversharing, but the more I explained that my stomach was hurting and I thought I needed to throw up, the more suspiciously he stared. Still, he pointed with his long gangly finger toward the door to show that it was fine for me to leave once again. It was the end of the school day, and almost the end of the school year as the pre-summer sunlight bounced off the concrete outside and lit up the 7th grade hallway. It was quiet because most of the teachers had resorted to showing movies until the end of the school year.

I went into the bathroom stall grateful that no one was in there. I pulled down my pants, sat down, and stared into my underwear with confusion. It wasn't red, but a pastel mauve splotch in the center of my undies. I thought maybe I had had an accident of the Number 2 type but had reconciled that that couldn't be it because I had felt "stuck" all day. I hadn't even eaten!

I quickly scrubbed my undies with tissue, wiped myself clean, and washed my hands. The cool water calmed my overheating pubescent body, so I splashed my face and neck with more water. I took a few deep breaths before a few 8th graders who were ditching class entered. We locked eyes through the mirror and one of the girls asked if I was okay. I shamefully nodded yes and quickly left the bathroom, hearing snickers behind me. I was mortified.

When the final bell rang to go home, my parents were in their truck at the front of the school. This was odd because they only picked me up if something was wrong, and if they did, they never came together. I hopped into the back seat of the car and we drove to the mall. "Wanna go see the new Mummy movie?" I wanted so badly to be excited. The Mummy was the favorite movie and I had been babbling on and on about the sequel coming out with The Rock. But I had no energy to exclaim. I just nodded and forced out a smile to my mother. She scrunched up her face in confusion and looked at my dad who didn't care if I said I was excited or not. I insisted that I was excited, but once inside the theater, my mom definitely knew something was wrong.

I sat in the row above them in the almost-empty movie theater. I lifted all the armrests and laid across them, writhing. (I must have been in pain to lay my FACE on PUBLIC MOVIE THEATER SEATS!)

My mother leaned over to me and asked if I was feeling alright, to which I nodded I was okay, I just had a stomachache. She asked if I needed to throw up, I told her I didn't, but maybe needed to go to the bathroom.

I left the theater to the bathroom. This time, 26 stalls stared at me and the echo of moms changing their toddlers and coughing in their private suites gave me pause. I was intimidated that once I was alone in my own stall, everybody would know something was wrong with me. When I sat down and glanced into my underwear, once again, the mauve stain taunted me. What the hell is that? And why can't I feel it happening?

I returned to the theater, embarrassed and uncomfortable. I don't even really remember watching the movie. But by the time I had returned from my last of many bathroom trips, the film was over.

When we got home, I was the first in the bathroom. And there it was again. A big blob in my undies. I was so embarrassed that I had done something to make myself sick, but I didn't know how to fix it or if it was going to get worse, so I finally called for my mother.

When she came to the door, I asked her to come in. She hesitated, mostly because my mother was not very motherly. She didn't really enjoy tending to children, or being soft and gentle to news of sickness. So it was only right that the universe bless her with a child who was perpetually ill. But this was not that. And even though it wasn't, she remained true to her standoffish ways.

"What is it?" My mother whispered through the door.

"Can you just come in, please?" I begged.

"Why? Can you just tell me through the door?"

"No,"

"Why not? Did you throw up?"

"No!"

"Ugh!" she huffed as she reluctantly entered through the door.

I pointed at my underwear and it was almost like her world came crashing down. She looked at me in disappointment. I have clearly done something wrong.

"Well, you know you can get pregnant now, right?" She said with an air of certainty. This was the thing. The period thing. It was finally here, but for some reason, it wasn't giving Judy Blume like I thought it would? I wasn't expecting fanfare, but at least a bit of gentleness.

I stuttered, "What do I do?"

She pulled open the second drawer and pulled out a pad. She showed me where on my panties to place it and how to stick the wings in the back. She said for me to take a shower first and put it on clean underwear. And then she left.

I sat there feeling confused and ashamed.

We had the kind of house where the heater connects two rooms and sound travels through the heater into the next room. I heard my mother sit down and let out a frustrated sigh. My dad asked, "What's wrong?" to which she replied, "She got it." My sister squealed with joy and pride, "Aww Jay!" But my dad didn't get the memo. "Got what?" he asked. "She got it, Brian," My mother had immediately grown frustrated. But my dad really did not understand. "Got what, 'Nita?" he snipped back. "She got her PERIOD, Brian!" My mother yelled sternly.

My sister giggled at my dad's ignorance. She was in her senior year of high school and had been dealing with period woes since 9th grade. She shared her mortifying period stories and gave me tips on how to deal with it when it finally came; tips that quickly flew out of my brain as soon as I got mine. She seemed proud, and rarely do we get a chance to laugh in our house without punishment or interrogation.

"Aww I don't wanna hear that shit!" My dad grumbled.

I sat there for a little while longer before getting up and running a shower and applying my first pad into my panties. I had started my period. And there was no celebration. No welcoming from the women before me. Just shame and anxiety.

I am not unique

For the next school year, my mother would get called at least once every month to bring me a change of clothes or extra pads. It took me a long while to get the hang of having a period, however, there was something strange about my period.

My classmates seemed to have these carefree periods that were only marred by cramps, and everyone's cramping seemed normal. But they never bled through layers and layers of clothes; they didn't need a change of clothes or have to wear their PE pants for all of their classes; they weren't throwing up; they weren't wearing "overnight" absorbency pads. I felt alone in these traumatizing experiences. And the more shame I felt every time my mother came to campus, the less I wanted to share what I was going through.

By the middle of the school year, my mother started sending me to school with 10 overnight pads. She told me to wear two of them so that even if I sneezed or sat down wrong, nothing would leak. She would pour ibuprofen into a napkin and wrap the napkin in a sandwich bag. She would say, "Take them until it stops hurting." So I found myself taking 6 ibuprofen 3-4 times per day until the end of my cycle-- every single month.

I had grown accustomed to constantly being in pain, moody, and bleeding until I became lightheaded. This was my new normal.

By high school, I had earned a spot on the varsity basketball team; an honor that I took seriously only because it kept me out of trouble with my dad, but not seriously enough to get over my performance anxiety. Except when I was on my period, I was a menace on the court. I played my best when I was soaked in a pool of my own sweat and blood by the end of the game.

However, the pain became unbearable. Some days, I couldn't even get out of bed to go to school, and eventually, my mother stopped forcing me. I would miss almost a week out of the month of school, and would have to play catch up through brain fog when I did return. Finally, my mother took me to the doctor and it was the first time I'd heard the word, "endometriosis." There was no official exam, but there was a mention of birth control and pain relievers. My mother shook her head at birth control but promised the doctor that she would keep giving me ibuprofen for pain management.

I would go on to experience several more years of nightmarish periods: almost passing out, seeing spots, lightheadedness, vomiting, loss of appetite, moodiness, suicidal ideation, self harm, extreme bloat and weight gain, loss of control of my legs, fatigue... the list goes on.

Though my sister eventually took me to get on birth control, even that came with side effects: worsened suicidal ideation, hormonal weight gain, irregular periods, worsened mood swings, skin discoloration, and more. But the worse yet: struggles with fertility.

It wasn't until college that I learned how common my experience was. And the absolute worst fucking part about me finding out it was so common was the utter helplessness we all shared. Literally none of us knew what to do with these issues. We would just commiserate about the woes of womanhood. Though there were many of us, we all had different levels of pain and inconvenience and intolerance. We all shared this shame and guilt for our broken bodies. We all navigated like we were being punished for something and it was deserved.

Nothing seemed to work

I can't tell you how many remedies I tried after college. How many unsustainable remedies I tried to find relief for this disorder that would blow up my life every single month.

I tried teas, yoni steams, birth control, sugar-free diets, raw veganism, vegetarianism, water diets, carb-free diets-- you name it, I've tried it. And all, literally, without sustainable relief.

Becoming sugar-free gave me some relief, probably the most out of the aforementioned. However, being sugar free isn't sustainable. I found myself falling off the wagon as soon as the pandemic hit. Feeling hopeless and helpless, I tried to maintain something that was so unrealistic, it almost killed me.

When I would get my period on any and all of these fad-diets, I would be met with the illusion that I was fixed, I was healed! Only to be met what I like to call a, "Revenge Period."

What happens after you slip up on any of these fad-diets is, your period readjusts from the starvation it's experienced and it is more ravenous than before. My first period when I went back to eating sugar almost blinded me. The pain was so unbearable I ended up in the hospital hemorrhaging.

These Revenge Periods come back and they are aching to take you down. I have experienced these Revenge Periods on more than one occasion, so I had gotten scared to attempt anything that people would suggest for period relief. I wouldn't even consider anything else.

My Sister is My Keeper

I have had seven miscarriages. And while I have yet to conceive to term, the aforementioned uterine trauma is coupled with the fact that I have felt these fetuses suffocate in my body. I have felt the struggle

for these cells to survive, and the release when they do not. It has all been awful.

Last spring (2022), I was finally referred to a surgeon who would confirm my uterine fibroids as well as an ovarian cyst. I was scheduled to have these removed surgically in July of 2022. Due to a death in the family literally the day before my surgery, I rescheduled for a later date. My surgeon prescribed me the Nuvaring until I could get back on calendar, but Kaiser was so backed up and their schedulers are so inundated that I wouldn't get back on calendar until April 2023.

Over the years, my sister has seen me struggle with my period and fertility. She has always offered great support, has never centered herself in my experience, and she's always maintained great perspective for me. Following the rescheduling of my surgery, my sister reminded me of a company she had mentioned in the months prior.

The company was called, "My Happy Flo." She told me that someone she's greatly admired and supported over the years, Necole Kane (formerly Necole Bitchie), had created a supplement to help folks with painful periods and hormonal imbalances find relief. I shrugged it off. I have tried it all, there was nothing she could have suggested that would have helped. I felt was cursed with this tormented womb; these violent periods that would ravish me until I died. I was just waiting to die.

She was so persistent that I give My Happy Flo a try, she bought my first bottle. When the package arrived, I was already swallowing my first two tablets as I returned into my home. I figured, "If she's this serious about me giving it a try, I'm not gonna play. Let me just try it out."

I began taking MHF a week before my period that month. When my period finally came, the first thing I noticed was how bright my period was.

No more mauve-colored monster haunting my pads, this was fresh, brightly-colored, real deal menstruation. I was shocked. My period that month was pretty easy breezy. But I wasn't certain it was anything worth celebrating yet. I mean, I was also newly back on birth control, it could have just been the birth control doing what the doctor wanted it to do, right?

The second month, my period came and rather than it being a 7-day nightmare as usual, it was a suspicious 4 days. I was genuinely confused. I thought I was pregnant. I called my doctor and asked her was it normal for my period to be shortened by birth control. She kind of confirmed but kind of didn't and left me with, "Periods are tricky like that." Unhelpful as hell.

But my sister kept me close. She had a plan.

It's not a magic pill, but magic happens

When it was time for my surgery, I was nervous. I cried the entire morning. I begged my fiancé to take me back home. I told him I didn't want to do the surgery anymore. But he calmed me down (as did the medical-grade drugs the hospital gave me).

I woke up from surgery foggy, but desperate for answers. With my sister by my side, I wanted to see these massive fibroids that were wreaking havoc on my life. I wasn't expecting to hear what my surgeon told me.

She explained that when they entered to do the fibroid surgery, there were no fibroids. There were only polyps. She said they removed the polyps and anything that looked like remnants of fibroids or cysts, but there weren't any actual fibroids to remove.

My sister and I were confused. If there were no fibroids, then what did they see? And where did they go?

I had always heard about fibroids dissolving, but I never experienced it myself. It all felt very mysterious or illusive.

When I got home, the first thing I did was take my daily My Happy Flo pills.

Later that month, my first post-surgery period came. And as usual, I was preparing myself for the Revenge Period. And when it came...

It was like I was being cradled into the sunshine. It was the easiest, breeziest period I had ever experienced. It was light. It was bright. And the best part: It lasted three days SOLID. I even wore a pad for an additional 2-3 days in case it wanted to creep up on me and start again.

I've had two periods since my surgery, and I have never had such manageable periods in my life. All the years of wearing 4-5 overnight pads/day seem behind me. I used to have to take a Motrin 800 as soon as my eyes opened and do maintenance pain relief all day until my period ended. I've found myself only needing a Motrin 200 for MAYBE the first day but coasting through the remaining 2 days.

A 3-day period, y'all!

I went out with friends on the first day of my period last month. This month, I went to a festival and later performed an improv show! I am doing things I've only ever seen in Always commercials. I feel so free to live my life without being proverbially handcuffed to my bed with cramps and heavy bleeding or bloating. I actually feel really beautiful on my period. I did a little dance when she came last month! I am greeting her with joy, lately. This is a new life I didn't even think I'd get. More like: this is a new life I didn't think I deserved.

I used to think I was the only one suffering through these nightmarish periods. But as I got older, I realized we were all shamed into silence about our periods. And that shame has led us into adulthood with massive fibroids and cysts or getting hysterectomies in our 30s! Feeling like we deserved this pain for all these years has had us living through painful sex lives, wonky libidos, and infertility issues.

I will never forget the look of disappointment on my mother's face when she saw I'd started my period. For years, I thought she was mad at me for getting my period, but maybe she just thought it was an added responsibility that would be too hard on me (well, us). Maybe she knew about the guilt and shame and knew I'd deal with the guilt and shame too. Maybe she realized that a huge part of the pain would be guilt and shame? And maybe she was just worried for me. I will truly never know.

But what I do know? When my Sunshine got her first period, and everyone was standing around shocked, I looked her in the eye and smiled "CONGRATULATIONS! Welcome to womanhood! It may be uncomfortable, but know you always have me to go to if you need anything at all." She squirmed a bit, but now she freely talks about her period. She lives with her period unabashed. She is blessed with a father who never squirms about periods and is always willing to provide her anything she needs to get through her period; from pads to chocolate bars or her favorite chicken wings, he is always willing.

We are living lives with pain-free periods, now. No more shame. No more guilt. We live these lives loudly.

I am a person with a period who has finally gotten my life back.

Use my code INKVERYWELL when shopping My Happy Flo.

Or click this link to purchase: https://lddy.no/1g48h

Ink, 2023