It's absolutely no secret around here that I hate having my period. Every month I complain and complain and complain to NakedDave so much that I know he wants to just shove something in my mouth to completely shut me up but because he is the most kind and gentle of husbands he instead nods his head and says, "Love, there is no "normal" when it comes to your period. Every month you say, "Normally, blah, blah, blah, but we both know that there just is nothing "normal" about it. It just is what it is." Very nice.
I have my period. Everyone in Santa Cruz knows that I have my period. How do they know? Well, it's not like I have been standing on the street corner stopping anyone who is willing to listen to tell them. Oh no. You all know better than that, don't you?
It's the third day of my period. Normally on the third day of my period there is scant blood left to flow as all blood that is possibly going to flow has done so in the previous two days. The third day is kind of like the crumbs left after everyone has devoured and inhaled the very delicious chocolate birthday cake. Might get one good clump, but really there's just nothing left. Nothing left at all.
Again, may I remind you that today is the third day. For the past two days there's been copious amounts of blood. Loads and loads and the usual accompanying cramps that make me scream in agony, but I muffle the screams as best I can and try to stay close to the house so I don't inflict the pain of the screams on anyone who doesn't already really know me and can go, as dear NakedDave does, "Oh right. Period. Cramps. Lovely." But those two days are over. Today is the third day. The day of the crumbs. The day I breathe again and go, "Right, all over. Tomorrow back to regular thong underwear and all that good business."
So being it is the third day and not the first or second day, I thought that I would take a walk downtown and mail our rent check to our landlord who is spending the summer at her grandparents house in Montana. The post office is about a twelve block walk from our little house in downtown Santa Cruz. Not a far walk at all. On the way to the post office you can pass New Leaf Market if you go a certain way and so that's what I decided I would do today. Go that way and perhaps stop at New Leaf and find something yummy for lunch. You see, it was a beautiful day. It was the third day. And I was hungry.
So I stopped at New Leaf and saw that they had their Organic Harvest Salad today. Perfect. Lots of vegetables and tofu. Just what I needed. I also at that very moment started to get quite the migraine. I rarely get migraines anymore, but this one was fierce. Grabbing your head and moaning kind of fierce. Feeling a bit nauseous kind of fierce. Small gremlins running around inside your head banging pots and pans kind of fierce. For a moment I reconsidered eating anything, but was truly starving, so I asked for a small container of the Harvest Salad and then went and found some bottled Tazo tea to go with it. I figured the caffeine might stave off what was proving to be a migraine that knew no limits.
I took my salad and tea to their little courtyard outside where I also grabbed a weekly paper and sat down for some lunch. I had been sitting there just a moment when one of our notorious homeless men (this one really is rather notorious) sat down opposite me. I said hello. He was completely incoherent and just pointed at my food. He was covered in grime, his eyes were rolling into the back of his head, there was drool gushing from his mouth (on which he had painted the most interesting color pink lipstick) and in his other fist was a bouquet of very dead flowers.
I asked if I could help him. He threw the flowers on the table in my direction and then grabbed my salad and started eating it with his hands like a rabid dog. Slobber flying everywhere. Tofu being smashed against both cheeks. Vegetables making every last effort to jump into his gaping mouth, but somehow missing and falling all over his purple tank top. I sat there dumbfouded, really. And then he just got up and walked away carrying my salad with him, leaving me with the dead flowers and my tea.
I figured he definitely needed the salad more than I did and I just let him go. I finished my tea and then headed for the post office. But of course, because I have this damn need to pee every twenty minutes, my twenty minutes were definitely up and I had to find a bathroom. Thank goodness that Bookshop Santa Cruz has lovely and clean restrooms that are open for anyone to use. It was there that I soon found myself sitting on a toilet and noticing that the bowl was full of very bright red blood. Not just crumbs, but what surely felt like the entire three-tiered birthday cake.
Remember, this is the third day. Not the first. Not even the second. It's the third day. I had never, in my life, seen this much blood before. No wonder I had a headache.
It should be noted that I was also at that very moment wearing a SUPER DUPER OB tampon. You know the kind that can stop a tidal wave? The kind that grow so wide and thick inside of you that there is absolutely nothing that is getting by that sucker no matter what? That tampon was completely soaked through. Completely. Absolutely. 100% saturated.
So I sat there contemplating what I was going to do. I had another one of those SUPER DUPER OB tampons in my fanny pack that I just also happened to have with me. So in it went. And I sat there for a few minutes and waited and made sure that there was no more blood and no more surprises and prayed that this was just some freak thing and that everything would be okay.
Bookshop Santa Cruz is one block from the Santa Cruz Post Office. One block. Maybe 300 steps at the most. So I walked over to the Post Office and bought a stamp from the vending machine for the rent check. And while I was standing there (by the way...have you all seen the new nickles? the ones with the Louisiana Purchase on the "b" side? they are very cool) I felt something wet drop on my foot. I looked down and just as I did there went another drop. Of blood. Bright red blood.
I was having my Carrie moment. I looked at my pants and there was blood everywhere. We're not talking just the small little blood stain in the crotch of your pants that you hope and pray only you can see. Oh no, nothing as simple as that small embarassment.
I had blood all over the front and back of my pants. Bright red blood. I looked like someone had stabbed me in the stomach and I just hadn't even noticed. And to make matters even better? It was also dripping down my legs.
Completely and utterly mortified, I walked as quickly as I could back to my house twelve blocks away. For twelve blocks I marched, trying to keep my legs close together so no more blood would go spilling down them. For twelve blocks I tried not to make eye contact with anyone and prayed that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. For twelve blocks the blood stains on my pants grew larger and larger with each step. By the time I got home I might as well have been wearing red pants. There was no distinguishing what color they were when I started. And my migraine had gotten to the point where all I could do was strip off the bloody clothes and lie naked on the couch. A bloody nakedjen writhing on the couch holding her head in pain. Lovely picture, isn't it?
This is the third day. This is not normal. Whatever this is, I know it does not fall into the "normal" category.
This is where you come into the story, dear readers, if you've managed to read this far. My grandmothers are both dead. My own mother had a hysterectomy in her early 30's. I can't see my doctor until the end of July. But I just need to know. What the fuck is happening to my body? Turning 40 can not also mean that your periods suddenly turn into tidal waves of blood that leave you standing in the Post Office with blood literally flowing down your leg. It can't possibly mean that, can it? Because if it does, please shoot me now. I'm done with this whole period business, people. You all can have it. After today, I think I've bled enough for this lifetime and perhaps a few of my lifetimes to come.
And on the third day, I had my Carrie moment. God I hope this isn't a trend.