Sunday Bloody Sunday

Yes, it's that time again. Time for me to discuss periods. 

Bye bye male readers! Yes, even my newest one, Howard. The lot of ya, clear outta here for now. I have become obsessed with Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. We'll discuss that later on in the week. Take care.

Okay women. Here's the deal: I know I tend to blather on about my period and my tampons and yes, sometimes my vagina way too much. But that's because I spend so much time with all of them. Seriously. I feel as if I either have my period, just got done having it or am about to get it. 

And lately, it's been a doozy. Take tonight, for instance. 

I bought a computer from a high school friend. She got it in some settlement and had no need for it, and is trying to raise some cash for a trip. We don't have a desktop anymore, and it would be nice to have one in the mancave for the boys to look at boobies online do homework. She gave it to me for a song. Win/win. 

Anyway. So we're standing in the parking lot of this coffee place where we made the exchange, gabbing and catching up, when I felt it. Ladies? You know that feeling? For a second, you think, "Okay. Maybe I'm just peeing a little." And then it becomes blatantly obvious that no, this isn't a little tinkle. This was a hemorrhage. In a parking lot. During a conversation.  I was grateful for the dim lighting so my friend didn't see the color drain from my face as every ounce of blood in my body seeped into the crotch of my yoga pants.

And what do you do in this kind of situation? I haven't seen this chick for 29 years. Do I say, "OMG that's so funny. Listen, I have to cut this short because there is a Red River flowing in my undies. Thanks for the computer! Take care!"? I mean, with my close hens it would be no big thang. They know I am She Who Bleeds Like Pig. We'd probably joke about it, after I got back from staunching the flow with one of my giant wiffle bat-sized tampons.

But this was awkward. We continued to stand there, talking about old classmates and our dogs and t.v. shows (funny how that always comes up with me) as I felt a spreading warmth in my nethers. Had we stood there much longer, I fear there would have been a dripping noise, like a faulty faucet. She would have stopped talking and said, "Weird. Do you hear that??" and I would have been all, "Um..no. I hear nothing" as I slowly walked, backwards, towards my car.

That didn't happen, of course. We wrapped up our chat, and I lugged the computer to my car. I wasn't prepared for the horror that awaited me as I folded myself into the front seat: 

I squelched. 

My soaked pants actually made a squelching sound. I know my bar of disgustingness is set pretty low, but this was bad even for me. I've never made sounds before, for God's sake.

I drove home in a tense hurry, the interior of my small car smelling more like a slaughterhouse with every minute that passed. Once home, I booked into the bathroom as a chorus of inquisitive young voices followed me: "Mom, did you get my text? I want ice cream!" and "Where is the computer?" and "Why didn't you answer my text about the ice cream?". Really, kids? Not a mention of my vampire-like pallor? The fact that I was walking as if I had a bowling ball between my legs? The sharp odor of copper that wafted behind me? Thanks, children. Thanks so much for your concern.

So, my question to you ladies is, have any of you gone through this? This monthly explosion that leaves the bathroom looking like Dexter's kill room? I've had it. I'm done! I mean, what if this had happened while I was working? It's one thing to start gushing in a dark parking lot, quite another thing if I'd been in the middle of a room full of pre-kindergarteners. "Miss Jenny! You got an owie!". I can't just run out of the classroom.."Okay kids, I'll be right back! Don't sit on the couch until Miss Jenny calls the janitor!". A lone little boy would be off in the corner, index finger pointed in front of his face yelling out "REDRUM! REDRUM!" It would be like a bad 80's slasher movie. "The Day the Children Saw Red" or "Teacher's Bloody Pet". This cannot happen, my friends. 

Obviously, I need to discuss this issue with my gyno. I'm woefully overdue for a visit (but yay for finally having decent health insurance!) so that's on my To Do list for tomorrow. I'm kind of looking forward to hearing about how I could probably stand to lose a couplety dozen pounds, plus it's been so long since anyone has asked me to "scoot down just a bit". If I squint, it will be like a date. I will probably even shave my legs. Yes, definitely like a date. I'm almost excited.

I've discussed this gross condition with several captive people friends. Some have gone the ablation route, wherein a molten hot metal rod is inserted alllll the way up into the uterus and the lining is literally burned off. One friend who had this procedure done said her husband was waiting at her bedside when she woke up. She asked him if everything went okay and he said, "I guess so. But I smell burnt chicken. What's up with that?".  Yes, she's still married to him.

The ablation option is intriguing. But the thought of burning any part of my body, especially a part that is so crotchy, well...yikes.

Another friend keeps telling me to get an IUD put in. I've heard horror stories about these though, the most recent was on my friend Kristen's blog. That scares me.

Other people have suggested going on the Pill, but hello, I'm a board-certified hypochondriac. Plus I'm over 40. That's a recipe for disaster. Like I don't have enough to worry about? 

All I know is, I can't continue down this road. As much as I love Kotex, I'm growing weary of spending money on their cottony goodness every month. And obviously, even my beloved Super Pluses aren't cutting it anymore. I'm beginning to look at the pads for my Swiffer Wet Jet with morbid curiosity. This will not end well.

And on that note, I'm off to put a tarp on my bed and call it a night. Sleep well, and I apologize in advance for any Shining-like nightmares.