My Resignation

Day 12 of 16:  Writer’s Digest Writer’s Prompt Workshop

After years of unhappiness, you’ve finally had enough and have decided to quit—but we’re not talking about your job. Write a letter of resignation to someone other than your employer—your school, your family, your favorite sports team, etc. 

Dear Flo,

You and I are done.  We have been “friends” since I was 14 years old and I just can’t take you anymore.  From day one you have caused me tremendous pain.

I thought as we matured, you would improve.  Behave better, treat me with kindness.  But no.  You wouldn’t give me a break.  Even though we only saw each other about a dozen times a year, you couldn’t treat me with respect?  You couldn’t just come and hang out?  No, you had to make yourself known.  You were loud.  You were obnoxious.  You were cruel.  Everyone knew you were here, even when I tried to keep you under wraps.

You embarrassed me more than once.  At school, at work, out in public, anywhere you could.  I don’t know why I put up with you for so long.  Actually, that’s not true.  I know why…because I needed you.  I was dependent on you.  As much as I loathed you, I respected you on some level, you were essential.  Without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

I have a confession to make…I used you.  I got what I wanted and then disposed of you.  You see, I saw a doctor about you and it turns out, you were bad for my health.  We both agreed that you needed to be terminated.

So goodbye Flo, I wish I could say it was nice.  But to be honest with you, it just really wasn’t.  I happily say goodbye to embarrassing moments, cramping, bloating, anemia, hemorrhaging and pain.

Now I can wear white any day of the month, I no longer need to count out my vacation days around you, and I can say goodbye to those ugly long sweaters that covers all that is happening below the belt.

Enjoy your after-life.  Wherever that may be.  I really don’t care, as long as it isn’t here with me.  It was nice while it lasted.  No, no, it wasn’t.  I don’t know why I said that.


One Happy, Non-Menstruating Woman


My Cup Runneth Over


A cup for your vagina.  A cup.  To collect your menstrual flow.  And it’s one size fits all.  Even though I’m sure uteruses (or is it uteri?) come in all shapes and sizes.  And it claims you can wear it for up to 12 hours during any activity.  ANY activity.  Yup.  Even that.

I wasn’t quite sure how one would remove a softcup from their vagina because there isn’t a string.  Then I looked it up.  You have to insert your finger up into your hoo-hoo until you hit your pubic bone, then grab it with your finger and pull down.  But be careful.  You don’t want to spill the contents of your cup.  I can tell you with certainty that this would be a major fail for me.  Since I can’t get through the day without spilling something.  Just ask DH.

How do you dispose of your collection?  You pour it into the toilet.  Because it’s a cup.  A cup for the vagina.  Just like any other cup.  Red solo cup, sippy cup, vagina cup.

Did I mention it’s reusable?  “They” say you can wear one cup for an entire menstrual cycle.  So a box should last over a year.  We are saving the earth one vagina cup at a time.

I read that these have been around for 10 years.  How did I not know that?  I guess I missed the boat on that one.  Or, er, the cup.


The Belt

Yesterday I told of my daughter’s special gift of my leftover “incidentals.”  Well, at least they had a sticky strip to make her life easier.  Would you like to hear about MY hand-me-down?

Hysterectomies run in my family.  A tradition that runs 4 generations deep on my maternal side.  Anyway, when my mom lost her “womanhood”, she left me a nice surprise but I wouldn’t find out about it until it was too late.  Believe me, if I had known it would have accidentally died in a fire.

Mother Nature showed up when I was 14, sitting in my room, on the floor, doing a puzzle.  My mother was at work.  My father was home.  Oh God.

I called my mom in total panic mode.  She instructed me to go to the hall closet.  In the said closet on the top shelf is where it was, cobwebs and all.  What I pulled down completely had me puzzled.


What is it?  A headband? A dog collar?  I could only wish.  For those of you who don’t know, it’s called a Sanitary Belt.  Honestly, I think it was a hand me down from HER mother.  And the pad I had to use?  It looked like it was made for a menstrating elephant.  Never mind an 80 pound teenage girl child.  Once I figured it out and got it on, it flopped about until dad drove me to the nearest pharmacy where he made ME go in and get some supplies.

Well, 30 years and many therapy sessions later, I’m over it.  And whatever became of the belt?  It’s hanging in the Smithsonian.  Right next to the torture rack.


When the kid was about 2, my monthly visitor Flo, started getting a bit too heavy for my taste.  I could get graphic, but I will spare you the bloody details.

It only took about 10 years for my OB to realize that my fibroid was the “first I’ve ever seen in my 30 year career.”  It had faster growth than Arnold Schwarzenegger on steroids.

These were my choices:  medication that would catapult me into early menopause (having bamboo shoots rammed under my nail beds seemed more appealing) or a hysterectomy.  The good doctor thought I should think it through, talk to the hubby.  Yeah right.  My hubby isn’t the one with the tumor the size of Mount Vesuvius, which by the way,  oozed less than I did.  I immediately replied with a “let’s rip ‘er out.”  No thought necessary.

I think I was most surprised by everyone’s reaction.  I thought for sure they’d all be as happy as I was.  I felt like I did when I first learned of my pregnancy.  I couldn’t wait to share the news.  DH thought I should get a second opinion and some thought I would be hurled into a depression.

Well, the second opinion?  Thanks, honey, but if you’ve removed one uterus, you’ve removed them all.  This isn’t brain surgery.  And depression?  I had one person send me a link to a Dr. Oz show on just this thing.  Give me a break.  I was more depressed when they stopped airing “Thirty Something.”

So, I had a Bon Voyage party for my period and on April 7, 2010 my tumor and lady parts were removed and deposited into the nearest dump.  I kid you not — I was the happiest I have been EVER!  As far as all the incidentals I still had: I wrapped them up in a pretty bow and gave them to my daughter as a gift.  She didn’t appreciate it.  Ingrate.