Thursday, 28th July 2005
My rebellious womb
Last night I had a dream that I was at a house round the corner belonging to friends of my flat-mate. The man of the house asked me if my cats were chipped, to which I replied yes and he asked if I had a sensor for them. As he asked, he tapped his chest by his heart and told me that when he got his cats chipped, he was given an implant in his heart which told him if his cats were hurt. “I don’t have one of those”, I said. He looked at me so sadly and said, “I thought not, or you’d know - your cats are dead, I can feel it here”, and he once more tapped his heart. I immediately burst into tears and sobbed so hard into my hands and at that moment, my alarm clock went off, so I awoke, with my body in shudders and such an overwhelming feeling of loss inside of me.
It wasn’t a good start to the day; I should have stayed in bed.
About 1/2 hour after I arrived at work, I started getting really bad period pains which suddenly took a nosedive into extreme pain. I ended up throwing up, having diarrhoea, running a fever, sweating, shivering, having excruciating pain from my abdomen down to my knees, impaired vision, nearly passing out and just generally writhing about on the floor in agony. Apparently I was a beautiful shade of grey too. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though I had myself a nice case of TSS. Viva la fucking mooncup, eh?
A little while into the episode, I removed my treacherous mooncup and after about 45 minutes of the above, I finally gave in and let one of the women call NHS Direct to see what they recommended. They said the emergency room and so an ambulance was called for this here anti-doctor wench. By the time the paramedics had arrived, I had shit out and vomited up everything that was inside of me and the pains had subsided dramatically. Now came the task of explaining the mooncup…
The paramedics were really, really, really nice but, unsurprisingly, had never heard of the mooncup. They’d also never heard of HPV and I felt like I had to inform them because when you have a virus that hates your womany-bits and your womany-bits go apeshit with pain, there’s probably more than a hypothetical link going on.
By the time I got to the hospital I really didn’t feel so bad at all - as suddenly as the symptoms came, they receded. Luckily for me though, I have a conscience that searches for guilt at every available moment and I therefore managed to feel really bad because I was at UCH which is where all the bombing victims got taken. “Don’t you think these people have better things to do than deal with your freak reaction to a mooncup?” browbeat I. “Well yes”, said the nurse to a slightly differently phrased question, “but it is better to be safe than sorry.”
So eventually the doctor came and I said, “look, I’m sorry to bother you, I feel much better now, but earlier it looked as though I might have TSS.” “What?” he snapped. Hmm, thought I, either he didn’t understand me or he’s pissed that I gave a self-diagnosis. “Well”, I said humbly, looking to the colleague for support, “I just mean that I had all the symptoms of TSS.” “Yes, but what’s that?” he said. My head snapped back to my colleague to check her eyes were as wide as mine (they were) and so I set about explaining what Toxic Shock Syndrome was, ending with a floppy, “and, you know, it can be fatal and all…”
Basically, just as in my normal, healthy life I attract deranged men, in my unhealthy life, I attract wackjob doctors who don’t know what the fuck they are talking about. (Remember my blue balls anyone?) Instead of discussing TSS, even as simply as a dismissal, he completely ignored the idea and made me lie down as he prodded my painful stomach some and then did a throat inspection. He sent me home with a prescription for some antibiotics and a dual diagnosis of gastroenteritis and tonsillitis.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
He also informed me that I’m not pregnant, which was such a relief because I remembered the freeze dried sperm I had secreted by my left ovary and wondered if it had mixed with my womb juice to make a magic baby in my mooncup.
On the way home, there was a points failure on the rail network, so I had to wait over an hour at London Bridge for a train. In that hour there was some kind of alert and the platform got flooded by police. Also in that hour, one of the passengers got really annoyed at the wait and started verbally attacking the station staff culminating in racist abuse being hurled at the Asian staff member. Go London. I do so love your spirit.
I don’t know what the matter with me is/was, but I do know this - I do not have tonsillitis or gastroenteritis. I also know that I will not be using my mooncup again. I know too that I have to get myself registered with a GP so as I can get a pap/smear pretty fucking pronto.
It’s nearly 7pm now and I am wondering if anything else is going to happen? Currently I just have flu-like symptoms with swollen glands, bad period pains and I feel nauseous if I put anything in my belly. I am consoling myself by kissing the fluffy and bald bellies of my non-dead cats.
Monday, 25th July 2005
The Mooncup
I haven’t talked about my bloody cunt for quite some time, so I declare today rectification day. Tune out now if you are scared.
I’ve been making my own cunt juice mopper uppers for quite a few years and watched my periods get noticably shorter and lighter for some reason. As well as the reduced flow, I’ve been generally happy with my towelling lovelies, but they are rather raggedy now and I haven’t gotten around to making some more of them. In the interest of flat-mate harmony, I have refrained from using them and leaving them, in all their ratty glory, hanging from the washing line or bathroom radiator to dry. Therefore, I have been reduced to using disposable sanitary towels and feeling mighty annoyed about it.
Well not anymore! For sitting snug in my canal of love is a mooncup and my, was that a giggle trying to get it up there. Some might say that I need to get out more but frankly I found the whole experience of trying to shove a rubber cup up my cunt completely hilarious. Well, hilarious apart from when I accidentally pinched my love lips with it. Ouch!
I heard of the keeper ages ago, but never bought it because I was happy with my home-made nappies and also because I didn’t want to have something up me when my blood was coming out of me. Something felt backwards about that. However, as I noted, things change and I came across the mooncup very recently and so here I am trying it out and finding the whole experience rather refreshing.
Truth be told, I instantly feel much freer than when using either mine or the man’s towels. There’s none of that back-of-your-head wondering if your towel is making a lump on your arse for a start. And like woah! I can feel the seat beneath my cheeks and I no longer have to worry about the man’s towel accidentally folding back on itself and attaching itself to my pubes. All hail the end of accidental waxing.
It felt uncomfortable when I finally got it up me ol’ cunty, so I removed it and cut off some of the stem and it feels fine now. It made a funny squelchy noise as I got rid of the suction and then made a small pop as I freed it from me which, because I am a juvenile, saw me collapse into a fit of hysterics. All I can say is that I am glad I am testing this out on a light day since I could have made a right mess all over my bedroom floor if I were heavy. Yes, I know I should be doing this in the bathroom but I already freaked the flat-mate out with it once today and he is cooking and the kitchen is next to the bathroom and I’ve a loud laugh. Earlier he came into the kitchen as I was boiling it and asked me what it was. I explained and said, “but don’t worry, I’ll buy a special saucepan for the next time I need to boil it, you know, after I’ve used it and all.” “Hmmm”, he said nervously, “I wish I hadn’t asked.” I bet you do sunny jim, I bet you do.
I shall be talking more about this silicone grail me thinks, because there is a knack to it that I just don’t have. I think that women who use tampons would find it easier to insert or maybe, like most things that require manual dexterity, I’m just shit at it. (I’m remembering my dilemma over the correct size of sea sponge to insert.) I am slightly concerned that my natural clumsiness will mean that I constantly shower myself with blood upon removal and even though the idea of that makes me cackle like the witch I wish I was, I just don’t think it is feasible to be blood splattered on a regular basis. If any of you use the mooncup or the keeper, do you have some tips for this clumsy wench?
Curiously, as I was fumbling with my magic grail, Nimbus emerged in the window of the house next-door and started howling. Lord knows what that was about, but the room is right next to my bedroom so he better not have been broadcasting my antics to the local feline population. I’m no menstrual porn star, thank you very much.