*** Trigger Warning – mentions sexual assault and precocious puberty as it pertains to the menstrual cycle which some readers may find graphic in detail
Prelude To A Medical Examination
It took a little over a year before my mother finally gave in to taking me to a doctor about my menstrual problems. By this point, I was 11 and in 6th grade. My mother was buying me double the amount of sanitary pads that she would normally purchase for me because of the heavy bleeding. The bleeding was so heavy that I soaked through my clothing, bed sheets, and the numerous sweaters and jackets I wrapped around me when I had accidental leaks. I was a bloody mess.
There was no where that I was safe, and the only great thing about my menstrual cycle were the small intervals of breaks I would have when not having a cycle. I absolutely hated my period. I hated it! My entire life had to be planned around the flow of blood. When “Flo” showed up, as I so unlovingly named my menses, she would always bring her friends, Heavy Flo, Clotty Flo, and Painful Flow. Together, these “Flos” limited my activities and limited my mobility. I was so glad when my mother finally took me to the doctor.
Prior to the doctor’s visit, however, I had to become very crafty. One too many accidents would constantly have me sitting outside the principal’s office dangling my short legs on the bench waiting to call home. The fact that I was constantly calling home for these accidents seemed to annoy the office secretary and my parents. Yet, despite their annoyance over the inconvenience of having to attend to me and the issue of blood, no one was more annoyed than me. I was constantly bleeding.
Because I was at the office so much, the secretary actually assumed that I was faking until she would see the seat of my pants. Then her eyes and face would glow in a variety of shades that looked like embarrassment and concern. I had to wonder if she ever thought that something was wrong with me. I wondered why even the school nurse had not bothered to check me out either. Everyone went about their lives, and there was no other girl that I knew that seemed to have this problem. If any girl did have this problem, no girl ever spoke to me about it (until much later).
Bloody Thoughts In The Classroom
Anyway, to be crafty, I had to pad myself up. Unfortunately, some teachers were simply ignorant about when female students took purses or small bags with them to the restroom, it often did not have anything to do with putting on makeup or doing anything that prolonged their stay inside the restroom. It was more or likely that their menstrual cycle had come, and they were trying to save themselves from walking out of the classroom with a sanitary pad or tampon in their hand. Yet, many teachers did not allow girls to take their purses with them.
Now, in my current life and state of mind, I balk at this fact when it comes to female teachers. Not to shame anyone who is a teacher, but I have to wonder why it is that so many female teachers seem to forget that they were once girls having hang-ups about their periods too. Puberty is no easy feat, and topping that off with the struggles of coping with being a middle school student or high school student does not make it any easier either.
For the life of me, I cannot get past even now that there are only allotted times that a student can go to the restroom during class, during the week, during the month, or even during the school year. I understand safety protocols, and I understand teachers not wanting to have the flow of their lessons disrupted, but it annoys me that there is never any thought about the developmental process and the overall humanity of students who have bodies that are not quite like those of adults’.
Girls bleed. Girls bleed through clothing. Girls become self-conscious about the fact that they bleed and bleed through their clothing. It is an often traumatizing and humiliating experience that I do not wish upon anyone to have to sit in a classroom with blood on the pants and then have to get up during class feeling grate shame and embarrassment of having to walk in front of classmates.
In fact, I had years of stress regarding just this. When I was able to work and buy my own clothing during high school, I began dressing in black to keep from blood stains appearing anywhere on my clothing. The color black not only became my favorite clothing for my attire, the color black was consistently my only color for attire simply because of the fear of visible blood stains. Although this may seem gross, it is a fact of some girls’ lives when dealing with their periods.
Nevertheless, I got around the caveat of bloody attire by simply padding myself up. I would literally wear fresh pads around my body so that I would always have them on hand. I would open them up and wear them in both the front and back of my underwear, in my pockets, and in my tights near the leg parts of my socks. Yes, I would wear both socks and tights for the easy insert of pads. The pads would be near the calf part of my tights, and the socks would hold them in place so that they would not slide up my legs. A few times, I would stretch the pads out in my shoes. Again, I was quite inventive [because I had no bloody choice].
I always wore a jacket or sweater in class as well, and whichever I chose to wear, I never took off. Either of the two garments always came in handy in case of an accidental blood leak. I could also stuff sanitary pads in the jacket or sweater pockets just in case. These and a few other unmentioned maneuvers were just ways of getting around the obstacles that teachers unknowingly created for me with their rules about going to the restroom. Plus, did I mention that the flow I experienced was just that heavy?
Blood: Always On My Mind
Although it may sound as if I had all of this together, I really did not. I was constantly thinking of ways to protect myself and make life bearable with my period. My waking thoughts and nightly thoughts were focused on having a successful day in spite of my heavy periods. All I did was plan and think about how to avoid an accident and keep myself padded all day long. All of that thinking and planning actually kept me from paying attention to my education. Although I was an extremely intelligent student, no middle school teacher ever truly knew the academic intelligence I possessed because of my lack of focus in class.
No teacher ever bothered to find out why I was not focused without always turning their interests to the obvious. I received tons of comments that were often based on me being a “sweet and quiet student but mediocre at best” or “has potential but applies no effort” or even “seems out to lunch most of the time – daydreams – never pays attention”. The teachers never even bothered to refer me to the school counselor either. To be honest, I really do not have a clue what teachers were thinking in regards to me or if they were thinking of me at all.
I just knew that I had to do what I had to do to survive. For a time, I was seemingly popular among certain girls – particularly in 7th and 8th grade because of me being so young to have had a period. To even the bulk of girls in school, I was “that girl” that was whispered about in terms of having a period before I had even reached middle school when most girls were barely starting. Yet, no one had a clue that I struggled daily to keep myself sane and that I bled almost daily while attempting to do so.
Now that I look back on this time, I can only reason to think about how much I did accomplish while in middle school and how much I did learn. Neither of those accomplishments and learning tasks had anything to do with core class subjects. For instance, how smart was I to have figured out ways to keep from bleeding everywhere? How mathematically timed was I to know when my flow might be the heaviest and during which class? How much comprehension did I have to know about the female reproductive system and ace my health tests on these topics without ever cracking open my health book?
No one had a clue of my abilities. No one knew my daily struggles. Plus, it did not help that I had a narcissist for a mother who made those times just as difficult by making sure to buy me the lightest colored pants possible (khakis, beige, or even white) despite my protests and tears. I believe she did this because she seemed to get off on my humiliation even though she complained about having to pick me up from school for the accidental leaks.
A few times, my parents would leave me at school to sit and wait while I am in my bloody bottoms. I would be waiting in agony as they would finally stroll up as if I was inconveniencing them. Once, my male principal had to give me a ride home because I had stained his chair! I was humiliated beyond belief, and my shame could not be hidden.
I thought my struggles would end when I finally reached the doctor, but it appeared that God, life, or the universe had other plans.
Stay tuned for the next post.
My Voice Unchained 