The Wrong Trousers

The White Trousers are indeed wrong - very wrong.

When I was a teenager going through period hell there are a number of incidents that remain indelibly etched in red in my rather shabby memory.

First was a sponsored walk that was organised by my school every year. You could choose whether you wanted to do the 5, 10 or 20 miles. I had previously done the 5 miles and although I couldn't walk for a week afterwards cos of ankle bleeds I was determined to do the 10 mile the next year with my friends.

However, dodgy joints apart, there was something different about me that year. I had hit puberty - like a truck full of ketchup ramming into a bridge support, there was red stuff everywhere. I was getting used to carrying masses of sanitary towels, feeling like I was in nappies again - and getting taken to the hospital for factor injections or blood transfusions every month.

Needless to say I was a bloody minded 13 year old :) and decided to enrol onto the 10 mile walk against my parents' better advice. With them assuring me that if I needed them I should get one of the Marshalls, posted every few miles around the course, to give them a bell. I'm not going to need that I thought!

Off I set. I seem to remember it was a horrible day. Raining and windy and cold. I was wearing a very untrendy mac and hiking boots. Waterproof trousers would have been useful but I think I thought I was too cool for those - yeh, in that mac!

The course is so designed that there are toilets situated fairly regularly - either public or private at people's houses, opened just for the day of the walks. I used them all. I was no more than two thirds of the way round when I ran out of towels. And I'd taken plenty, I'd thought. I didn't want to give up so I kept going. Walking in the rain. Getting wetter.

It wasn't long before I was aware that my 'nappy' was feeling more and more sodden. I felt uncomfortably duck like in my gait, with a waddle and a bulky posterior. I kept walking. Trying to ignore the leaking sensation, less of a leak more of a deluge by now.

At the next checkpoint I gave in and asked the Marshall to ring my dad. When he arrived I had to use my mac as a seat covering to protect it from the blood that was flooding through my jeans. Dad drove a defeated daughter home.

The next time I specifically recall a leaking incident was the next summer on a Quaker youngsters holiday in York. I was 14. There were probably about 60 of us all staying at the Mount School and having trips out and doing activities and crafts. One morning a large group of us were in a meeting of worship. Sitting in Quakerly silence for half an hour, as we did most mornings. I was wearing a light blue pencil skirt, my favourite, and a blue top.

Part way through this meeting I felt something in the pant department. I was mid-period and wearing a sanitary towel but in those days they were much less efficient at absorbing the blood and it wasn't long before I could sense that the towel was failing in its containment efforts. I wasn't very confident and didn't feel able to get up, walk out of the room and go to the loo to take preventative measures with all my peers sat in silence watching me. I didn't want any attention drawn to myself, so I sat there in the corner, feeling the blood flow and waiting for the meeting to end.

Once it had ended people took their time in leaving. I tried to wait til the room had emptied but I realised by that point I just needed to get out of there. I had no jumper or jacket on to wrap around my waist and conceal my embarrassment so when I stood up one of the lads saw the back of my light blue skirt and said

"Ewww, you've sat in something!"

I made a great show of shock horror, craning my neck to see the offending stain, examining my seat and suggesting offhandedly,

"I must have sat in some chocolate..."

And exited stage left tout suite! Sounds like I was cool about it, but believe me as a girl of 14 who cared what others thought, I was mortified. Hence I suppose that has stayed in my mind ever since.

I don't think I wore anything light coloured after that. Not for years. Not until I was on extreme hormone pill doses which was the only thing that calmed down the bleeding. And that had to be taken continuously because any gaps and bleeding was still horrific.

I always use burgundy coloured sheets - I've been drawn to that colour ever since I first went to college and needed to supply my own sheets. Just recently I've started using white ones and immediately reminded myself why that wasn't a good idea by bleeding all over them from a dicky gum!

So why the white trousers?? Why indeed, uncertain, Helen, anonymous - you are quite right to think me insane.

I bought them about 4 years ago. I was still on continuous hormone replacement therapy and had been for about 15 years. So 15 years with no periods whatsoever. None. Still never bought any white trousers cos you never know when you might scratch yourself on a bramble, or meet with a cat's claw, either of which can cause a good two or three hours of persistent bleeding - more than enough to ruin any white clobber.

I think it was coming up to my wedding and we were planning our honeymoon. I'd gone to Debenhams to look for some holiday clothes and found the trousers. I wouldn't have even tried them on if they weren't in the sale :) But they were and they dazzled me into thinking I'd look glam and gorgeous on my honeymoon, swanning around like a film star in white pants. I forgot my severe bleeding condition in an attempt to be a foxy lady. I bought them.

Wore them once on the moon and immediately spilled red wine or some other such coloured concoction down them. Since then they've pretty much been relegated to the 'wear on holiday if you are going somewhere very posh but not if you're likely to be eating or drinking whilst there' category - i.e. never worn!!

Until this year when the trend for super long tops came back in.

Aha! I now have a couple of tops that are floaty and loooong. Down to mid thigh if not a tad longer. I can wear trousers with my bum concealed. And that to me means I can wear enormous knickers with night-time sanitary towels and no-one will ever know!! Hurrah!!

So. I got out my White Trousers. I've even worn them a couple of times. Admittedly not while I've been mid-period, i.e. most of every month. But I did wear them with said floaty number for a meal out with hubby. And managed to keep them clean.

So why did I wear them last week, when I'd just started bleeding? And with a top barely skimming my buttocks - there I've said it again! What possessed me?? God only knows... All I can say is that I had a handbag bursting with sanitary prods, I kept my back to the toilet door and never ventured more than 3 metres from that door. I went to the loo more often than even I with my toilet addiction normally do and I didn't relax the entire evening, not once. But it was my sister in laws celebratory engagement drinks and if you can't say to hell with it I'm wearing my White Trousers and damn the bloody consequences then, when can you eh??

You gotta rebel sometime, even if it is only in the form of light coloured clothing ;)

X

Mooncupdate...

Cheers! Or perhaps more aptly - Bottoms Up! Or if we're being pernickity - Up Bottom!


Was thinking of taking a 'half full' photo for the celebratory glass of red / cup of red effect. Then realised that would be one blood sodden step too far! This post would already receive an X in the gore ratings but that's without a photo of me hoisting aloft a measure of my own fine vintage.

The news is this. It is 3a.m. and I'm mooning as we speak. I'm cupped up. Cupping myself. Full up with cup. The Mooncup's up! It's up! It's ... no, it's still up and showing no signs of coming down.

Well fancy that.

I was sat, only minutes ago, on my porcelain chair, contemplating my Mooncup. Earlier tonight we were on our way out to celebrate Ade's sister Jackie's engagement - by way of an enormous sign, on a lorry, parked up outside her office window, Bob you are a surprisingly creative chap and many congratulations to you both - when I felt something dribble. Not enough to fill a milk bottle but more than enough for a thimble. Given that I didn't have a thimble the choice was Mooncup or tampon. As we were going to the pub and I was wearing white trousers with a top barely skimming my buttocks (now there's a phrase I've always wanted to use!!) I needed a safe option so plumped for the latter, purely on the basis of experience. Thinking about it now, that was flawed logic based on my history of bloody bottoms.

After two near misses in the pub in the bloody pant department we were back home. On my way to bed I automatically inserted a Super Plus and then thought,

"Really should be trying the cup. That's it," thunk I, "if I'm up in the night" (if I'm up in the night hahaaa that's a wheeze) "I'll pop it in and see what happens."

So back to my porcelain chair at just before 3a.m. I'm sat perusing my Mooncup. It's too big!! I may not be a vestal virgin but it's no Eurotunnel and this baby looks pretty big to me! Hmmm. It looked clean and rubbery and really I didn't want to spoil it or soil it, but what's a trial if you don't use the thing.

I folded it up on itself as instructed and popped it in. Now when I say popped, I really mean shoved. With some resistance of a rubbery nature. Luckily the bleeding was such that once inside it was soggy enough to move into position. The position, that is, I wasn't sure of.

The instructions stated the cup should be worn lower down than a tampon, just inside the entrance to the vagina. Now I think I got it just about in the right spot. I could feel the bottom of the cup just inside and the stalk was poking out for easy removal.

According to a commentator on my last Mooncup post and to the leaflet accompanying the product - which is quite frankly enormous and as weighty as a loaded tampon, but does contain instructions in more languages than the Pope himself speaks - one should trim the stalk of the Mooncup to a comfortable length. Well, I hadn't planned for this middle of the night moment. I had no scissors or other trimming device to hand. Sod it. I'm only going to be horizontal - how proddy can it get?? I'll trim it in the morning.

And here I am, writing this long hand at my dining table at 3.38a.m. thinking "that feels weird." I'm not sure if it's the Mooncup itself . . . in fact, I can feel the Mooncup cup inside me - I presume I'll get used to that. But the stalk is definitely gonna have to go! The actual sensation is less prodding and more reminding me of a time I had a corrugated card contraption inside me to supposedly drain off internal bleeding. It was held in place - i.e. stopped from whooshing up inside me by the force of my vaginal suction :/ - by a carefully positioned baby's nappy pin. This stalky sensation takes me right back there.

My concern will be to leave enough stalk there to enable removal. I could trim it now I'm up and about I suppose, but having scrawled all this down after being unable to sleep, I'd like to get back to my sweet dreams thank you.

I'll leave the trimming and measuring - god, I sound like a Greengrocer, or should that be Redgrocer - til the morning.

Wish me luck.

X


There's 50 points to the person who spots the Fawlty Towers reference.

Many congratulations to Jac and Bob on their engagement - yippee!! xxx

Bleeding Stats for July

Thought I'd stick my pictorial bleeding chart stats on here for your delectation :) This was my 17 day period for July.

Tampons

Heavy 97

Sodden to the point of being past absorption, falls out when string gently pulled, lands like a broken milk bottle, often accompanied by large and frankly revolting looking clots

Medium 26

Some traces of white left on tampon, may be clots hanging on for grim life but not always, takes a little pull to remove

Light 3

Slightly bloody, generally at least half covered, takes a sharp pull to remove, not many of these as you can see

Towels

Heavy 7

Sodden to the point of leaking out all over clothing and causing “ooo I just sat in something brown” embarrassment, feels as heavy as a sandbag in Upton on Severn, requires careful disposal not to promote leakage

Medium 12

Some traces of white left on towel, could squeeze in a few more ml of blood to the super absorbent core if you were really determined

Light 2

Slightly bloody, looks less like road kill has occurred in one’s pant and more like you’re having a fairly normal monthly bleed

How does that compare ladies – am I making a fuss over nothing? Do tell me if I am :)

X

Fly me to the Mooncup

How many moon references can I think of ... I got a few more up my sleeve for future posts, don't you worry :)

I know you've been all excited, checking every day to see if indeed it is a yummy choccy pud, as uncertain suggested. Now that would be good. I'm sure you've not looked it up on Google like I would have ... well, I'll pretend you don't know and go with a big build up - are you ready???

Here it is - the Mooncup:


Oooo pretty isn't it! Love the little baggy and the pink ribbon.

Now what's inside ... is it a lip gloss? A delicate bracelet??

Ok, open the little bag and what's inside - it's a ...

Hmmmm, now what the heck is that?? Is it a plastic tulip? A baby turkey baster? A tiny bucket for removing flood water??

This should make it obvious...


Can you see that? Yes, it's a reusable menstrual cup!
Of course, you cry! I knew that all along!! How perfectly splendid!!!

Apparently they're big in the States according to my friend Helen - but then uncertain hadn't heard of it - or had you myc? My other friend emailed me and told me that she's been using a similar concept - the Keeper, nice name - for 6 years now. That's 6 years without using, without buying any tampons! That sounds good to me - it'll save me a fortune!! She's been recommending them to all her friends.

Here's the facts, as taken from Mooncup.co.uk:

The Mooncup is a reusable menstrual cup around two inches long and made from soft silicone rubber. It is worn internally like a tampon but collects menstrual fluid rather than absorbing. Unlike tampons the Mooncup is not a disposable product, so you only need to buy one.

It's not disposable, you see, you only buy one and re-use it. Re-use it. Hang on a minute ... how does that work??

The Mooncup can be cleaned in the same way as baby equipment: with sterilising fluid, or by boiling for five minutes in an open pan of water.

Oh I seeee ... you just boil it between uses, or stick it in a baby steriliser. How my gonna do that on a Pendolino to London? How my gonna do that at work, "sorry chaps just gotta boil the kettle to swill out my Mooncup". How my gonna do that at home when I can't leave the comfort of the toilet to head to the kitchen for a spot of sterilising because I'll leave the carpet looking like Jack the Ripper's been reincarnated...

You can still use your Mooncup in Public toilets. Simply take a small bottle
of water into the toilet with you and rinse it with this. Alternatively you
can wipe with toilet paper and give your Mooncup a thorough clean at a more convenient time.

Ahhh that's a bit more like it. In fact that's what my friend suggested, although she can get away with wearing hers for 24 hours on the trot generally.

The Mooncup will hold 30ml of fluid, which is roughly one third of the average total produced each period. A light seal is formed with your vaginal walls allowing your menstrual fluid to pass into the Mooncup without leakage or odour. You will probably find that you need to empty your Mooncup less frequently than you currently replace towels or tampons.

The average total produced each period is 60ml - now that's interesting. That's what appeals to me, not only emptying less frequently than I currently replace tampons - sometimes as often as every half hour - but that I can actually measure my blood loss. Does that sound totally weird?? I'm curious. Curious to know just how much I'm actually losing each month. I'm not getting that anaemic - HBC 11.2 (June) and Ferritin 12 - so therefore I can't be bleeding that much, right??

In order for a period to be considered heavy - according to the Mooncup website - one would be losing "80mls+ produced over the whole cycle". Will I be anywhere near that? I think so, knowing my tampon stats but we'll see.

I'm going to give it a go next period - in a week or so if my menstrual calendar is at all predictable, which it usually isn't!! I'm not entirely keen on the cleaning the cup out in the sink bit, or the squatting to get it in and out, or wearing it lower down the vagina than a tampon, or trying to remove it without spilling blood around like a chocolate fountain. But - I do like the idea of using less towels and tampons - from an environmental and economicental and mental point of view, I like the idea of accurately (if my hands are steady and the things not overflowing:) measuring my blood loss, and I like the idea of leaving it in and forgetting about it - maybe being able to walk into town and back without a public toilet dependency, maybe going swimming even??? It's possible apparently.

Wish me luck and send me bathroom cleaning products!

X

My Mooncup runneth over...

I have been given the opportunity to try a Mooncup.

I will use it and to log on my blog how I get on.

Have you heard of the Mooncup? I hadn't.

Do you know what it's for? I didn't.

Has anyone reading this ever tried one??

Please let me know how it was for you...

Who am I again?

Actually, it's not who am I?
Or where do I come from?
Or even - is there anyone out there?

It's more a case of mild curiosity and the Manx cat.

As an adopted person I have never felt any undeniable desires to trace my birth family. I was adopted at about 3 months old and have always felt totally happy and a part of that the family I grew up with. Mum and Dad told me from the very beginning of my memories that I was adopted and I never felt like I didn't know who I was. They made me a scrapbook to explain where I came from - how I'd flown over from the Isle of Man and how they'd come and picked me up from a children's home in Frodsham.


My brother who was also adopted had a different background and birth family to mine. He was adopted at the age of three and so had a history prior to coming to live with us. He never seemed as comfortable or settled in our extended family. He had been taken in and then rejected a number of times before coming to be with us and I believe that affected his ability to trust those who were supposed to care for him. I think he felt like he was obviously different and found it hard to accept this new family at face value. He looked into his background as a teenager and traced his birth family over time, becoming close to them and developing relationships - these weren't always easy but helped him understand himself I think. This in turn has perhaps led to an acceptance and appreciation of the parents and family that brought him up?

My lack of desire to find out about my birth family was purely a sign of my sense of belonging to my new family life and a happy childhood. We had a fair few problems to handle but I felt that I had a strong and loving family, dedicated to each other and of which I was very much a part.

When I hit 21 I remember thinking maybe now would be a good time to look into my past, where I came from. It was a milestone. I was in my final year at university and had plenty of family and friends to support my quest for information. However something stopped me moving from thought into action. That, thinking back, was Hepatitis C. I had found out in 1991 at the age of 17 that I had the virus and whilst it had not affected me at all and life was continuing as if I'd never heard of the virus, I felt like I couldn't look up my birth family and say:

"Hello, it's me, your long lost daughter - and by the way, not only have I got a severe bleeding disorder but I've also got hepatitis C - now you gonna make me a cup of tea or what . . ."

This was enough to put me off the idea and to get on with life and what that threw at me. Again there were no feelings of dissatisfaction or of incompleteness, I suppose I had other things on my mind.

This year I have again been having health problems, both bleeding and chronic fatigue. I have had more time off, which has given me time to think about my future and surprisingly this had led to me thinking about my past.

I've realised the longer I leave finding out about my birth parents, the lower the chances of finding them - who knows what's happened to them, where their lives have taken them over the years. It's not as simple as looking them up on the internet and getting an address and bobbing on round. Or is it?

I've acknowledged that I am curious about them. Purely in terms of - will there be any family resemblances? My adoptive family share many features and personality traits which link them together - I do miss that, is there someone out there with my nose? My dodgy sense of humour? Or in fact if I did find anyone would my upbringing have influenced my life so very much that we actually had very little in common - except for perhaps the nose?

The point is I don't know. And I'm coming to the realisation that I can actually find out if I put my mind to it. And it might take months, it might take years, but at least then the pieces will all have been fitted together - even if there are some missing and maybe I never want to do the jigsaw again.

Dream Ending?

We are standing outside a court building. The doorway is carved stone and dominates the building. There is a group of us. It's not clear who I'm with but it's not mum and dad or Ade, men I don't recognise.

Someone approaches through the doors to the court. He looks official, he is wearing a suit, carrying a folder. I recognise him but can't put a name to his face right now. He comes over to us. "The results are back", he says.

"What did they say?" someone asks.

"They are awarding compensation," he states.

There is a collective sigh of relief. The tension, which I had not noticed until now, dissipates.

He continues, "There are conditions. If you got the letter suggesting you might have received blood products contaminated with vCJD then you will be compensated. Otherwise not."

"What?" I am confused. "There were two letters, what if you got the other one - saying there was a risk of you getting vCJD from your treatment?"

"No compensation if you got that letter, only if you got the other one."

I ask, "What if you got the second letter but still go on to develop vCJD?"

"That won't happen," he responded. "According to the medical experts if you had received contaminated blood you would have been ill by now. Therefore you won't get ill in the future, so they have not made plans for long term compensation."

"That doesn't make any sense! Those who had the first letter aren't ill, so they obviously haven't got vCJD either! Why compensate some for the knowledge that they might have received it, but not others who have the same knowledge - when as you say neither group will actually get ill." My voice is raised, I bang my fist against my chest, "What about me!"

I feel dizzy and it seems the scene in front of me is receding at the speed of light. My vision goes black and I feel myself falling onto my knees. My head is down on the floor in front of me and my arms are wrapped around my head. I am wailing. Uncontrollably keening a lament. Mourning a death - I cannot stop. I hurt like I have been pierced with a shaft of light. I am being ripped apart on the pavement.

I force myself awake but the torment lingers on.