Tag Archives: periods

PMS, Period Diarrhea, and The Missing Tampon String

This morning I got my period. This isn’t usually a pleasant experience for anyone, but for me it’s particularly bad. The week leading up to my period, I get PMS, which stands for: “I am a fragile baby animal with many emotions”. Once, in the throes of PMS, I sat on the kitchen floor crying because we ran out of peanut butter. Two nights ago, PMS reared its ugly head and I sobbed to Boyfriend that I had no friends and our cat didn’t even like me even though I literally only adopted him so that I could have a friend. In addition to my breakdowns, I get period-diarrhea, headaches, cramps, and several times throughout the day I have to peek inside my pants because I think my period started when it actually hasn’t. I imagine my uterus snickering, “Made you look!” every time this happens.

When my period finally hits, the first day is like full-on periodgeddon. The diarrhea comes full force, chunky blood (yes, I said chunky) gushes out of me like Niagara Falls, and my uterus cramps so bad I can do nothing but ingest a ton of extra-strength ibuprofen and curl into fetal position (THIS IS SADLY NOT AN EXAGGERATION). Today is no different. Except now I have a cat. He’s usually kind of a douche but he was very loving today, which turned out to be weird when I sat on the toilet letting the diarrhea flow and he jumped onto my lap, purring. I was torn between being grossed out or touched but he was too happy to move so I let it happen.

Anyway, I’m writing this post because I was g-chatting Boyfriend while he was at work, relaying every gruesome detail about my nether regions with a sadistic pleasure. He offered to get me more tampons because I was running out, so I sent him a picture of the EXACT box (Playtex/Sports/Super+Regular) that I wanted lest he become lost in the tampon aisle. I told him I believed in him before excusing myself to change my tampon. In the bathroom, I couldn’t find the tampon string. This happens occasionally, and normally it’s squished up against my vagina. But this time was different. This time it took me a minute to discover there was no string. Meaning, there was only one place to look. INSIDE MY BLOODY VAGINA. When this realization struck me, I cried. Then I texted my mother and sister calmly stating, “I CANT FIND MY TAMPON STRING HELP ME”. I then g-chatted my boyfriend updating him on the terrifying turn this day took (panicked, he asked if I should go to the doctor, but after consulting the interwebs I informed him tampons are too big to fit through the cervix, duh, so the only place it could be was my vagina and the only way to get it was to dig around and aren’t you glad you’re a man?!). Knowing what was coming, I stood in the bathroom crying “fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck nononononono”. I really didn’t want to dig around for this stupid fucking tampon. It’s not like it would harm me to do so. It’s just that at that moment, the thought of sticking a fist into my bloody vaginal depths made me feel a little nauseous. I accept that I’m a wimp.

After many minutes of a self-pep-talk, I finally bit the bullet. My fingers plunged in (it wasn’t nearly as nice as the last time my fingers were in there) and searched around for a while until I finally grasped the string. And, as I pulled it, I discovered the end of the string was burrowed into my butt crack. What a beautiful ending to the story. When my hand emerged from down below and I threw the vindictive tampon away, I looked as if I had plunged my hand into somebody’s chest and ripped out their heart. Now I know what it would look like if I had tried to stop someone from bleeding out. I vigorously washed my hands as my cat sat in the corner wondering who the fuck I had just murdered. People make fun of me for preferring pads but this NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED if I was wearing a pad. Ugh. I’m ready for a hysterectomy.

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