As Lilu always says: ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
Before I get started, there are a few thoughts I need to get off my chest (as if I didn’t do enough of that yesterday.) I skipped last week’s TMI post, not because I am out of awkward, embarrassing, situations to share with you- but due to the fact that I’ve been thinking a little bit about how much I’ve shared… or rather, over-shared in the past. I’ve said it a thousand times before, but for the most part-I don’t care much if people judge me for what I post here. It’s my life, these things have happened…. similar things have happened to everyone, (right?!?!) just not everyone is willing to share them with you. And maybe they are smarter for it.
I recently got into a conversation with one of my best guy friends about my blog. I rarely talk to my real life friends about what I post, mostly because while I’m glad they are reading, I sometimes like to pretend that they don’t know all of my deepest thoughts and the crazy things I think about daily. My friend told me that from a guy’s (his) point of view-my TMI posts have sometimes gone a little too far… I’m not saying he is right, but seeing as though more than half of my readers come to my site from Facebook, (I don’t know who you are, only where you come from) and 99.5% of my Facebook friends are friends and family that I know in real life, I’m not always so sure I want these people reading about my periods and “accidents” and past hookups. Not that it really matters what I want, if they want to- it’s out there. But still, it’s just something that I’ve been pondering ever since I went public with my blog. On the other hand though, I love reading other people’s stories… and I’m a very open person, so chances are I would tell you these things in person anyway.
Anyway, it’s just something I have been thinking about… but not enough to quit these oh-so-fun posts altogether, because who am I? Yeah, I thought so. But I do apologize if I have offended you in any way, and if that’s the case… then don’t read it!
So today’s post IS actually one of the periodo category, but an innocent one. But still quite embarrassing.
Fella’s, feel free to make your exit now if this makes you uncomfortable. Or anyone else for that matter. (I wouldn’t like John Cusack reading this after all.)
You may rememeber the traumatic experience that I had when I first started at a very young age. If you don’t feel like clicking and reading (you lazy ass) I’ll give you the short version.
Basically, I started the summer that I turned 10 while I was on vacation visiting family. By myself. I had no idea what a period was, and I basically thought that I was dying from some kind of weird cancer that made me poo out the wrong hole. It was terrifying, really.
So a few years later when I was going into the 8th grade, I was still quite innocent about the whole “woman-hood” experience. I was really getting into dance and had just made the cheer leading squad.
All of you ladies know that pads are just the devil, especially when it comes to any kind of physical activity. Plus they are just gross. Who wants to sit around on their junk all day? Anyways, I won’t get into that now, but at the time I was still (like most young girls) in the pad-stage.
Because I was having to wear tights and a leotard to my dance classes and bloomers with my cheer leading uniform, my mother decided it was time to grad-ee-ate to ye ole tampon. Another notion that to a 12 year old, was really just too much to take in. I remember sitting there, reading the instructions on the back of the box, not being able to fathom actually conquering the task.
After a few failed attempts at insertion, I finally had to ask my mom for assistance. After some detailed instruction and a few more failed attempts, the task was finally done.
Some may say that you become a woman when you start your period, I think it is really when you put in your first tampon. HURRAHHH!! I was a proud woman.
For a few hours, that is.
After a few uncomfortable hours, it was inevitably time to take it out, and attempt the whole procedure again… this time with hopes that I could actually do it with ease. So I went into the bathroom with my confidence in store. I found the little stringy thing and gave it a tug.
I tried again.
Wouldn’t come out.
You know that feeling you get when you walk out on the alligator pier at the zoo and you stick your head between the gates to get a better look at the alligators and then your head gets stuck in between the bars, and you are for sure you are going to get eaten as an afternoon snack???
Well I do. And it’s scary. This wasn’t quite as scary, but it was still up there.
To make a long story short, I cried once again to my mother, (my poor mom) who (I will spare you the details) basically had to remove it for me. And it wasn’t an easy task.
We knew something wasn’t right with the situation, so a few days later my 12 year old self had my very first appointment with the gyno. Not. Fun.
I still remember that appointment as being one of the most uncomfortable hours of my life, and I partially blame that day on my fear of doctors. Sooooo… he (yes, he) checked out the lady bits, and afterward called my mother and I into his office for a meeting. I was as nervous as a fat girl waiting to be picked for the kickball team, and I unfortunately know this feeling from experience too.
“Well, it seems that since she started her period so early, the um, hole, was not completely developed.”
“Yes, when it is time for a girl to start her menstrual cycle, the skin over the hole falls off, hers only partially fell off- which has made it impossible to wear tampons.”
(I’m sure he said this all in a way more “doctor-ly” manner, but this is how I remember it, sue me.)
At this point he drew me a little diagram of a circle with a line straight through the middle of it. “This is what yours looks like.” He then drew a circle without a line through it. “This is what it is supposed to look like.
This confirmed what I knew to be true since I was 2 and had to start wearing an eye-patch for my lazy eye.
I was a freak of nature.
“It’s really not that big of a deal, but she won’t be able to… “have babies” unless she undergoes surgery.”
So now, I was not only a freak, but I also wouldn’t be able to have babies??? I may have only been 12, but I thought that babies might, maybe, perhaps-ly be something I might at least want to think about in the future. I went into panic mode as my mom set up the appointment for my surgery. I didn’t say another word until I was safe in the passenger seat of my mother’s car.
I started sobbing. “So… I might not be able to have babies??” This was all too much for my little brain to handle.
My mom, once again, had to set me straight. “It’s not so much that you wouldn’t be able to have babies, but one day you may want to do the act that you do in order to make babies. And yes, you will need to have the surgery in order to do that.
I ended up going through with the surgery on my hoo-hoo, which I really don’t remember… Except for the fact that after I came to, many of my family members came to visit me and I was quite embarrassed that they all knew exactly why I was in the hospital. I also made the mistake of telling my best friends at school, who told their friends… so when I returned a few days later walking funny, I’m pretty sure everyone knew why.
So yeah. I have that.