I was twelve years old when Aunt Flow arrived on her maiden voyage. Later that evening, I was attending a sleep over party in celebration of the commencement of summer vacation and I was absolutely terrified and completely unsure how to handle the situation. I was so panicked that something awful was going to happen, like I was going to wake up the next day looking like Carrie after the bucket of pig blood was poured over her.
While I waited for my mom to return home from work, I paced the hall, wondering how I was going to make it through the party. The idea of staying home was out because what 12 year old wants to miss a chance to sleep over at a friends?
When my mom finally returned home from work I approached her with caution. I was so uncomfortable with announcing to her that I thought I had gotten my period, and so mortified that I just spewed out: ‘Mom! Something’s wrong with me! I’m bleeding, DOWN. THERE.” The poor lady hadn’t even had a chance to get herself situated as I bombarded her at the door.
She said nothing, but the blank look on her face said it all: I was dying! My heart began to race as I pondered the thought of dying right. there.
(Now that I think back, I’m pretty sure she was mentally trying to understand what. the fuck. just happened. Also? I think she was trying to remember how old I was and? THE. FUCK!?)
As she removed her coat and slowly hung it up, I waited patiently for her to say something – ANYTHING – and as she processed what just went down she turned to me and said, “Well, I guess you got your period.”
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. Oh. My. God. My period!
She quietly walked towards the washroom and came back with a handful of huge! pink wrappers, “Here ya go!” she said as she handed them off like some sort of relay race as she headed to the kitchen.
I was so unbelievably happy to avoid any special mother-daughter bonding time over vaginal bleeding that I ran to my room as soon as those bulky over-sized crotch pillows hit my sweaty palms.
The sleep over party with off without a hitch even though I couldn’t keep my transformation to womanhood a secret from the girls. I was so embarrassed, but I had to weigh the options: keep quiet or face the possibility of waking up in a hail of blood spatter. There would have definitely been some hefty explaining to do.
Over the following summer months I was able to handle the other two visits from Aunt Flow rather easily. I was home everyday, so if something happened, I just shoved one of those gigantic pink crotch pillows between my knees thighs and try to walk properly.
Summer passed, and with the first day of grade six came a new challenge: being away from home all day, everyday. I remember the first day of school well; with all my new books and clean lined papers went a stack of humongous pink fluffy packages. Just in case.
The first couple weeks went by and everything was fine, but somewhere along the way I had removed those sanitary items to make way for something or other. Then It Happened.
I was sitting at my desk during Creative Writing, and suddenly, The Gush.
I thought I was dying. This is it! I’m dying! Right in the middle of 6th grade Creative Writing, I am going to keel over and kick the bucket!
I tightly squeezed my thighs together until they began to tingle from lack of circulation. I moved a little trying to cross my legs for a tighter seal.
Another gush.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Someone help me! I silently screamed. I better be dying! Please, just let me die!
I raised my hand as I sat awkwardly at my desk, leaning to one side with my legs woven into each other. I had to get out of there. Had to.
My teacher excused me to the washroom where I tried valiantly to wad the perfect imitation sanitary napkin out of the thinnest, roughest toilet paper known to man. With each yank on the toilet paper roll, I cursed myself for taking those pads from my backpack.
I finished my handy work and tightly packed everything back into my forest green stretch leggings. I positioned my long white Blue Jays World Series sweatshirt just so – enough to make sure my butt was covered, then headed to the door. As I walked out the door, I was certain EVERYONE knew I had gotten my period.
Then. Again.
GUSH. GUSH. GUSH.
Oh. my. God!
I couldn’t contain the tears any longer and along with The Gushing came huge fat crocodile tears flowing freely and puddling on my sweatshirt.
I had to go home. I couldn’t bear to spend the rest of the day at school. There was no way I would make it through the day without being soaked head-to-toe.
Instead of returning to class, I went straight to the Principal’s office, tugging my sweater down as far as it would go.
I’m sick. I have to go home. I wailed to the secretary. I’m going to be sick everywhere!
Fearing she would be the recipient of a putrid pile of vomit to clean up, she shoved her waste basket in my hand and rushed me to the nearest chair. As soon as I was seated she wheeled around her heels and called my mother.
The only thought that filled my mind while I sat there was, am I going to leave a big bright red stain on this chair?
Eventually my mom came to get me and as she ushered me back to my class to gather my belongings, I glanced back to inspect the seat cushion for any evidence. Fro what I could see, there was nothing, but who knows what that secretary came across as she went back to collect her waste basket.
At home, I quickly changed into my comfy clothes, shoved a humongous Kotex between my knees thighs and laid on the couch, writhing in artificial pain. I spent the day watching game shows and soap operas while I nursed a fake illness only to head back to school the next day.
I swear to you, there were enough pads in my backpack from then on to accommodate my entire sixth grade class, should we all spontaneously bleed from our nether regions at the very same time.
:::
Today’s post – The Over Achiever Challenge: Your most embarrassing story, is part of a new writing initiative, {W}rite-of-Passage and is the brain child of The Mrs. Flinger . {W}rite-of-Passage is a new network of wonderfully talented bloggers who are trying to get back to the basics.
If you’re interested in reading the works of the other members, please feel free to peruse the Mr. Linky which will be added to end of each post that is part of the {W}rite-of-Passage challenges. If you’re interested in becoming a member, click on one of the links provided above (hopefully that does the trick, otherwise, let me know in the comments and I’ll be sure to help figure it out.)
{ 18 comments }
Oh God – that picture!
I remember those feelings all too well. But I didn’t get mine till I was 16. You poor thing!
Standing up from a red-stained chair. Worst moment ever.
Oh dear sweet lord. The GUSH.
Oh man, I remember a stained chair in the 5th grade and it still haunts me!
Funny story: when I first got my period my Mom told me that I had pooped my pants. What the???
Is there any girl that doesn’t have a memory like this? I never felt any gushes and never knew my period arrived until I went to the bathroom. It would have been nice to have a little sign. I remember one afternoon at school I was ON STAGE rehearsing a play. In WHITE pants. Only to get home and find a nice little line of brownish-red spreading from the front to back of my pants’ crotch. Never had any idea if anyone else had seen that while I was on stage. Ugh.
oh God. Those were the worst days! I instinctively slammed my knees together when I read the word “gush”.
OMFG…I was 10 when I got my first period. Thank God it happened at home so I was more prepared for it. I guess I was lucky – I’ve always had cramps the day before, so I was always prepared for it. The word gush makes me cringe. I know that feeling
Fuck seriously, though? 10? That mean I’m going to hit menopause by 40?
bulky over-sized crotch pillows hit my sweaty palms.
love it.
My first week teaching I had a 9th grader who got her period for the first time.
Sort of.
Turns out, her hymen had been mostly/completely closed and she’d been HAVING periods, but they were uh, staying inside.
Till her English class the first week of 9th grade.
When the tide burst.
And I. Mean. Burst.
After the fact I told her – well, you’ll ALWAYS have a story to one up with.
hehehe…I remember. You were like a Goddess to us little girls while we waited desperately to join your club.
BAHAHA. OMG THE PICTURE!
And I could literally feel my legs dripping reading this. EEGAD. Maybe I better go check.
Oh yeah. The word gush makes me cringe.
One of those been there, done that things. And the red stained pants. Thank goodness I usually wore dark blue jeans and it was pretty much unnoticeable.
Well, except the chair . . . that did happen to me once. Just once was all it took and then, like you, I ALWAYS had enough pads to accommodate the entire grade!
*SNORT*
I think I just wrote that post; word for word.
Pillow for Pillow.
Fear of Stain on Chair for Fear of Stain on Chair.
Gush for Gush.
Sweater Tug for Sweater Tug.
…and I never did talk to my mom when I Aunt Flow arrived…
I avoided that little talk like it was the plague.
Now the fuckin’ thing won’t go away and I’keep a few Super’s in the purse at all time.
The Gush and Khaki Dress Pants at work?
Yeah.
Wow. I left you comment over at Ning, but I just wanted to chime in and say you really took me back to that time.
The whole gushing thing… accck!
OK… that picture is really nasty LOL Your writing–brilliant!
Brutal. Great writing.
I was lucky, mine didn’t arrive till I was 14!
me. history. tenth grade.
thankfully i was wearing black pants and a huge sweater.
i didn’t want to remember that. eep. thanks a lot.
Seriously awesome post! I think it’s the favorite Write of Passage post I’ve read yet!
My mom felt so let down when I got mine, like she had been cheated out of her mother-daughter bonding moment because I knew about what it was, why it was, and what to do, so I just took care of business, and told her about it in an oh-by-the-way manner. I was, like you, glad to avoid that embarrassing sharing moment, myself. The joys of decent sex ed in schools!
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