Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Here goes, breaking taboos again by talking about things we don’t talk about. First it was peeing in my pants, then it was pantylines, and now, now it’s tampons. Why? Why is it that something that we women need for something that we “do” from our teens to our forties or fifties (give or take a decade) is such a forbidden topic? Okay, not forbidden exactly, but not broached in proper company, or any company for that matter. Why? Why is it that we can talk about putting hot wax on our bodies and ripping out our hair from the follicles is a topic for discussion, but not our period (our menstrual flow)? Well, maybe not that either. But why not? Why are the things that we do to our bodies or for our bodies so conversationally inappropriate? Is it true that the only body mentionables are manicures and pedicures, and diets? Oh, and bad hair days.

When I told a friend who had been out of the country for a few months and, apparently, was not following my blog during her travels, that I had written about underpants, her response was “why?” Why indeed. Why shouldn’t we talk about everything in our lives? Why do we censor so much of our lives? Wouldn’t it have made me feel better to know that my friends were also peeing in their pants after the births of their children? And couldn’t we have figured out together what to do to help ameliorate the situation, or at least to know which is better in a sneeze situation: to cross the legs or to squeeze the legs together?

And why do we need to censor ourselves so much? Is it pride? Do we always want to present our best face to the public? Are our friends the public? Is that why so many people seem to be going to therapists or reading self-help books, because they hold so much back? I’m not saying that talking about pantylines will suddenly stop someone from drinking, but I am suggesting that being a big mouth may be healthier than being prim and proper. The flow of ideas, or at the very least the expression of one’s concerns, with the needed nod of assurance or commiseration from a friend is quite the requirement for maintaining a balanced outlook.

Back to my period. There was one occasion when it was alright to talk about my period: it was the day I got it in the summer between sixth grade and seventh grade. Since I was the first girl where I lived to get “it,” I was the celebrity for the night. But that was it, until college when there would be the occasional pregnancy scares, otherwise, we were on our own.  

But I’m back to it, because there are related issues that are bothering me. And I am under the (I hope not misguided) assumption that if something is bothering me, there are other women being bothered by it as well. What I am trying to figure out is why can’t they come up with a tampon that works? It might look like a rocket, but it’s not rocket science: it’s layers of cotton wrapped around a string (the eject button, if you will). In my experience, on most occasions the string is not necessary. They just plop out. And it’s not as if they have fulfilled their job, there’s still more work they can do, but they have decided, nah, I’d rather swirl around the toilet and get flushed away. Is this like the lightbulb and tires that have supposedly been invented that never need replacing but which the lightbulb and tire companies have hidden away because then they would have a lot less to sell? Is this built-in obsolescence?

And it’s not as if there is such a small market that it’s not worth the time and money to do some efficient product development. For goodness sakes, they have cameras that can go into the human body, they can surely develop a tampon that doesn’t come out unbeckoned. Maybe if we talked about this more, the product developers would know that there is a problem. As it is, we are suffering in silence with self-ejecting tampons.

So this is my voice in the wilderness, hoping to reach a power that be so that the situation can be ameliorated.

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Back to the stress incontinence discussed in "I Need a Diaper": I have been doing lots of kegels lately (as suggested by some readers), but, instinctively, I squeeze my legs when I feel a sneeze coming, so I’m not sure if they’re working. Oh, and my gynecologist just told me that it will just get worse. Great.

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So what should we talk about now?