Let's Talk About Periods Because No One Else Would
I remember my first period. Despite being educated on what to expect, what it looks like, what it is about, and what to do, I still thought I was dying. I had to ask my mum everything all over again 1. Because I didn’t think I would get it at the age I did, 2. Somehow, I had just blocked it all out. And despite the irregularity of my period for the first few years, a totally “common” phenomena, everything was actually… okay. Friends around me talked about cramps that felt like someone was stabbing them, extreme nausea that they could never eat, and other nightmarish things that made me grateful for the fact that all I had were headaches. Simple, relatively harmless headaches. I mean… not eating? During my period? When my body NEEDS fries and chocolate? Come on! So, everything was fine and dandy, and I got through most of my periods in my teens with the help of some Panadol.
Then I hit 19. And something shifted. My headaches became proper migraine attacks. They last for days, and when they end, they leave me feeling a little loopy as a result of being in pain for so long. And I thought so migraine attacks are the new norm, okay. Cool. Nothing leaving the curtains drawn, not switching on lights and staying in a dark room like a reverse vampire and my newly prescribed naproxen sodium couldn’t solve. Then I turned 23. This was when I started working out and there was another round of period getting thrown off. Between 23 and 26, I started becoming smaller and smaller to the point I felt like I could float around because so much strain and effort was taken off my feet, the weighing scale finally budged and I was starting to feel great about myself. This was when as the designated bearer of bad news, my period started getting … different.
There was a little jump in days, which I was fine with because of my increased levels of physical activity and the intensity of it all. I was doing 90-minute Muay Thai sessions. My body had to protest somehow, and to me, it felt only natural to do so through my periods. But literally between one cycle and the next, the intensity of my migraine reduced and I didn’t need to go through 3 to 5 days clutching my pills anymore. They were there and still fairly debilitating, but they weren’t as downright devastating. I started getting cramps, something I have never experienced before, but now in a manner that I sometimes doubled over in pain and my flow reduced dramatically. I was concerned. Any change in period is not a good sign, right? Two GPs brushed it off as normal so I decided to see an OBGYN. As fate would have it, I was assigned to a male doctor who was probably just out of university. He asked me a bunch of standard fare questions, the same ones the GPs had asked me. He asked me if I had clots. I asked him “Actually, what exactly are clots? Because I feel like I have them, but I’m not sure.” He looked visibly taken aback and answered, “Clots lah. You know. Like clots.” And gestured a blob with his hand. “I feel like I might?” I said as a question. He exchanged a look with the nurse in the room and both of them exchanged a sarcastic smile. “Maybe but I think the bulk of your issue is that you have to lose weight. Okay? You really, really, need to lose weight.” He said authoritatively. Frustrated by the tone and his general dismissive air I was experiencing since I set foot in the room, I echoed the same question I had already asked my GPs. “Okay but I’m actually losing weight right now, I used to be 68 kilograms. I’m the healthiest I have ever been and I’m working out 4 times a week, yoga twice a week and cardio and strength training twice a week. Why is my period acting up now?” He shrugged and said, “Maybe try getting down to a healthy BMI range. If you really want, we can do an ultrasound and an exam…are you sexually active?” He asked looking down at my case file at that question. “No,” I replied quite coldly for me. “No, okay so we would need you to sign a form as the exam can be intrusive.” He gestured vaguely. I didn’t get it and stared at him, not wanting to deal with him anymore but also wanting to try anything at all, because I was concerned about the pain and drastic reduction in flow. And he tried to answer as professionally as possible that being a virgin, the exam might tear my hymen and I had to sign a form to declare my consent for that. So essentially, a piece of paper as proof that I, in my right mind, consensually agreed to maybe lose my virginity to a medical exam. I had had enough and clearly, so did he, so I left. Who in the right mind thought it would be a great idea to tag a woman’s personal identification number to her virginity?
Deciding I’m knee-deep in this already, I decided to push it further and see a specialist. I saw my dad’s doctor who also happens to specialise in women’s fertility issues and was clearly familiar with menstruation. She was worried about a lump she felt in my throat and sent me for a thyroid scan and blood test and other blood tests. All normal. She patiently told me it was possible it was my low iron levels or that it could be PCOS. She presented the same option the other OBGYN did. I didn’t know this was WHY I was asked to have that exam in the first place. She told me sympathetically that we could cross this bridge again if and when I want to have children and if I encountered problems then. It was crystal clear what she was trying to tell me with the way she looked at me and gave a half-smile. She knew there was no way I was going to agree to this. I had told her about my experience with the other OBGYN but had said that his suggestion for the exam had me “spooked”. But she knew. She figured it out. She knew my issue wasn’t about signing the form, the invasive nature of the exam, or even about “losing my virginity”. She knew it was about autonomy. My body. My choice. And she respected it. And I was beyond eternally grateful for that. For the first time and the fourth doctor, I felt listened to. I turned down the exam, or rather, told her “Let’s cross this bridge when I want to have children and happen to have difficulties then?” She smiled and nodded. “Good. Do you have any other questions for me?” I didn’t and I left. I still don’t have a complete diagnosis, and honestly, even though I’m not sure if I made the right call, I’m extremely comfortable with it. I stay in bed, minimise activity, read books and try to drink plenty of water during my period. I have my naproxen sodium if I need it and the knowledge that I can go back to her, like she said, If things start to get unbearable or there’s a change that has me concerned again.
Every other friend I have has an issue with their period. Unbearable flow that has them lying in bed for anywhere from two to four days. Hormonal acne that makes them not want to leave the house in shame. Nausea and weight loss that makes them weak so they just stay seated, even during lunch. Yet, I feel like we would be able to definitively prove whether aliens exist before we get some answers surrounding women’s reproductive health. No wonder women’s reproductive health is heavily Googled and that’s where everyone turns to. Which is another round of … well, migraine with the myriad of things you can do to try and fix it. Try CBD! Sync it with the moon! Go gluten-free! It’s like playing wheel of fortune because eventually, you ARE going to hit that bankrupt sign trying out all these different doctors, products and lifestyles just to see how to live your best life during your period. And sometimes not even to be go-getters and be out with the public, but just to make those days bearable. Oh. And of course, there’s also our best friend, the pink tax. As AOC so succinctly put it in a recent Vogue video right before doing her eyeliner ambidextrously and right after doing her eyeshadow and talking about how it’s all to do with the patriarchy with a little giggle; “So our expenses are higher, our time is less, and we’re not even getting paid at an equal rate. Can’t catch a break.”
It would help if conversation around periods was perhaps a little more prominent in – I want to say my community but it looks like it’s the case for most communities anyway. But no. It’s another form of taboo. I don’t know if you have seen this meme before but it made me laugh SO hard the first time I saw it. There are so many things in our mythologies that even as a 10-year-old, I remember reading and going “Where’s the equality FAM?” We have goddesses. Not one, but MANY. At the end of the day, they are all supposed to be the same one goddess, but she exists in so many forms to show that the divine goddess is a mother, is a daughter, is a wife. She is loving, unreasonable, compassionate, fiery, just, fair, destructive, kind. She has needs and desires. Not just in her forms, but in her accompanying mythologies (Honestly, there’s so much character development in those.) She is everything a woman is but based on the outroar against this meme, EXCEPT in menstruation. (Well, to be completely honest, also in appearance because I’ve still not seen a goddess portrayed to have dark skin and curly hair. But that’s not what we are here to talk about today.) Funnily enough, based on the extensive research by this author, nothing actually screams “impure” about a woman that bans her from the going to the temple. In fact, it’s the opposite. Yet, what sustained in a patriarchal world is the “taboo” surrounding one of the most natural, life-sustaining acts on this earth. If you’re asking, “That’s great and all. But, how are we going to fight this, Thendral?” I don’t really know. There are two things I know for sure though. One, we need more Jacinda Arderns in the world. Two, we need more conversation - with a little bit of candour and a little bit of empathy. If you ask me, nothing is easier than just a simple conversation to help move things along. We don't need anything earth-shattering with numbers and statistics. Just talk about your own experience (which explains the nature of my post). To minimise the mysticism around menstruation, to normalise how many of us actually have a difficult time with it (I mean, how on earth is suffering supposed to be normal? Just because some lady ate an apple an aeon ago we ALL have to pay the price?), simply so to take away the sheer “ugh” factor that rises in people when we start talking about it. Most of us menstruate. It’s cool. Do you want to get some ice-cream to talk it over? I don’t mind, my period’s just around the corner. I’ve already been craving ice-cream.
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