Day 1 Pads

Yes, my plan was to make cloth pads from a pattern on a website discussed in class. No, my plan was not to forget my diva cup in NY. Yes, my plan was to have the pad(s) ready and waiting for me. No, I’m not one for going according to plan…no, I did not think I would get my period on Thanksgiving, although recounting- that’s 34 days, and that has been my cycle for the last year, give or take the month where I tend to skip forward or backward an entire week. So here we are, Thanksgiving…what are YOU thankful for, honey? Well, I am thankful for my menstrual cycle, that it has come to visit me for Thanksgiving and spend the week…and I have nothing at the moment save for mom’s cheap (read: $.99/roll, not plush and comfy) toilet paper to catch it.

My next instinct was to connect to my surrogate brain, the internet, which is a wealth of knowledge, random facts and a lot of useless information that I like to keep close to me in the event my own knowledge falls short and hits a brick wall. Alas, my mother has no internet, but she does know best and handed me several of her rags. By this point, I didn’t really want to deal so much with it, so I sat on the toilet and began playing origami games with the rags.

I settled upon an S-folded formation that was eventually wrapped around several times and tucked. That way, if one portion became soiled, I could stick it into the middle of the folds and rewrap to a clean spot. Aren’t you going to cut that? –my mom asked- Please. I’m so over this. (Did I mention, I don’t really like pads?) For once, I appreciated my mom’s lonely Thanksgiving. Over the years, as my siblings married and moved out and my mom became more of a social avoider, holidays gradually quieted beyond my liking. Once my dad passed away, the sparkle of holidays diminished beyond my sense of understanding that it isn’t the glitter and gold that makes the holiday, it’s the company you keep and the traditions you share. For me, the glitter and gold was my family…but everyone’s in their own world. This year, I tried to prepare myself to enjoy sitting at home over a meal with just my mom as she had already provided plenty of reasons to my aunt and brother why we wouldn’t be celebrating with them. But now as I was sitting there, on the rag- literally-and not quite comfortable with it, I was glad I didn’t have to go anywhere.

Having rapidly grown accustomed to toileting without seeing an accumulation of old blood thanks to the cup, I was once again annoyed with going to the bathroom and seeing a bloody rag। Though, the rag was surprisingly absorbent. Unlike a pad, which can only lay against you, the rag had also somewhat conformed to my figure. With less space between the rag and me, I didn’t feel myself bleeding. Another thing I hate about pads is that I will sit a certain way or get up after sitting and feel blood pass through me. I know it’s such a minute amount, but it feels like I have just peed a little or have reached the threshold of my pad and am now bleeding into my pants. I was convinced that it would smell, but it really didn’t until later in the evening when it began to smell like wet rag. (You may disagree with me on this, but I think all cloth items get an odor to them when they’ve been wet for more than an hour). I changed to a new rag over night and soaked the other.

Schwinn