Fearfully and Wonderfully Made: Let’s Talk About Ovaries

If I were to mention that my dreams just before my period comes are always intense, strange, terrifying, and renewing, a great chunk of you would tune me into white noise automatically.

Some would be mildly curious, and many of you would be like, yeah, you too? If I’d ever had any doubt about its consistency in timing, the years of cycles as I veer into middle age confirm it. I woke up from a blazingly weird dream that I couldn’t tell why it was so freaky and disturbing. It felt like a drug trip, but not a drug I can identify!

It’s still kind of taboo to talk about our menstrual experiences. I waver between being in awe at its power and other times want to rip the damn thing out of me, that uterus hell of pain and cyclical hormone rivers. Sometimes we talk freely about having our periods: among the girls in teen class “Having Your Period” and then again ten years later at our first Fem Cup demonstration. That’s about it, right? We try not to dwell. If our circle and family is hip and liberal, the good mate rubs your tummy when it hurts and doesn’t badger you for sex. He makes tea and brings your pills. We can tell our friends “my cramps are killing me.” But do you really know about anyone else’s cycle? Hmm, not that in-depth. Do you know how long, how heavy, how clotted, how painful, how suicidal, how calm? It’s weird because comparing notes points to all kinds of healthy things we should know intimately- our only norm is our own. There’s NOTHING TABOO ABOUT OUR HEALTH, ladies. Talking it up full on as adults is informative and gives a clear picture of your body and mind. Go get yourself a copy of Bust Magazine and get comfortable with this and other girl topics.

You probably know far more about your BFF’s sexcapades than you know about her period. This taboo is still strong. I mean, the animals didn’t have to sit around yapping about it. But still, it’s something that affects more than half the population directly, and it is a fact of life in reality for every single living person. It is in fact one of the few facts we know of our origin and existence. Once I was given a Dirty Look for mentioning menstruation in a circle of gay men. Grow up, gals- you were all born once, right? Some of you have daughters, too, and all of you have or had a mother.

In fact, you should do your best to talk confidently and freely with the people who care for your health, including but not limited to your parents, your children, your spouses, your doctor, your naturopath, your friends, your therapist, your guru, your yoga teacher. Don’t you dare leave out with your doctor or therapist your drug use, your period, your stressors and losses. Be pragmatic- your health is what you take seriously, regardless of your lifestyle. Alcoholics, manic-depressives, diabetics, people in recovery all deserve the maximum health they can personally have. How can your doctor help you if she doesn’t know your insomnia is cocaine, or diagnose diabetes if you don’t share your symptoms? You can disagree or discuss anything you aren’t certain of, or don’t believe in, as adults who are looking together for the best plan of action. Ultimately, you decide, and you research your stuff and stay informed by reading and talking with people about their experiences.

This was a prelude to the whole trip I was on all morning. It’s Gospel Cleaning Day. I’ve got the Mahalia and various choirs cranked as I mop and vacuum and sing aloud. And of course, Every Day is Like Sunday gets overplayed on cleaning Sundays, and I confess as well to that guilty pleasure, the Lionel Richie classic, Easy Like Sunday Morning. It’s one of my favourite days, the kind I might also use to rearrange the spice cupboard or clean out the fridge. I make soup, and it simmers through the apartment while I scrub and throw out clothes that make me look even fatter than I already am. But today instead of routine contentment, I felt rather anxious all morning, after being weirded out by those dreams. I was thinking about very sad things, but it got mixed wildly with intense creative flashes. Focus was nonexistent, yet while anxious, I felt strangely relieved. My stomach felt raw and my muscles were stiff. I kept getting feverish flashes, rare for someone always freezing. For a moment I wondered if I was having that averse reaction to my thyroid meds that I’m supposed to keep ‘my eye on.’ And than that familiar revelation again- oh, yeeeeeeeahhh, I’m getting my period.

It was one of those days that I was worrying about money. I mean, one day out of all of the days, just like most of us. Then I remembered- the last time I had worried so very much about that had been last month. And after that, I had taken action and booked a consultation, which just so happens to be tomorrow after work, so I can get the information I need. Oh, I felt so very take charge with that small action, then I tried to get my shit in order to take with me, papers and other stuff I hate. The relief that this was upcoming, already in place, put a smile on my face. Things were in order! At least they were in motion! We’re cyclical, I think, kind of like wearing a string on your finger, so that you don’t forget certain things, like having a baby or check up next week: don’t forget.

For all of my love of words, we are perfectly programmed to live human even if we could never speak at all. But seeing as we can speak, at least now and again we should talk about our ovaries.

January 13, 2008
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Lorette C. Luzajic