The new tampon (even though it's been around for years). Meet my friend the Diva Cup.
Note to Self:
When you hear about a re-usable menstrual device called a
Diva Cup, you immediately order one. When the Diva Cup arrives, you marvel at
its genius. It looks like a small silicone baby bottle nipple that you can
insert and remove, wash, then use again. Plus, it has measurement markers on
the side so you can gauge your flow. It takes some getting used to, but pretty
soon you’ve sworn off tampons forever.
When your hips start to feel stiff and achy on a daily basis, make an appointment to get some x-rays, just to make sure you’re not permanently broken. On the morning of your appointment your period starts. Simply tuck in your beloved Diva Cup, thinking all the while how clever you are to conceal this from any one. After all, so deep in your body, no one will ever know it’s there.
When the x-ray man sets you up in front of a white background and tells you to stand this way and that so he can take a picture of your hips, you never once think that the Diva will end up in the frame as well. But as it turns out your bones are quite photogenic. And so is the Diva Cup.
When the doctor calls you to the back room to look at your x-rays on a viewing screen, you stare at the lower half of the picture. There’s your Diva, nestled in your Nether Regions, half-filled with a dark liquid.
“Oh, look there’s my Diva Cup,” you almost say. But you manage to stop yourself in time. It would be one thing to tell a woman, “I’m in my period, and that apparatus is just a menstrual cup.” But men don’t like to talk about these things. And really, you don’t enjoy talking about these things either. At least not with someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to leak every month while simultaneously loving and hating everyone and everything in your life.
Just pretend it’s not there,” you tell yourself. Maybe he doesn’t see it. But how could he not? There it is, in black and white, an upside-down tulip in the desert of your uterus. The doctor peers closer at the screen, clack-clacking as he moves the mouse across the ghostly bones. Pretend that you and the doctor are merely looking at a Georgia O’Keefe painting, and the Diva Cup is just there to balance the composition of the skeleton in the middle of the picture. It’s like a piece of driftwood or a special rock.
You are reminded of a Curious George story in which George swallows a puzzle piece and the Man with The Yellow Hat takes him to the doctor for some x-rays. When the pictures come back, sure enough, there’s an unidentifiable object in his stomach. “Now let’s see. . .There is something there that should not be,” says the doctor when they examine the X-rays.”’
The Man with the Yellow hat continues: “Why, that looks like . . . I think that must be the piece that was missing in our jigsaw puzzle yesterday!”
Likewise you envision your doctor saying this, his brow furrowed, his expression mystified. “Well, well, well,” the doctor will say. “What have we here?” he’ll lean into the screen, zooming in on your Diva Cup. “My Gosh, Woman! What is that thing?”
Just when you think the doctor is finished examining the x-rays, he says, “Let me just look through these again to be sure.” The machine hums. The mouse clicks and clacks as he scrolls through each picture. You look at the ceiling, your feet, the pictures on the wall. You breathe quietly, silently praying that he’ll finish up and you can go home and snuggle up with a good book and your favorite heating pad. The doctor pauses at the image of the front of your hips, which is also the best picture of the Diva Cup. You attempt to watch him to see if he’s looking at the strange thing in your body or at your bones. It’s like having a huge zit on your forehead that people can’t help glancing at when you’re trying to have a conversation. “I have a big zit on my face,” you want to say, just so you can both stop pretending it’s not there. But you can’t say that here. At least not about this.
The doctor leans in closer to the screen. “Hum,” he says, shuffling from one foot to the other. You want to laugh. Or cry. Then you want to hit delete or control-Q to quit the whole thing so you don’t have to explain what’s located in a most private part of your body, your Valley of the Unknown, the Dark Cave of Bellatrix. And now it is immortalized (much to your horror) forever in your files. Secretly you hope the office will catch on fire and your pictures will disappear with them.
“All right, I get it,” you want to say. “I’m turning into the Tin Man. Can we turn that thing off now?”
Later as you’re driving home, you imagine the whole office crew gathered around the x-ray, trying to guess what’s inside you. Patients waiting in the lobby will eavesdrop on their conversation, hoping for a juicy morsel that will become a dinner table story later that day. They will imagine many things, some of them disgusting, some of them improbable, all of them embarrassing.
“I think it’s some sort of Tupperware,” the desk clerk will say.
“Baby bottle top?”
“My guess is an IUD?” another person will guess.
“Nah, too big,” someone with experience in these things will say.
“Could it be. . .a tampon of some sort?” a female will suggest. Collective sounds of recognition then, as they all realize that they’ve just walked in on you in the bathroom, figuratively speaking.
You feel naked. Of all places, this area of your body was
supposed to be private. But this is the thing about going to the doctor:
Doctors can see parts of you that you can’t. You have no secrets, not even in
the privacy of your own body.
That seals it. You are my funniest friend. Thanks for sharing...I've HEARD about the Diva cup but it sounded to weird to try it. Now I'm intrigued...you should email this to the Diva cup company - it is great commercial material!!
Posted by: Danielle | October 09, 2009 at 01:29 PM
Oh Susan! That is one hilarious story!
Posted by: shelby | October 09, 2009 at 09:25 AM
This is so dang funny! I have never heard of the Diva Cup! Learned something new today... check!
Posted by: michelle | October 09, 2009 at 04:19 AM
ha ha ha!!!
Posted by: kayla | October 08, 2009 at 06:52 PM
Hilarious! I am laughing so hard I have tears running down my face. My makeup is a smeared mess. That story is something that would happen to me. I know your feelings well. This could be my favorite of all your posts!
Posted by: Jan | October 08, 2009 at 11:43 AM
Creepy!
Although I'd totally ask for the x-rays later on! I suspect that the x-ray featuring the diva would make a really cool cover for a book on femininity or feminism - should you ever choose to write one!
...Or maybe I'm just weird to think that...
At least you got to see the results, of all the x-rays I've ever had done, not once have I ever gotten to check out my own skeleton - which just isn't fair, after all - it's MY skeleton!
Posted by: Kaylynne | October 08, 2009 at 11:29 AM