This horror story spans over a week and stars yours truly in the lead and features three awkward adults in supporting rolls. It also cameos a mortified bus driver for some comic relief at my expense; the poor man did not anticipate what hit him that day.
I was nine years old, blind, awkward and innocent. We had just moved to another country where I was getting used to new, all-inclusive teaching methods. My independent life skills teacher casually mentioned periods during a cooking lesson while learning how to chop apples and berries for a fruit salad. I cannot tell if the monochromatic scheme was predetermined but colour me oblivious.
I tossed the salad like a pro and she called me a big girl. She said I will soon be ready to help mother in the kitchen and that I’m growing up. She mentioned body changes and introduced me to the word puberty and that’s all that was said on the matter. My homework for that week was easier than ever: discuss periods with mother.
I aced my part of the homework – I repeated everything I was told and asked all the questions on my mind. But mother should only be recognised for her participation because she did not mention bleeding. Good job preparing me for my first period the following Monday!
I was promptly taken away from the assembly by a support worker who took me straight to the bathroom. She told me that mother had called to let them know I got my first period and touched my shoulder and congratulated me. She then handed me toilet paper and quietly said “Here, put it in your knickers.”
Where?
“Are you wearing knickers?” she asked, as if that would end my confusion. I was. So, I walked into the cubicle and stuffed that wad of toilet paper where I knew it belonged: my butt. And that is how they successfully deferred the difficult discussion to one another until mother could no longer delay the talk.
Two days later, all was said and done. I decided I was a woman and I was beginning to take my newfound identity very seriously. My whole family knew by then, and mother was preparing for all the upcoming Hindu rituals. Meanwhile at school, there wasn’t a whole lot of myth busting happening amongst us clever cookies. “Don’t let a boy touch your armpit, you’ll get pregnant”. Truthfully though, it was my first ever fun day at school and I never felt so ecstatic. Suddenly I had new friends and I was allowed to whisper and giggle with them.
Soon, it was time for home and I was on the bus, trying to reverse haggle with the driver to sell me an adult ticket for adult price. But he insisted I take back my change – he wouldn’t have it any other way. I stated very plainly “I got my period and I’m a woman now”. My support worker immediately hurried me down the aisle to a seat and sternly whispered “not quite”.
I desperately begged her to not tell mother, horrified by what I’d just done, ashamed that breasts hadn’t come already and embarrassed at the thought of all the men who must have been looking at me because they now knew my secret.
Sure this is funny now, but my first period was invisible blood, confusion, excitement, shame, horror and chaos all wrapped in a sanitary pad that left me with painful rashes and memories. So talk about it with your kids and spare them all the unnecessary drama… it’s important.