Sunday, 18 October 2015

It-Will-Be-Dr-White-On-The-Night! *chapter one*

Welcome, dear visitor, to my new blog, 'No Womb In The Lynn' ( a menstruative journey ).

The unfolding narrative is intended to document the trials, tribulations and tampons which, throughout the years, have served to dominate the lives of women, such as myself, when our prepubescence was cruelly replaced by the volcanic eruption of the active uterus!!

You will witness the very genesis of my wombs awakening through to its final days spent in a medical waste disposal sack, in a skip, outside the gynaecology ward of the local hospital.

The squeamish, the puritanical and those amongst you who are allergic to words such as vagina, pubic or fallopian, indeed anyone offended or outraged by the very notion of the female condition being so blatantly exposed in its own ovarian tragedy, need read no further, for this account of my menstruative journey will be as forthright and as unappealing as the violating discharge itself....**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**!

As for those of you who are not afraid to dip your toe into a quagmire of haemoglobic wastage and face the reality of our on!

Chapter One:


My first introduction to Dr White's sanitary products came about following a bewildering moment when I happened upon a cumbersome packet lodged in a darkened corner of the outside loo in the families two up two down terraced house.

I was 7 years old and an only child, being raised solely by my mother. My father had left the family home some years previously after finally succumbing to yet another bad bout of adulterous constipation....yes, he couldn't pass a slut!

Anyway, being the curious child that I was, I investigated the bundle and, nonplussed, proceeded to seek out the wisdom of my mother who would no doubt enlighten me as to its purpose.

Which she did!!

Image result for dr white's sanitary belt 1970'sInitially, she briefly explained that one day, when I was older, I would begin to bleed from my 'front bottom' and this item (which she then released from its packet and dangled before me as one would a rat by its tail) would be what I would have to use to stem the flow.

Before a look of horror could completely manifest itself upon my incredulous, freckle spotted face, my mother seemingly pulled from the air a thing which at first glance resembled a catapult!

As my jaw unhinged even further it was explained to me that this apparatus would be attached to the loops on the thing that looked like a pillow for a large rabbit before being worn as one would a pair of knickers. Had mother explained at the time that knickers were to be worn OVER this contraption, it could have spared me an embarrassing moment a few years on.

However, the machinations of this device were not my main concern at that time. The notion of how I would acquire the bleeding front bottom was my main concern, what was she going to do...kick me in it??

After voicing this worry as best as a 7 years old's vocabulary would allow, I was eventually forced to settle for my mothers evasive reply:

"We'll talk about that nearer the time, dear. You've nothing to worry about for some time to come"

What was THAT supposed to mean "some time to come"? was already half passed six, according to my Mickey Mouse watch! How long did I have left before my front bottom was either attacked or exploded??

And without another word said, just a pat on the head and an awkward smile, off mother pottered to return Dr White to his rightful place, in the dank, spider infested corner of our outside loo.

Leaving me to worry that, at any time, something terrible and unimaginable could happen to my front bottom, maybe even that very night!!

It didn't.

Nor the next night either.

And as the bloodless nights continued to flow (or not) as I grew older, my original fear was soon removed when, at 11 years of age, the school playground was rife with the gossip of Sarah Edmondson ( age 11!!) having that very morning started her period! There she was strutting her womanhood around the playground, inwardly flaunting her Dr White's sanitary belt like a gun-slinger, toting her ovaries like a couple of colt .45s....a smug grin perched upon her lips like a bird of prey!

I hated her!

And in that moment, I realised......I had Sanitary Towel Envy!

To be continued:

Next time: Chapter Two: 'The Darling Buds Of Me'

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard