Let’s not beat around the bush (wait for it…): periods are annoying as hell (ba-BAM!).

Guys will never know how ridiculously annoying they are, blah blah whatever – that’s not what I’m here to talk about. (But just to be clear, it’s true.)

I – and I think I can pretty safely say I’m not alone here – have spent a great portion of my 26 years getting my period and going, “Ugh, again?” even though it’s something that has happened consistently since I was 13-ish(?).

SIDENOTE: Guys (Ladies), I don’t remember the day I got my first period. Isn’t that fucked up? I don’t think it was so traumatic that I’ve blocked it out, but I can’t be certain because I DON’T REMEMBER IT. The fact confounds me. I feel like I’m not an entirely complete person, because if I have kids one day (or if I’m just the cool aunt the kids ask about all the important stuff, which let’s face it, I will be) and they ask me about getting my period, I’m going to have to make something up. I remember the day my best friend (whom I no longer speak to) got her period in grade 6. I’d use that story, but it’s so lame. Thank goodness I’m a writer and I make shit up all the time.

Anyway, I’m not going to go into the gory details or anything (you’re welcome), but the bottom line is that periods are a huge drag and usually they make you feel icky and bitchy and everything the commercials and mainstream television and movies say. So a lot of the time, we women (again, speaking broadly here because I feel like I can) wish we didn’t have to deal with them.

Until you stop getting yours or it’s late.

Then you’ll find yourself wishing for your period so hard you spend a lot of time trying to talk your abdomen into releasing some eggs or shedding some layers or whatever.

When I was living in Glasgow, I started to have these weird stomach pains. They were crazy sharp, somewhere up under my ribs, and they would happen randomly, but violently enough to make me keel over and hate life for a few minutes until they were over. I knew they weren’t caused by cramps, because they were way too high up, but I couldn’t pin point any food intolerances to explain them either, even after a process of elimination.

It just so happened that I was on my way back home for a visit with my family, so I decided to wait and see a doctor while I was back in Canada, too. He poked and prodded at me a bit, asked me questions about food and diet, and then drew out the big guns:

“Are you pregnant?”

I laughed out a “no!” and gave him a casual hand flip. You know the one.

“Are you sure?”

And being the hypochondriac that I am, I stopped dead in my tracks. I explained to the doctor that I hadn’t had sex in months – like, months – so it just wasn’t possible.

He shrugged. “A lot of pregnancies go undetected, even into the third trimester. When was your last period?”

I’m usually pretty on top of this question. I’m in touch with my body and stuff. (Especially after this, let me tell you.) But while I was studying in Scotland – not having sex – I kind of forgot about it. So I wrinkled my nose at him.

“Sometime…in the last…well I’ve definitely had it since the last time I had sex.”

He shrugged again. (Smug bastard.) “A lot of women have their period all throughout pregnancy. I’m going to send you for a series of tests.”

And then I kind of wanted to throw up.

(Not because I was pregnant.)

I gave the kind nurses at the clinic all the fluids they asked for, then went home and cried to my mommy. Not only would being pregnant suck, since according to my calculations I’d be like, seven months pregnant, but the guy I’d be pregnant with would suck, too. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t Batman PJs.) But I’m not even going to go there.

Here’s something y’all should know: when a doctor tells you there’s a chance you might be pregnant, you need EVERY BIT OF PROOF  that you’re not in order to believe it.

I went to the drug store and bought a couple pregnancy tests. Negative. Okay, but that happens all the time. So I waited on the results from the doctor’s office and worried that my story would end up being a segment on TLC’s I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant. I didn’t want that to be my claim to fame. I thought about my master’s degree, which I’d have to leave behind, and cried a lot more. (I probably ate a lot, too.)

A couple days later, I got called back to the doctor’s office. He sat me down and told me the tests came back negative, but that false negatives were a possibility, and if I was still having pain (which I was), I should go to an ultrasound. Great. Thanks for making me feel confident, doc!

SIDENOTE: I’ve never been back to this amazing doctor. I know, I know, I’m a crazy person.

I was honestly TERRIFIED to look at the ultrasound screen. I couldn’t sleep the night before, I was so scared that I’d look up and see a PERSON INSIDE ME. The ultrasound dude started doing his thing and I broke into an insta-sweat thinking about cribs and baby names and labour. Then I took a deep breath and looked at the scratchy black and white monitor.

EMPTY!

(Well, not empty, but you know what I mean.)

HOLYFUCKOHMYGODTHANKYOUBABYJESUSANDALLTHATISWHATEVERISUPTHEREJUSTTHANKYOUHOLYFUCK.

Or something like that.

Turns out it was gallbladder pain. And I fixed it with an alkaline diet for a few months.

Amazing.

And that, my friends, is how you learn to love your period.

xA

P.S. What does it say about me that when I watch this video:

50% of me says, “Oh my GOD! I could eat him up he’s so cute! I want one! No, 10! No, just give me this one!”

And the other 50% says, “Oh my GOD! Just give it up, kid! We get it! Go the hell to sleep!”

Is that wrong?

Just wondering.

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