I still remember the day my parents got air conditioning in my childhood home. I don't remember being overly uncomfortable pre-air conditioning, but I do remember what a novelty it was to have a cool environment to live in during those Minnesota summers.
People not from the midwest think that Minnesota is cold all year round. When I lived in Florida, people assumed that Minnesota never got warm enough to wear short sleeves. They thought that Minnesota got to 60 degrees at the most in the summer, and only during heat waves. There were some Floridians would actually thought that there was snow year-round in Minnesota. It negated everything they thought about Minnesota (which arguably wasn't much) when I told them that it was completely plausible for Minnesota to reach over 100 degrees in the summer, and that we had days of 90%+ humidity besides. The fact that Minnesota summers could be as hot as Florida summers had their heads reeling. To this day I think that some of them thought I was pulling their leg and still hold to their belief that Minnesota is nothing but a snowy tundra. That's okay. I tried. They'll probably never go to Minnesota anyway, so no harm done.
My point in even mentioning Minnesota summers is that air-conditioning is something few people in the midwest go without. The heat itself is bad enough, the humidity is just insult to injury. I actually can't think of a single household in Minnesota that doesn't have air-conditioning of some sort. It's a novelty that most Minnesotans wouldn't consider going without.
Fast forward to my first summer in Flagstaff, Arizona. I found out that a small percentage of homes and apartments in Flagstaff have air-conditioning. Being someone accustomed to the idea of air-conditioning, I found this extremely odd. Granted, Flagstaff is cooler than Phoenix, and arguably, cooler than Minnesota during the summer. Anyone not from this area just assumes that Flagstaff is the same as Phoenix, so when I tell people that lots of home in Flagstaff are without air-conditioning, they about fall out of their chairs. "But it's like 100 degrees all the time there!" Flagstaff is not Phoenix, and thank goodness for that...on so many levels. In reality, Flagstaff is about 20-50 degrees cooler than Phoenix depending on the time of year. The temperature disparity is larger in the winter, and smaller in the summer. A google search of the average temperatures in Flagstaff in the summer have the temps ranging from the mid-70's to the mid-80's. But talk to anyone who's lived in Flagstaff for any length of time, and they'll tell you that the summers are getting hotter. They'll tell you that "back in the day" no one needed air conditioning because it never got hot enough to need it. "Wait for the monsoons," they said, "it'll cool right down," they said. And they were kind of right...a daily rainstorm does wonders to plummet the temperature. But the monsoons don't typically arrive until early-mid July. Summer temperatures arrive in Flagstaff in late May. A month and a half of warm weather doesn't sound like much, and truly doesn't sound like a good rationale for the expense of an air-conditioner...but let me tell you, trying to sleep in a house that's 80 degrees is damn near impossible. I'm a hot sleeper to begin with, and one can only get so naked.
The last few days our house has been in the low 80's inside. Like most of our neighbors and Flagstaff as a whole, we don't have air-conditioning. We have fans. We have lots of fans. We open the windows at night and button up the house in the morning to try to keep it as cool as possible. We only cook in the morning when the house is at its coolest. Forget about baking...I'd have to bake at midnight or thereabouts just to tolerate the heat from the oven. A friend of mine gave me a portable swamp cooler last summer, and once Simon got it up and running, that thing was a godsend. For those not familiar with swamp coolers, it's basically a big fan that that pulls air through some sort of moist filter, commonly called an evaporative pad...our pad looks like a flat straw bale. The mechanics are pretty simple...the fan pulls air through the water soaked pad, thereby cooling the air with moisture. It doesn't cool it a lot, and a swamp cooler wouldn't work as well in a humid environment, but here in the dry southwest, it gets the job done. Kind of. I wouldn't call our home cool, per se, as the temperature in the house right now is 81 degrees, but sit me in front of the swamp cooler in nothing but my knickers and I find myself remarkably comfortable...and the added humidity is a bonus. Seeing as our swamp cooler is a portable unit, it really can't cool more than one room at a time. But that's all right...it's on wheels, so we just move it to wherever we're going to be. There are some homes that have giant, industrial sized swamp coolers in lieu of an air-conditioning unit. You really can't tell the difference between those big coolers and traditional air conditioning. Were we home owners, we might consider a permanent swamp cooler. But alas, we are not.
So here I sit in my 81 degree house...sweating through my clothes with a big box fan blowing in the background. I find myself growing accustomed a certain level of sweating at all times. For someone who previously loathed even the idea of sweating, I've become remarkably tolerant of it. The heat's not so bad, once you get used to it, and there are ways to get away from it. Simon and I go to a lot of movies this time of year. We find ourselves lingering in Target or the grocery store longer than usual, just to spend a few extra minutes in their air-conditioning. We eat more ice cream, and take colder showers. Like anything else in life, it's doable by making a few adjustments, and thankfully we don't have to put up with it for an extended period of time. This too shall pass. The weather guys keep saying that the monsoons are due to arrive this weekend. I'll believe it when I see it. They said that for the entire month of June last year. I about drove myself crazy scanning the sky for the slightest hint of a rain cloud. The rain eventually did come, but not until July. And then it was mostly fine.
And there it is. I'm waiting patiently for the rains to come. They will. They always do.
As a side note: we will be looking to rehome our wonderful (but mechanically obsolete, per the manufacturer) swamp cooler at the end of summer...let me know if you're interested!
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Friday, June 19, 2015
The Changing Culture of Nursing...
I've been a nurse now for 13 years. 13 freaking years. That sounds like such a long time. It's definitely the longest single job I've ever had in my life.
It hasn't always been easy...in fact, easy is not a word I would ever use to describe nursing. My first year of nursing felt like I was running the gauntlet. There were sleepless nights, never-ending days, and there was nothing that could have prepared me for the physical, emotional, and mental stress that comes along with caring for people who are sick. But through it all, the bad days, the good days, the long hours, I managed to persevere and to become, in my opinion, good at what I do. I like people, I like medicine, I like trying to find a solution to make people feel better and to live healthier lives. I thought that working with patients at the bedside was something that I could do for the rest of my working life. The changes that I've seen in healthcare in the last few years have me seriously questioning the logistics of that idea.
Back when I started nursing, I felt that nurses received a great deal of respect, both from patients and from their peers in healthcare. Granted, patients are not at their best when they're sick...they tend to be sullen, snappy, and generally dissatisfied with most things pertaining to their illness and treatment. But for the most part, they were able to rein in their negativity and try to work towards a solution with their healthcare team. Throughout the years, I've worked side by side with doctors, lab techs, radiology technicians, and many other forms of hospital personnel, all for the good of the patient. I don't feel that I'm any less respected by my coworkers these days, but the respect I get from my patients has plummeted significantly, and I've almost been driving myself crazy trying to get to the bottom of it. I've been wondering if it's me, if it's the hospital I work for, the unit I'm assigned to...or if it's something more, something bigger, something pertaining to healthcare that is rapidly on a course towards something ominous.
Healthcare is very quickly becoming a business. Well, it's always been a business of sorts, but it's becoming more so these days. I've worked in some hospitals where they refer to individuals seeking care as "clients," rather than "patients." Many think it may just be semantics, that the two are interchangeable, but the implication I see in changing the name has ramifications that go along with it that we are just beginning to see, and will continue to see with increasing consequences as the years go on.
For one, a client is someone who seeks out the expertise of someone in a certain profession. They are paying for that expertise, and they have a say in whose expertise they commission. It is implied that a client knows a little something about the professional who they are commissioning, and that they have an idea of an expected outcome, and more often than not, that outcome will be a positive one. A client is also someone who wants something, but who doesn't necessarily need something. For instance, if a person wants to put granite countertops in their house, they find someone who specializes in granite countertops. They work together with this person to find an outcome that is favorable to the client, and they proceed accordingly. Sometimes things don't go as planned, and a different plan is drawn up to remedy those variances. Typically things can be resolved with little to no harm to the client. And typically, everything is done within reason to assure the complete satisfaction of the client. In the event that a favorable outcome is not reached, there is typically money or additional services provided in exchange for their satisfaction.
When a person comes to the Emergency Department of a hospital with an ailment of some sort, like abdominal pain, they don't know what is needed to treat them. They don't know what's wrong with them. They don't know the testing procedures, the specialists, or the care involved in determining the cause for their pain. All they know is that they are in pain, they don't feel good, and they want to feel better. Becoming a "client" of a hospital doesn't guarantee that their problem will be solved, but there is a very real possibility that it could be. And here is the difference between abdominal pain and granite countertops...there is a very real possibility that the abdominal pain might never be fixed. There is a very real possibility that a temporary fix might be obtained, but that the problem night resurface again in days, weeks, months, or even years. There is a very real possibility that the patient might die from their ailment, or even the treatment of that ailment. These are all outcomes that happen in hospitals every single day. Not all of them are favorable, but not all of them are unexpected. Patients have come to expect that after years of self-abuse, they can come to the hospital when their bodies are falling apart and that we can fix them. Sometimes we can, sometimes we can't.
There is this culture in healthcare known as Patient Satisfaction, and it's revolutionizing the healthcare industry, but not for the better, in my opinion. Hospitals and their staff are graded on a patient's perception of their experience by a post-hospital survey. Their ratings are known as Patient Satisfaction Scores, and they are tied to hospital reimbursement and overall hospital ratings on a national scale. They're very quickly becoming a very big deal, and hospitals are pulling out all the stops to try to rate an "excellent" in as many fields as possible. And honestly, I think that Patient Satisfaction is important, and that there is a place for it the healthcare industry, but I don't think that it should have financial ties. There are several problems with this model. First of all, it's a hospital. No one goes to the hospital because they want to be there. It's already a place that has negative associations. Assume then, for a minute, that the patient is suddenly hospitalized and diagnosed with a life-altering ailment. His treatment consists of tests that are expensive and uncomfortable. Couple that with the fact that the patient is required to miss meals for these tests, that his test times keep changing because emergencies take priority, he is woken up in the night for medications and treatments, and that he can't see a specialist until Monday because that particular doctor doesn't work on the weekend. How likely is he to give favorable scores for his care? Not very. Even if we do everything right, his perception of his care is what dictates his overall satisfaction.
We now live in a culture of instant gratification...smart phones, wifi, the internet, Amazon Prime...everything is fast, efficient, and almost instantaneous. Patients are under the illusion that healthcare ought to be the same. The idea of patience has completely gone out the window when it comes to healthcare, and it's only getting worse. Patients will bring up WebMD on their phone, trying to dictate their course of treatment as though they are on equal footing with the doctors who have spent a significant portion of their lives learning how to treat these very ailments. Patients latch on to any information online that resonates with what they already believe to be wrong with them, convinced that the medication we are giving them is causing itching and headaches, but it's inappropriate of me to suggest that their skin might be itchy because they haven't bathed themselves since admission, or that their headache is due to the fact that they haven't had coffee in 3 days. They want medications, they want a cure, they want to feel like something is being done when sometimes all an ailment needs is time and support. I've had patients yell and swear at me because they are under the impression that once their MRI has been completed, it should be read instantly and their results should be presented to them by the time they get back to their patient room. I've seen MRI results before. It's nothing but black, grey, and white blobs...I can't make sense of it. The doctors who read these scans are brilliant, and it takes time to interpret the scans to make sure that nothing is missed. But patients aren't concerned about that. They want everything to happen right now, or they're going to complain. And what happens when things are rushed in healthcare? The same thing that happens when you rush anything else in life...mistakes are made.
Patients complain that our jello selection is poor, that the TV channels are inept, that they don't like their roommate, that interrupting them to take their blood pressure is annoying. What they don't understand is that I'm a college educated professional who has worked with some of the most brilliant minds in the healthcare industry; I know things about their illness, their diagnosis, and their treatment that they can't even fathom...but I'm "just a nurse." I'm not taking their blood pressure in the sole interest of annoying them. I monitor their vital signs and their lab results and their medications and I am expected to react accordingly the instant that something is amiss. And I do all this while juggling the care of multiple patients at a time. One error on my part could result in patient injury or death; interrupting my train of thought could very well have dire consequences for themselves or someone else. Pulling me aside to complain about the jello or the TV takes my valuable time and concentration away from another patient who might be struggling with something serious.
And here's the kicker...I have to treat every jello complaint, every TV gripe as if it were something legitimate that I actually cared about...I have to pretend to care for the sake of our Patient Satisfaction Scores. I could care less what you think about the jello or the TV. I hate that there are TVs in patient rooms, because patients would rather watch TV than listen to their plan of care. They would rather watch Duck Dynasty than hear about how smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day for 40 years is the reason they can't breathe, and that there's no treatment for poor health choices.
I can't remember that last time I had a full shift where every patient treated me with respect. It just doesn't happen anymore. I am their servant, I am the reason their MRI hasn't yet been read, I am the reason the jello selection sucks. According to the patient, everything that goes wrong while they are in the hospital is my fault, because I'm the nurse, I'm the beat-up-boy, I'm the idiot who can't get it done. And to be quite frank, I'm sick of it. I'm tired of being disrespected, I'm tired of being treated like a second-class citizen, I'm tired of being treated like I'm stupid, I'm tired of going home emotionally and mentally exhausted from having to cater to ridiculous demands and poor attitudes all night long. I'm tired of working for healthcare systems who don't support their own staff, who legitimize complaints of unreasonable individuals and penalize us mentally, emotionally, and financially for it. The problem with treating healthcare like a business, and patients like clients, is that patients now have this perception that everything can be fixed. And not only should everything be fixed, but it should be fixed within a time frame that is dictated by the patient. Failure to comply with the patient's timeline results in unfavorable Patient Satisfaction Scores, which then affects hospital reimbursement, which then trickles down to the salaries of everyone who works in the hospital. What incentive is left for me when my effectiveness as a nurse is being graded by people who place jello flavors higher on the list of importance than adequate, safe, and effective healthcare?
Human bodies are not granite countertops: there is no money-back guarantee or extended warranty on your appendix, or your heart, or your endocrine system. The longer you survive on this earth, the more chances you have for your body to fail. That's reality. And the reality of healthcare is that it's not going to fix everything that ails you, but given a decent amount of patient compliance and some modern medical techniques, it might be able to buy you some time and comfort. That's it. The fact that we've let healthcare advance to the state it is, where a patient who knows nothing about medicine is the one calling the shots is tragic, and I'm not sure that it's something I want to be a part of for the long haul.
It hasn't always been easy...in fact, easy is not a word I would ever use to describe nursing. My first year of nursing felt like I was running the gauntlet. There were sleepless nights, never-ending days, and there was nothing that could have prepared me for the physical, emotional, and mental stress that comes along with caring for people who are sick. But through it all, the bad days, the good days, the long hours, I managed to persevere and to become, in my opinion, good at what I do. I like people, I like medicine, I like trying to find a solution to make people feel better and to live healthier lives. I thought that working with patients at the bedside was something that I could do for the rest of my working life. The changes that I've seen in healthcare in the last few years have me seriously questioning the logistics of that idea.
Back when I started nursing, I felt that nurses received a great deal of respect, both from patients and from their peers in healthcare. Granted, patients are not at their best when they're sick...they tend to be sullen, snappy, and generally dissatisfied with most things pertaining to their illness and treatment. But for the most part, they were able to rein in their negativity and try to work towards a solution with their healthcare team. Throughout the years, I've worked side by side with doctors, lab techs, radiology technicians, and many other forms of hospital personnel, all for the good of the patient. I don't feel that I'm any less respected by my coworkers these days, but the respect I get from my patients has plummeted significantly, and I've almost been driving myself crazy trying to get to the bottom of it. I've been wondering if it's me, if it's the hospital I work for, the unit I'm assigned to...or if it's something more, something bigger, something pertaining to healthcare that is rapidly on a course towards something ominous.
Healthcare is very quickly becoming a business. Well, it's always been a business of sorts, but it's becoming more so these days. I've worked in some hospitals where they refer to individuals seeking care as "clients," rather than "patients." Many think it may just be semantics, that the two are interchangeable, but the implication I see in changing the name has ramifications that go along with it that we are just beginning to see, and will continue to see with increasing consequences as the years go on.
For one, a client is someone who seeks out the expertise of someone in a certain profession. They are paying for that expertise, and they have a say in whose expertise they commission. It is implied that a client knows a little something about the professional who they are commissioning, and that they have an idea of an expected outcome, and more often than not, that outcome will be a positive one. A client is also someone who wants something, but who doesn't necessarily need something. For instance, if a person wants to put granite countertops in their house, they find someone who specializes in granite countertops. They work together with this person to find an outcome that is favorable to the client, and they proceed accordingly. Sometimes things don't go as planned, and a different plan is drawn up to remedy those variances. Typically things can be resolved with little to no harm to the client. And typically, everything is done within reason to assure the complete satisfaction of the client. In the event that a favorable outcome is not reached, there is typically money or additional services provided in exchange for their satisfaction.
When a person comes to the Emergency Department of a hospital with an ailment of some sort, like abdominal pain, they don't know what is needed to treat them. They don't know what's wrong with them. They don't know the testing procedures, the specialists, or the care involved in determining the cause for their pain. All they know is that they are in pain, they don't feel good, and they want to feel better. Becoming a "client" of a hospital doesn't guarantee that their problem will be solved, but there is a very real possibility that it could be. And here is the difference between abdominal pain and granite countertops...there is a very real possibility that the abdominal pain might never be fixed. There is a very real possibility that a temporary fix might be obtained, but that the problem night resurface again in days, weeks, months, or even years. There is a very real possibility that the patient might die from their ailment, or even the treatment of that ailment. These are all outcomes that happen in hospitals every single day. Not all of them are favorable, but not all of them are unexpected. Patients have come to expect that after years of self-abuse, they can come to the hospital when their bodies are falling apart and that we can fix them. Sometimes we can, sometimes we can't.
There is this culture in healthcare known as Patient Satisfaction, and it's revolutionizing the healthcare industry, but not for the better, in my opinion. Hospitals and their staff are graded on a patient's perception of their experience by a post-hospital survey. Their ratings are known as Patient Satisfaction Scores, and they are tied to hospital reimbursement and overall hospital ratings on a national scale. They're very quickly becoming a very big deal, and hospitals are pulling out all the stops to try to rate an "excellent" in as many fields as possible. And honestly, I think that Patient Satisfaction is important, and that there is a place for it the healthcare industry, but I don't think that it should have financial ties. There are several problems with this model. First of all, it's a hospital. No one goes to the hospital because they want to be there. It's already a place that has negative associations. Assume then, for a minute, that the patient is suddenly hospitalized and diagnosed with a life-altering ailment. His treatment consists of tests that are expensive and uncomfortable. Couple that with the fact that the patient is required to miss meals for these tests, that his test times keep changing because emergencies take priority, he is woken up in the night for medications and treatments, and that he can't see a specialist until Monday because that particular doctor doesn't work on the weekend. How likely is he to give favorable scores for his care? Not very. Even if we do everything right, his perception of his care is what dictates his overall satisfaction.
We now live in a culture of instant gratification...smart phones, wifi, the internet, Amazon Prime...everything is fast, efficient, and almost instantaneous. Patients are under the illusion that healthcare ought to be the same. The idea of patience has completely gone out the window when it comes to healthcare, and it's only getting worse. Patients will bring up WebMD on their phone, trying to dictate their course of treatment as though they are on equal footing with the doctors who have spent a significant portion of their lives learning how to treat these very ailments. Patients latch on to any information online that resonates with what they already believe to be wrong with them, convinced that the medication we are giving them is causing itching and headaches, but it's inappropriate of me to suggest that their skin might be itchy because they haven't bathed themselves since admission, or that their headache is due to the fact that they haven't had coffee in 3 days. They want medications, they want a cure, they want to feel like something is being done when sometimes all an ailment needs is time and support. I've had patients yell and swear at me because they are under the impression that once their MRI has been completed, it should be read instantly and their results should be presented to them by the time they get back to their patient room. I've seen MRI results before. It's nothing but black, grey, and white blobs...I can't make sense of it. The doctors who read these scans are brilliant, and it takes time to interpret the scans to make sure that nothing is missed. But patients aren't concerned about that. They want everything to happen right now, or they're going to complain. And what happens when things are rushed in healthcare? The same thing that happens when you rush anything else in life...mistakes are made.
Patients complain that our jello selection is poor, that the TV channels are inept, that they don't like their roommate, that interrupting them to take their blood pressure is annoying. What they don't understand is that I'm a college educated professional who has worked with some of the most brilliant minds in the healthcare industry; I know things about their illness, their diagnosis, and their treatment that they can't even fathom...but I'm "just a nurse." I'm not taking their blood pressure in the sole interest of annoying them. I monitor their vital signs and their lab results and their medications and I am expected to react accordingly the instant that something is amiss. And I do all this while juggling the care of multiple patients at a time. One error on my part could result in patient injury or death; interrupting my train of thought could very well have dire consequences for themselves or someone else. Pulling me aside to complain about the jello or the TV takes my valuable time and concentration away from another patient who might be struggling with something serious.
And here's the kicker...I have to treat every jello complaint, every TV gripe as if it were something legitimate that I actually cared about...I have to pretend to care for the sake of our Patient Satisfaction Scores. I could care less what you think about the jello or the TV. I hate that there are TVs in patient rooms, because patients would rather watch TV than listen to their plan of care. They would rather watch Duck Dynasty than hear about how smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day for 40 years is the reason they can't breathe, and that there's no treatment for poor health choices.
I can't remember that last time I had a full shift where every patient treated me with respect. It just doesn't happen anymore. I am their servant, I am the reason their MRI hasn't yet been read, I am the reason the jello selection sucks. According to the patient, everything that goes wrong while they are in the hospital is my fault, because I'm the nurse, I'm the beat-up-boy, I'm the idiot who can't get it done. And to be quite frank, I'm sick of it. I'm tired of being disrespected, I'm tired of being treated like a second-class citizen, I'm tired of being treated like I'm stupid, I'm tired of going home emotionally and mentally exhausted from having to cater to ridiculous demands and poor attitudes all night long. I'm tired of working for healthcare systems who don't support their own staff, who legitimize complaints of unreasonable individuals and penalize us mentally, emotionally, and financially for it. The problem with treating healthcare like a business, and patients like clients, is that patients now have this perception that everything can be fixed. And not only should everything be fixed, but it should be fixed within a time frame that is dictated by the patient. Failure to comply with the patient's timeline results in unfavorable Patient Satisfaction Scores, which then affects hospital reimbursement, which then trickles down to the salaries of everyone who works in the hospital. What incentive is left for me when my effectiveness as a nurse is being graded by people who place jello flavors higher on the list of importance than adequate, safe, and effective healthcare?
Human bodies are not granite countertops: there is no money-back guarantee or extended warranty on your appendix, or your heart, or your endocrine system. The longer you survive on this earth, the more chances you have for your body to fail. That's reality. And the reality of healthcare is that it's not going to fix everything that ails you, but given a decent amount of patient compliance and some modern medical techniques, it might be able to buy you some time and comfort. That's it. The fact that we've let healthcare advance to the state it is, where a patient who knows nothing about medicine is the one calling the shots is tragic, and I'm not sure that it's something I want to be a part of for the long haul.
Pukey Pukerson
When it comes to airplanes, boats, cars, and roller coasters, I'm a puker. I'm incredibly prone to motion sickness, which is something that I've struggled with for most of my life. I still remember the first time I puked from motion sickness. I believe I was 9 years old, and I was on a ride called the Octopus at the Gopher Count celebration in Viola, MN. I was crammed into the little car with two of my friends and we were spinning spinning spinning. Up and down and all around...spinning spinning spinning. I was having the time of my life...until I suddenly felt violently ill and started puking up funnel cake and cheese curds all over myself, the little ride car, and very nearly, my friends. They, of course, started panicking, trying to get the attention of the ride operator. Unfortunately he was under the impression that their screaming and arm waving meant that we wanted to go faster. In what felt like an hour but was probably less than a minute, he figured out that we were in distress and stopped the ride (and didn't bother to clean out that car for the rest of the day). And thus started my tumultuous relationship with all things in motion.
Boats are the worst. There are two occasions in which I've been motion sick on a boat, and both of them were horrific. Unfortunately they also occurred in some pretty awesome places. The first was on a halibut fishing boat in Alaska. Pretty sure I overdosed on Dramamine that day, and still managed to puke violently over the side of the boat whenever I happened to be awake. My friends got a fish on the line and let me reel it in between pukings, which was super nice of them. At least I can say I caught one, right? The second time was during a snorkeling trip gone awry in the Florida Keys. Had I known that the trip was also going to include scuba divers, who require deeper water than us lowly snorkelers, I wouldn't have consented to the trip. But...this wasn't revealed until we were already on our way out to the big water. I was fine while the boat was moving, but the minute it stopped and the rollers took hold, I was in trouble. Thinking that I would be okay if I could just get in the water, I hopped in...and the nausea didn't stop. Not wanting to throw up in the middle of the ocean, I hurriedly got back on the boat, where I proceeded to retch over the side of the boat for the next 3 hours. One nice thing about that...the fish in the ocean love vomit, so while I was spewing my guts, they were furiously coming to the surface to devour my stomach contents...so at least I had something to look at. I will be eternally grateful to my friend Carmen for explaining to me that I needed to keep eating in order to keep puking...doesn't sound like it makes sense, but trust me...if you're motion sick and puking, you're not going to stop retching just because your stomach is empty. It feels so much better to throw something up rather than sit there and dry heave. Luckily I don't go on boats all that often...airplanes, however, are another matter.
I've puked on airplanes more times than I can remember, which has gotten to be more frequent, seeing as I fly so much these days. I puked in the plane on my most recent trip to Minnesota. On the 20 minute flight from Flagstaff to Phoenix. You'd think that I'd be able to hold off on that short of a flight...but no, there I was, tossing my cookies (cashews, actually) amongst an entirely full flight. The one saving grace I have is that I'm a quiet puker. People who have born witness to my retching have commented that they don't even know I'm puking until they see the vomit. Which I guess is a good thing if I'm going to find myself puking in crowded areas.
Poor Simon. He's had to bear witness to me puking on planes multiple times now, and he's still willing to fly with me. He sits there stoically next to me, knowing that it's not okay to rub my back before or during the puking, but that it's okay and welcomed afterwards. He's even gotten into the habit of making sure that there are puke bags readily available whenever we get on a plane.
Cars are hit or miss...people have commented throughout the years about how I'm always the one driving while Simon sits passenger. This is multi-factorial, having a bit to do with my control issues and Simon's indifference to driving, but it's mostly due to the fact that I don't get motion sick when I'm driving. I've even driven other people's cars if I know that we're going to be on a road that's more curvy than your average interstate...it's just better to have me drive rather than clean my vomit out of the car.
Boats are the worst. There are two occasions in which I've been motion sick on a boat, and both of them were horrific. Unfortunately they also occurred in some pretty awesome places. The first was on a halibut fishing boat in Alaska. Pretty sure I overdosed on Dramamine that day, and still managed to puke violently over the side of the boat whenever I happened to be awake. My friends got a fish on the line and let me reel it in between pukings, which was super nice of them. At least I can say I caught one, right? The second time was during a snorkeling trip gone awry in the Florida Keys. Had I known that the trip was also going to include scuba divers, who require deeper water than us lowly snorkelers, I wouldn't have consented to the trip. But...this wasn't revealed until we were already on our way out to the big water. I was fine while the boat was moving, but the minute it stopped and the rollers took hold, I was in trouble. Thinking that I would be okay if I could just get in the water, I hopped in...and the nausea didn't stop. Not wanting to throw up in the middle of the ocean, I hurriedly got back on the boat, where I proceeded to retch over the side of the boat for the next 3 hours. One nice thing about that...the fish in the ocean love vomit, so while I was spewing my guts, they were furiously coming to the surface to devour my stomach contents...so at least I had something to look at. I will be eternally grateful to my friend Carmen for explaining to me that I needed to keep eating in order to keep puking...doesn't sound like it makes sense, but trust me...if you're motion sick and puking, you're not going to stop retching just because your stomach is empty. It feels so much better to throw something up rather than sit there and dry heave. Luckily I don't go on boats all that often...airplanes, however, are another matter.
I've puked on airplanes more times than I can remember, which has gotten to be more frequent, seeing as I fly so much these days. I puked in the plane on my most recent trip to Minnesota. On the 20 minute flight from Flagstaff to Phoenix. You'd think that I'd be able to hold off on that short of a flight...but no, there I was, tossing my cookies (cashews, actually) amongst an entirely full flight. The one saving grace I have is that I'm a quiet puker. People who have born witness to my retching have commented that they don't even know I'm puking until they see the vomit. Which I guess is a good thing if I'm going to find myself puking in crowded areas.
Poor Simon. He's had to bear witness to me puking on planes multiple times now, and he's still willing to fly with me. He sits there stoically next to me, knowing that it's not okay to rub my back before or during the puking, but that it's okay and welcomed afterwards. He's even gotten into the habit of making sure that there are puke bags readily available whenever we get on a plane.
Cars are hit or miss...people have commented throughout the years about how I'm always the one driving while Simon sits passenger. This is multi-factorial, having a bit to do with my control issues and Simon's indifference to driving, but it's mostly due to the fact that I don't get motion sick when I'm driving. I've even driven other people's cars if I know that we're going to be on a road that's more curvy than your average interstate...it's just better to have me drive rather than clean my vomit out of the car.
Body Hair Everywhere
So I'm finding that these blogs are turning out to be less about what I'm doing, and more about what I'm discovering about myself. I hope that's okay, because whether you like them or not, they've been extremely therapeutic for me. This edition, we focus on body hair, and America's apparent obsession with it.
I decided a few weeks ago that I'm done shaving my armpits. I'm just not going to do it anymore. I have sensitive skin to begin with, and my armpit skin is even more so. But I've finally reached the point where I'm done with having itchy, rashy, irritable pits...conditions brought about in the interest of having completely hairless armpits. And really, even with shaving, they're never completely hairless. Armpits are a pain in the patoot to shave...the hair grows in all directions, and it's nearly impossible to get it all without cutting oneself or just giving up entirely. And then there's the razor burn. And the stinging and the subsequent rash as the deodorant is applied to freshly shorn skin. I'm just over it.
That's not to say that I'm just going to let it all grow out and turn into a wookie. I have a trimmer, and it does a fine job. And honestly, outside of myself, I can't imagine my pits are anyone else's business. It's not like I walk around in sleeveless shirts with my arms raised above my head at a constant. And even if I did...still no one's business, and I can't imagine that my underarms would personally affect a person's day in the slightest.
One thing I've found interesting about this whole phenomenon has been people's response to it. Not to the hair, but to my proclamation that I'm not going to shave it off anymore. 90% of the time (statistic made up on the spot), people ask me how Simon feels about it. How Simon felt about it never really entered my thoughts when I made the initial decision, but everyone else's apprehension made me ponder if maybe it should have. Should my body hair, or lack thereof, be a joint decision between the two of us? Is he likely to find me less attractive, or even break up with me, over the simple issue of body hair?
So I asked him if me not shaving my pits anymore would be an issue between us. I wish I had a picture of the look on his face, because it made me realize even more how perfect this man is for me. He was incredulous, and said that he couldn't care less what I do with my armpits. In fact, given that shaving my pits made me itchy, rashy, and uncomfortable, he agreed that I should stop shaving them in the interest of having one less thing to make me irritable. Of course, he said that should I stop maintaining the Beav, then there might be issues. Which is understandable...it's a part of my body that he interacts with, unlike my armpits. But then I got this goofy idea...what if I did grow out the Beav? Just big and gnarly...and then put on a little bathing suit and go hang out on the beach. Count the number of times people's gazes gravitate to my pubic area, taking into account how many of those gazes were followed by looks of disgust. It would be an interesting social experiment. But I could just buy a Merkin for that...no need to jeopardize my relationship over a pubic hair experiment.
Which got me thinking about other people's relationships, and if body hair is truly a threat to them. Are there are men out there who would not be okay under any circumstances should their girlfriends or wives decide to stop shaving? Even if shaving made them miserable? Even if shaving was the most trivial hiccup between them as a couple? And then I thought about it one step further...how many women out there would be too nervous to stop shaving, thinking that their men would find them unattractive, accuse them of "letting themselves go," and leave them? Do other couples have honest conversations about body hair? Or is the assumption made that less body hair is best because that's the way it's always been? Do relationships truly struggle or end due to body hair? It's kind of a sad culture we live in when naturally occurring body hair can be so polarizing and offensive. I wonder how many people reading this will wrinkle up their noses in disgust, thinking that I'm now this gross hairy beast with poor hygiene.
I've struggled with body hair for almost my entire life. It was something that I was incredibly self conscious about for more years than I can count. When I was younger, I had very dark hair on my arms and legs...I'm a dark-haired, dark eyed, olive skinned person...it stands to reason that I would have dark body hair. I shaved my legs for the first time when I was in fifth grade. Of course I cut myself and it stung like the dickens, but I loved my smooth, tan legs. And what I loved even more was the fact that the boys in school couldn't make fun of me for hairy legs anymore. They just made fun of my hairy arms instead. They would point at my arms and loudly proclaim, "You have really hairy arms." As if it was something be ashamed of. As if it was something I didn't already know. As if having hairy arms was some sort of accessory that I chose to go along with my wardrobe for the day. So I started shaving those too. When I was 16 and I had my first job at a grocery store, I would spend the equivalent of one-two paychecks going to a salon in Rochester to have my arms waxed. 16 years old. So merciless were those assholes in my school that not only was I was willing to spend entire paychecks removing my body hair, but I was willing to put up with how uncomfortable and painful the waxing process is. It's sad. And you know, my mom always told me that one day the hair would become thinner and lighter, and that in the summer when I was tan, the hair was barely noticeable. And I didn't believe her. And of course she was right. I don't even notice my arm hair anymore. It's just there, hanging out doing its thing.
I feel like I'm turning into some sort of hippie. First I blog about reusable menstrual supplies, and now I'm blogging about body hair. I think I've just reached a point in my life where I'm just too darn busy and active to care about the little, trivial things any more. I'm minimizing my personal belongings, and in the process, I'm also minimizing certain things about myself as a person. I just can't be bothered to care about body hair when I'm seriously considering the logistics of living out of an RV in some other state come this time next year. I have way more pressing things that need my attention than some wayward hairs under my arms. And there it is.
Next time you see me, you're going to be wondering about my armpit hair, just like you probably already wonder if I have a menstrual cup in. Hahaha! My life has always been about TMI...blogging just gives me the vehicle to reach the masses. Enjoy. :)
I decided a few weeks ago that I'm done shaving my armpits. I'm just not going to do it anymore. I have sensitive skin to begin with, and my armpit skin is even more so. But I've finally reached the point where I'm done with having itchy, rashy, irritable pits...conditions brought about in the interest of having completely hairless armpits. And really, even with shaving, they're never completely hairless. Armpits are a pain in the patoot to shave...the hair grows in all directions, and it's nearly impossible to get it all without cutting oneself or just giving up entirely. And then there's the razor burn. And the stinging and the subsequent rash as the deodorant is applied to freshly shorn skin. I'm just over it.
That's not to say that I'm just going to let it all grow out and turn into a wookie. I have a trimmer, and it does a fine job. And honestly, outside of myself, I can't imagine my pits are anyone else's business. It's not like I walk around in sleeveless shirts with my arms raised above my head at a constant. And even if I did...still no one's business, and I can't imagine that my underarms would personally affect a person's day in the slightest.
One thing I've found interesting about this whole phenomenon has been people's response to it. Not to the hair, but to my proclamation that I'm not going to shave it off anymore. 90% of the time (statistic made up on the spot), people ask me how Simon feels about it. How Simon felt about it never really entered my thoughts when I made the initial decision, but everyone else's apprehension made me ponder if maybe it should have. Should my body hair, or lack thereof, be a joint decision between the two of us? Is he likely to find me less attractive, or even break up with me, over the simple issue of body hair?
So I asked him if me not shaving my pits anymore would be an issue between us. I wish I had a picture of the look on his face, because it made me realize even more how perfect this man is for me. He was incredulous, and said that he couldn't care less what I do with my armpits. In fact, given that shaving my pits made me itchy, rashy, and uncomfortable, he agreed that I should stop shaving them in the interest of having one less thing to make me irritable. Of course, he said that should I stop maintaining the Beav, then there might be issues. Which is understandable...it's a part of my body that he interacts with, unlike my armpits. But then I got this goofy idea...what if I did grow out the Beav? Just big and gnarly...and then put on a little bathing suit and go hang out on the beach. Count the number of times people's gazes gravitate to my pubic area, taking into account how many of those gazes were followed by looks of disgust. It would be an interesting social experiment. But I could just buy a Merkin for that...no need to jeopardize my relationship over a pubic hair experiment.
Which got me thinking about other people's relationships, and if body hair is truly a threat to them. Are there are men out there who would not be okay under any circumstances should their girlfriends or wives decide to stop shaving? Even if shaving made them miserable? Even if shaving was the most trivial hiccup between them as a couple? And then I thought about it one step further...how many women out there would be too nervous to stop shaving, thinking that their men would find them unattractive, accuse them of "letting themselves go," and leave them? Do other couples have honest conversations about body hair? Or is the assumption made that less body hair is best because that's the way it's always been? Do relationships truly struggle or end due to body hair? It's kind of a sad culture we live in when naturally occurring body hair can be so polarizing and offensive. I wonder how many people reading this will wrinkle up their noses in disgust, thinking that I'm now this gross hairy beast with poor hygiene.
I've struggled with body hair for almost my entire life. It was something that I was incredibly self conscious about for more years than I can count. When I was younger, I had very dark hair on my arms and legs...I'm a dark-haired, dark eyed, olive skinned person...it stands to reason that I would have dark body hair. I shaved my legs for the first time when I was in fifth grade. Of course I cut myself and it stung like the dickens, but I loved my smooth, tan legs. And what I loved even more was the fact that the boys in school couldn't make fun of me for hairy legs anymore. They just made fun of my hairy arms instead. They would point at my arms and loudly proclaim, "You have really hairy arms." As if it was something be ashamed of. As if it was something I didn't already know. As if having hairy arms was some sort of accessory that I chose to go along with my wardrobe for the day. So I started shaving those too. When I was 16 and I had my first job at a grocery store, I would spend the equivalent of one-two paychecks going to a salon in Rochester to have my arms waxed. 16 years old. So merciless were those assholes in my school that not only was I was willing to spend entire paychecks removing my body hair, but I was willing to put up with how uncomfortable and painful the waxing process is. It's sad. And you know, my mom always told me that one day the hair would become thinner and lighter, and that in the summer when I was tan, the hair was barely noticeable. And I didn't believe her. And of course she was right. I don't even notice my arm hair anymore. It's just there, hanging out doing its thing.
I feel like I'm turning into some sort of hippie. First I blog about reusable menstrual supplies, and now I'm blogging about body hair. I think I've just reached a point in my life where I'm just too darn busy and active to care about the little, trivial things any more. I'm minimizing my personal belongings, and in the process, I'm also minimizing certain things about myself as a person. I just can't be bothered to care about body hair when I'm seriously considering the logistics of living out of an RV in some other state come this time next year. I have way more pressing things that need my attention than some wayward hairs under my arms. And there it is.
Next time you see me, you're going to be wondering about my armpit hair, just like you probably already wonder if I have a menstrual cup in. Hahaha! My life has always been about TMI...blogging just gives me the vehicle to reach the masses. Enjoy. :)
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
The Period Blog
I think at some point in her life, every woman should write about her period. Not necessarily with the intention of posting it on social media, or even with the intent of having anyone else read it. I think every woman should write about her period with the intention of thinking about what it is, what it means, and how it affects her.
Periods are gross. There's no getting around that. At some point, every woman is going to get blood on her hands, her pants, her bed sheets, her office chair...it's not if, it's when. If I had the option to not have a period, I'd take it...I think almost every woman out there would opt to not have a period if given the choice. As it stands, there are very few options out there for a woman to rid herself, once and for all, of the dreaded period. Surgical intervention, hormone therapy, and menopause. That's it. Those are our options. I, for one, have considered the first, tried the second, and have not yet gone through the third. So that leaves me having to deal with my Red Passenger (that's what I call it...most every woman has a name for her period) for the next 20 years or so. Lucky me.
I remember in high school being so embarrassed and ashamed by having a period. As if there was something wrong with me. As if I alone was suffering from it. It was so shameful to be stricken with such a malady that no one wanted to talk about it. And why not? Why the heck not? Nearly every woman in the history of mankind has had a period. It's not like we need to shout about it from the rooftops, but for pete's sake, had I been able to verbalize about my period without the threat of being ridiculed, shamed, or shushed, I think that would have helped me so much through those formative years when my entire world was in upheaval as I tried to figure myself out. Being a teenager is hard enough without feeling shameful or being ridiculed about a natural body process.
There's this new idea going around amongst women called "free bleeding." It's partly about what the name implies, but there's more to it than just lying around in pants and on sheets that you don't mind soiling...that's actually a part of the idea that few women have gotten on board with. The idea behind free bleeding is taking time out to sit and think about what our bodies are going through. To bring awareness to what awesome machines are bodies are. How they function without us asking them to, how they get us from place to place, how they keep us safe and warm, active and comfortable. When you really stop to think about the fact that our bodies are bleeding because it's all part of the bigger function of bringing new life into this world, it's pretty awesome. Even someone like me who has no interest in having children can appreciate the amazing things my body could do, should I ever ask it to.
The reason I felt inspired to write about my period is that I've discovered a whole new side to menstrual products. Products that you'll rarely, if ever, find in the stores. I'm not sure why, but I'm sure it has something to do with money. Doesn't it always? We use the products that are most easy to obtain, and given that the period is something most of us would rather not think about, let alone have to deal with, we choose the easiest, most available option in the interest of getting the whole thing over and done with. The thing is, most readily available menstrual products are kind of toxic...and irritating. And itchy. Not to mention expensive...feminine hygiene products are a multi-billion dollar industry. And what's up with those scented ones? Good gravy, I accidentally bought a box of scented tampons once and I thought my windpipe was going to close up from an allergic reaction to the smell. The entire bathroom smelled like those tampons until I finally put them in a ziplock bag to seal them up and dispose of them (actually, I took them to work and put them in the staff bathroom for emergencies). What woman's lady parts smell so terribly that the smell of those scented tampons would be considered an improvement? And what is that scent coming from anyway? Something that I'm going to absorb into my body? No thanks. I've lately been of the idea that I'd like to create less waste if at all possible. Women's traditional menstrual products create so much waste, and sometimes I think about that giant, floating mass of plastic out in the Pacific Ocean, and I can't help but wonder what percentage of that happens to be plastic tampon applicators.
Several months ago, a friend introduced me to a product called the Diva Cup. Why it's called that, I have no idea. Terrible name, pretty decent product. Not to be uncouth, but the basic premise is shoving the equivalent of a silicone shot glass up one's hoo-haa in lieu of using tampons. I'm on day 2 with the Diva Cup, and we're still trying to figure each other out. The claim that I can potentially go 12 hours without having to empty the cup is a laugh, but I kinda figured that going into it. Still, there was this little hope in the back of my head that had me thinking about how wonderful it would be to only have to deal with the period twice a day. Alas, that was not to be...at least not today, and probably not tomorrow. Maybe Thursday. So here I sit, filling up my shot glass as I type this. How many of you just grimaced after that last sentence? Hahaha! I'm not going to lie...the first few times the Diva and I came head to head, it looked like there had been a massacre. In true Stefanie fashion, I wanted to toss the thing in the trash after the first extraction, but I persevered and decided that I have to give it (and myself) more than one chance to get it right. The Diva and I are getting along better now. The Amazon reviews on it from other period stricken women have been invaluable. There's another cup I'd like to try called the FemmyCycle...seriously, who is in charge of naming these things? Remember how I said that having the period is bad enough? The naming of these products is just adding insult to injury. Let's all sit around and talk about our FemmyCycles. Gag.
There are also reusable alternatives to pads and panty liners. Again, no idea these things even existed. I learned a lot today from Amazon and YouTube. If you've ever known someone who uses modern cloth diapers on their babies, it's kind of like that...but without that whole outer-pants layer. Most of them are made from bamboo or organic cotton. There are so many different types and sizes that I was pretty overwhelmed trying to figure out which ones I was looking for. You want to know the most bothersome thing about them? The ones with the light colored or light patterned crotches. I get it, there's a movement to try to make the period cute and less shameful and who wouldn't want a maxi pad with cute little owls on it? But seriously. We're talking about blood stains here people; unless the pattern is black owls at night during a new moon, I'm not interested. Let's get on board with the dark fabrics. It's not like we're trying to pretend that we're not going to be getting blood on them. There's a really good reason why most women don't wear white pants when they're on their period.
If you're at all interested in some of these products, shoot me a line, I'd be glad to share what I've found with you. There's also this adorable little British chick who has a bunch of YouTube videos devoted to these products. Spoiler alert: she keeps all her clothes on. Find her here.
And I guess that's it. My period post. I guess I'm not so annoyed by it after all.
Periods are gross. There's no getting around that. At some point, every woman is going to get blood on her hands, her pants, her bed sheets, her office chair...it's not if, it's when. If I had the option to not have a period, I'd take it...I think almost every woman out there would opt to not have a period if given the choice. As it stands, there are very few options out there for a woman to rid herself, once and for all, of the dreaded period. Surgical intervention, hormone therapy, and menopause. That's it. Those are our options. I, for one, have considered the first, tried the second, and have not yet gone through the third. So that leaves me having to deal with my Red Passenger (that's what I call it...most every woman has a name for her period) for the next 20 years or so. Lucky me.
I remember in high school being so embarrassed and ashamed by having a period. As if there was something wrong with me. As if I alone was suffering from it. It was so shameful to be stricken with such a malady that no one wanted to talk about it. And why not? Why the heck not? Nearly every woman in the history of mankind has had a period. It's not like we need to shout about it from the rooftops, but for pete's sake, had I been able to verbalize about my period without the threat of being ridiculed, shamed, or shushed, I think that would have helped me so much through those formative years when my entire world was in upheaval as I tried to figure myself out. Being a teenager is hard enough without feeling shameful or being ridiculed about a natural body process.
There's this new idea going around amongst women called "free bleeding." It's partly about what the name implies, but there's more to it than just lying around in pants and on sheets that you don't mind soiling...that's actually a part of the idea that few women have gotten on board with. The idea behind free bleeding is taking time out to sit and think about what our bodies are going through. To bring awareness to what awesome machines are bodies are. How they function without us asking them to, how they get us from place to place, how they keep us safe and warm, active and comfortable. When you really stop to think about the fact that our bodies are bleeding because it's all part of the bigger function of bringing new life into this world, it's pretty awesome. Even someone like me who has no interest in having children can appreciate the amazing things my body could do, should I ever ask it to.
The reason I felt inspired to write about my period is that I've discovered a whole new side to menstrual products. Products that you'll rarely, if ever, find in the stores. I'm not sure why, but I'm sure it has something to do with money. Doesn't it always? We use the products that are most easy to obtain, and given that the period is something most of us would rather not think about, let alone have to deal with, we choose the easiest, most available option in the interest of getting the whole thing over and done with. The thing is, most readily available menstrual products are kind of toxic...and irritating. And itchy. Not to mention expensive...feminine hygiene products are a multi-billion dollar industry. And what's up with those scented ones? Good gravy, I accidentally bought a box of scented tampons once and I thought my windpipe was going to close up from an allergic reaction to the smell. The entire bathroom smelled like those tampons until I finally put them in a ziplock bag to seal them up and dispose of them (actually, I took them to work and put them in the staff bathroom for emergencies). What woman's lady parts smell so terribly that the smell of those scented tampons would be considered an improvement? And what is that scent coming from anyway? Something that I'm going to absorb into my body? No thanks. I've lately been of the idea that I'd like to create less waste if at all possible. Women's traditional menstrual products create so much waste, and sometimes I think about that giant, floating mass of plastic out in the Pacific Ocean, and I can't help but wonder what percentage of that happens to be plastic tampon applicators.
Several months ago, a friend introduced me to a product called the Diva Cup. Why it's called that, I have no idea. Terrible name, pretty decent product. Not to be uncouth, but the basic premise is shoving the equivalent of a silicone shot glass up one's hoo-haa in lieu of using tampons. I'm on day 2 with the Diva Cup, and we're still trying to figure each other out. The claim that I can potentially go 12 hours without having to empty the cup is a laugh, but I kinda figured that going into it. Still, there was this little hope in the back of my head that had me thinking about how wonderful it would be to only have to deal with the period twice a day. Alas, that was not to be...at least not today, and probably not tomorrow. Maybe Thursday. So here I sit, filling up my shot glass as I type this. How many of you just grimaced after that last sentence? Hahaha! I'm not going to lie...the first few times the Diva and I came head to head, it looked like there had been a massacre. In true Stefanie fashion, I wanted to toss the thing in the trash after the first extraction, but I persevered and decided that I have to give it (and myself) more than one chance to get it right. The Diva and I are getting along better now. The Amazon reviews on it from other period stricken women have been invaluable. There's another cup I'd like to try called the FemmyCycle...seriously, who is in charge of naming these things? Remember how I said that having the period is bad enough? The naming of these products is just adding insult to injury. Let's all sit around and talk about our FemmyCycles. Gag.
There are also reusable alternatives to pads and panty liners. Again, no idea these things even existed. I learned a lot today from Amazon and YouTube. If you've ever known someone who uses modern cloth diapers on their babies, it's kind of like that...but without that whole outer-pants layer. Most of them are made from bamboo or organic cotton. There are so many different types and sizes that I was pretty overwhelmed trying to figure out which ones I was looking for. You want to know the most bothersome thing about them? The ones with the light colored or light patterned crotches. I get it, there's a movement to try to make the period cute and less shameful and who wouldn't want a maxi pad with cute little owls on it? But seriously. We're talking about blood stains here people; unless the pattern is black owls at night during a new moon, I'm not interested. Let's get on board with the dark fabrics. It's not like we're trying to pretend that we're not going to be getting blood on them. There's a really good reason why most women don't wear white pants when they're on their period.
If you're at all interested in some of these products, shoot me a line, I'd be glad to share what I've found with you. There's also this adorable little British chick who has a bunch of YouTube videos devoted to these products. Spoiler alert: she keeps all her clothes on. Find her here.
And I guess that's it. My period post. I guess I'm not so annoyed by it after all.
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