The Girl Who Loved Tampons

I vividly remember the first time I tried to use a tampon. It calls to mind one word: trauma. More trauma than when Carter and Lucy got stabbed in the ER. More trauma than when Josh got shot outside President Barlett's speech. More trauma than the creature created in New York this weekend while raking up a $41 million box office take.

Well, maybe not that much.

It was before a swim meet. I was to swim the butterfly and freestyle. Anchor the relay. I was fairly good--better at that than any other sport I ever engaged in. Competative, anyway.

But I'd gotten my period. One of the first, probably. Third or fourth time. Remember when they didn't seem to arrive with any sort of rhyme or reason? They'd just show up, like your weird aunt, visiting from out-of-town. Hi, honey! Howya been?! Don't mind me, I'm just stopping by for a few days. Might leave a mess, but you can clean up after me!

My mother tried to teach me to do this. Well, not teach. Coach. I don't know where the hell she bought what she bought. It resembled a small white bullet. Stuck on the end of a long wooden stick. I mean, this thing was to Playtex what Tussy is to Secret. Old school.

I wouldn't let her in the bathroom to help, as I was trying to maintain what dignity I could. So she was talking me through it through the door. While I was trying to read the directions on the fold out instruction pamphlet. You'd think they'd be able to better direct you how to deal with your own body. It is easier to put together a 500 piece Sauder desk. I know. I've done both.

It was awful. It hurt. Mostly because, I now know, I hadn't gotten it in the right place. And if you've never had one of those in "not the right place"...let me tell you, it hurts. It burns. It is like walking around with a piece of sandpaper...somewhere that isn't pleasant.

I didn't swim. I ruined my pink Polo shirt. Don't ask how. I don't want to talk about it.

I don't think I tried that again until maybe high school. I remember suffering with pads all through eighth grade, anyway. Wore sweatpants during gym, trying to square dance. I can't describe that discomfort.

It must have been high school when I started using tampons with any frequency. I don't know how I started. I don't know who mocked me enough to get over the fright of the first time. But thank God they did.

I never thought I loved them. I tolerated them. I varied from Tampax--for the biodegradability--to Playtex--for the ease. I even used OB when stuck in a pinch--gone to another country when I wasn't supposed to start for two more weeks.

Then I met a girl who didn't use them. Over the age of 25 and hadn't used a tampon. I couldn't fathom it. What could be standing in her way of complete and utter freedom? Fear? You'll get over it! Toxic Shock Syndrome? The only person I ever knew who got that got it because of her pregnancy! Genetically still a man? Okay, that one could be a problem.

I caught myself, one night, extolling the virtues of the tampon to this perfectly capable woman with her own decision-making powers. And I thought, "Jesus. Shut up." So I did.

But I am a convert. And a lifetime user. I'll never give them up now. Thank you, tampons. Thanks for making life a little more bearable.