Bleeding Like A Bitch

For some reason today it seemed necessary to wear my white knickers with the black polka dots and cute ribbon bow. Then after 18 months of so or contraceptive implant-induced amenorrhea I find my girly-bits drained and my undergarments stained again. It was unexpected, even if I had been suspicious about my crampy stirrings and tender tits of late. Usually the implants last at least 2 and half years, and this one has only been in since June 06 or so. My doctor seemed almost as surprised as I am to find myself in the Feminine Hygeine aisle of the pharmacist. I see her about it tomorrow, though its unlikely much can be done about the present situation.

For all I do like blood, I find this turn of events entirely unsettling. I keep expecting dogs to sniff at my skirts, I imagine that everyone can smell my sex seeping out of me. I feel adolescent, all stuffed with cotton and walking funny. Its not like I didn't go through this process for many years- I did. But I never really wanted to, and the joy of making it stop was pure and complete.

Only women bleed. Girl, you're a woman now. The Curse and the Wise Wound. My unfulfilled womb crying tears of disappointment at another unfertilised moon. The abject, leaky, feminine body, all abundance and flood and disrespect of boundaries. Suddenly my body is really at odds with my concept of it, and myself. At least this horror didn't happen on the plane.

(True, my reaction is doubtless irrational in scale, and probably a touch hysterical in nature. But heck, what more could you expect from a woman held hostage by her biology?)