I took the last of the 14 days-worth of Provera on Saturday night. Monday, I start spotting. Tuesday, I start hurting. And bleeding. Today, well, we’ll get to today in a minute (like Tuesday, only more so, with added public humiliation).
What I want to know, is bleeding this soon after finishing Provera normal? I thought I had at least four or five days, if not a week, before breaking open the pretty lavender box in which I demurely hide my tampons (when I haven’t left them littered all over the kitchen table after one or two hand-bag-emptying sessions, of course).
And today went very badly. I was bleeding heavily, which was annoying. I had to go to work in the morning. I was meeting some family for lunch. I packed plenty of jumbo tampons, I changed them every couple of hours, I thought the Universe sucked, but hey, I was getting a nice lunch. Now, normally, after lunch with family, I’d wander up to the bus-stop with them, and possibly get on the bus with them and go home the long way round so as to have extra chatting time. As it was, we left the restaurant and as we were walking up the road, I felt an ominous spreading dampness in the groin. My poor relations. I practically shrieked: ‘Lovely to see you must do this again very soon must go now bye!’ and rushed away back down the street.
I plunged blindly into the first coffee-shop I passed and threw myself into the lavatory. It turned out to be the disabled/ baby-change cubicle, but tough, I was ensconced now and not budging. And indeed, blood had soaked right through my trousers. I confess, I had a little cry I felt so frustrated. And then, oh my word, the blood-clots. The size of my damn thumb, people. So I sat in the disabled cubicle, snivelling, mopping blood off my clothes, necking nurofen capsules, in an orgy of self-pity, for about ten minutes. And then I wiped my eyes, stood up, and used the (placed conveniently low for wheel-chair users and people who need to stare at their own arse) mirror to check just how appalling to passers-by the spectacle would be. All I can say is, brown cords are a good choice for those of us challenged in the uterine continence department. My back view was unobjectionable, and in any case, I could always keep my satchel in-front of me, teenage-boy-over-excited-by-bus-vibrations-style.
And then I emerged at last and queued up, satchel in place, to get a coffee. The barista gave me a very odd look. I felt highly self-conscious – I had after all spent several eons in their toilet, hopefully not sobbing audibly. I took my drink and went to the bus-stop. The bus-driver gave me an odd look. I had definitely checked front and back views and I had my scarf and satchel all in place. Perhaps he didn’t like coffee-cups on his bus. No one sat next to me either which was also odd, as the bus got quite full at one point. I began to wonder if I (whisper it) smelt…
And then I got home at last, and went into the bathroom to take all my clothes off, and saw myself in the mirror there. A face-reflecting-height mirror.
I had crossed half of London with a long streak of dried blood under my right eye.
And now I have seriously bad cramps. The one thing that had kept me from getting into bed and never getting out again what with the bleeding thing was at least it wasn’t particularly painful. Messy, yes, but usually I could at least stand upright without cussing.
I hate everything. Pass the chocolate.