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Okay, let me start off by saying that I love the idea of using a Diva Cup. No tampons to fuss with, no scary toxic shock syndrome, less of an environmental impact; plus you save money. But- it’s easier said than done. Gird your loins, because we’re about to get messy. This is my Diva Cup experience…
For those of you who don’t know what a Diva Cup is, it’s a silicone cup that is used to catch menstrual blood in place of a cotton tampon. It uses suction to stay in place, and when you’re ready, you remove it and pour the blood down the toilet, rinse it off, and reinsert. Seems simple, right? I got my diva cup as a gift from an environmentally conscious friend who knew I wanted to try one. I knew there was a learning curve to using a product like this, but I figured it would be worth it in the end. Well; the jury is still out on that one.
So, I’ll spare you the details of insertion, since there was nothing really noteworthy about that, other than a slightly uncomfortable feeling that went away as my body got used to it’s presence, and getting a little more personal with my lady bits than I am used to having to do. I will say I enjoy going to bed knowing that I don’t need to worry about TSS or leaking. Everything was as promised when I woke up, but removing this thing was no easy feat…
It started like this… I’m sitting on the toilet and start feeling for the stem of this thing, and I can feel it, but I cant grip it. If I can’t even grip the stem, how am I going to pinch the bottom of this thing to release the suction? So after much fishing around, I still can’t get it. Okkaaayyyyyy…so now what?
I try lifting up one leg. Still can’t get it. In my head I am already imagining a frantic call to my friend and/or boyfriend begging for help in extricating this thing from my vageen. I lean left. I lean right. Jump up and down a little. No luck.
For a few minutes I sit there, completely stumped as to what I should do. Maybe squatting would work? But isn’t having to take off your pants entirely a little bit ridiculous? Is there a YouTube tutorial for this? No wait, I don’t want to see a YouTube tutorial for this. Are my fingers ridiculously short? How many fingers should I be using? It’s not a hotel lobby in there. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.
So, now that I’ve been in the bathroom for entirely too long- I’m finally ready to get down to business. I ditch the pants, climb into the tub, and assume the position. I’m already thinking about how I’m going to need to bleach the ever loving shit out of this tub, and start fishing around for this mother-effer.
Okay, it’s a little more accessible from this position, but still eluding me. I start calling upon every childbirth technique I know, and bearing down like my life depends on it. The Rocky song is playing in my head. In the movie of my life, this part would be a motivational and inspiring montage.
This is pretty much the grossest thing that has ever happened in this bathtub, and my kid has pooped in here several times.
I can’t believe I still haven’t gotten it out. This is ridiculous. I’ve got shit to do today. So I push. HARD. I’m not sure how many fingers I had to use to get a handle on it, but I can tell your for sure I’ll never forget what happened next.
I start slowly pulling it out, thinking that I’ll daintily pour it out and be on my way. About halfway through removing it, I knew that wasn’t going to be an option. I can feel the pressure of the opening of the cup the closer I get to having it all the way out. It’s about to be a massacre in here. I know it.
I felt it pop open as it came out there was an audible splash.
It was everywhere. On my legs. On my feet. Pretty much up to my elbows (okay, that’s probably an exaggeration.). AND there was still some in the cup. It looked like a scene straight out of Carrie. I was entirely disgusted, but also impressed with all that my uterus had done while I was sleeping. Like, good uterusing, uterus.
I spend an unladylike amount of time considering taking a picture of it, sending it to my friend with the caption “LOOK AT WHAT I HAVE DONE.” but ultimately decided not to. Instead, I rinsed out the tub, scrubbed myself clean, put the diva cup away, and sent off these two text messages instead.
The first to my friend.
and the next to my boyfriend
So, I really want to love you, Diva Cup, but I fear you and I just aren’t meant to be. I’m going to try the smaller size before I relegate myself to using tampons forever, but like, I like my tub, and blood stains grout like a bitch. Know what I’m sayin’? I hope you understand.
Bitter and Bloodspattered.
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