The organic-eco-trend threatens with totalitarian ubiquity and has now literally worked its way up to the deepest depths of the menstrual period. What are we talking about? The menstrual cup! In the women's world, this word echoes from every nook and corner, and the reports are all so positive that it is hardly possible for women not to follow the trend.
Even women, of whom I never expected that they would even consider sticking their fingers deep into their vagina during the monthly flow, talk wonders about the alleged miracle cup.
At first, I was sure that the trend was short-lived, but when I heard about it repeatedly, I thought, ok - now I've heard about it several times, like when you hear a term for the first time that you didn't know and then all of a sudden hear it everywhere and constantly, wondering whether it has been used countless times before, but we just selectively overheard it, or that it is now simply accidentally and strangely used with astonishing frequency.
Be that as it may, the menstrual cup continued to echo. Secretly I wondered why I was only hearing about it now, when everyone else around me, even the most prude ones, were already stuffing the cup way deep into their bloody vagina every month, sighing delightfully.
The first woman, who told me about it had even ordered her cup in Denmark - I don't know why. Supposedly completely vaginal flora-friendly, purchased from an eco-organic vegan store - that is certainly a very important criterion. When she told me about it for the first time, I couldn't help but question the handling of the "cup" with skepticism. What if I have to change the cup in a public toilet? Does it hold up? Or, do you put it over your cervix!? Allegedly the cup sucks tightly, leaves no mess and then you dump the accumulated blood into the toilet. Easy Peasy. (Yeah, right)
In the course of life, a woman uses around 17,000 tampons, added my informed friend, and looked at me insistently as if I were to feel immediately ashamed of my astronomical tampon consumption. That's a very, very large number of tampons, I admit that. Involuntarily I imagined fauna and flora suffocating under soaked tampons, entire oceans colored red from tampons ... The friend continued dramatically: Finally, my vagina no longer has to suffer from the monthly pollution, all the bleach, etc., you know... With the cotton blood stopper, her lower abdomen has always seemed to her as if it was poisoned by her own blood backlog, and while she says it, she puts her hands on her ovaries as if she wanted to whisper them telepathically through some kind of Reiki-like energy that the ordeal is now over. She looks up and her eyes shine with confidence, just like imagining someone seeing a light at the end of a tunnel.
Just as a side note: I wasn't impressed by it. But, as life goes, immediately afterward I met - as if by chance (?) - other friends who not only presented the new miracle cup positively but also always added something even more fantastic. Apparently, you don't have to change the cup as often as a tampon, it is made from natural silicone and lasts for several years. Just imagine what that alone represents for the domestic economy. Seriously, even the most die-hard tampon wearer gets soft.
Yes, and that's how it went after that: a few days later, while shopping, I saw the cup ostentatiously in front of me on a shelf (exactly at eye level, by the way!), I grabbed it as if by remote control. But it's not that simple. The wonder cup is of course available in different sizes. S, M or L. (Why didn't any of the cup fans tell me that?) Yes, what now? - After all, I'm a mother of three, exactly, three times natural childbirth. With that picture in mind, I stood in front of the shelf and tried to imagine how the symbiosis between the inside of my vagina and this device would work. I hesitated between M and L and then decided, because of my trained pelvic floor and my active vaginal muscles, to go with M.
Since everyone raved about the cup so insistently and no one mentioned even a tiny negative detail, I never doubted for a moment that everything would go smoothly for me too. If you believe the reports, it's the easiest thing in the world. Cup in, blood flows, cup out, washout, and back in with it. Anyone can do that. Now I only had to wait for my period to come.
When it finally came, I went excitedly into the bathroom and read the provided little booklet to follow the instructions and avoid unwanted blood leakage. I folded the cup in one of the variants indicated - the most natural one to me - and shoved the thing pretty deep into my vagina. The little booklet, printed on brown organic paper and embellished with well-meant matching organic letters, said: “To avoid leakage, check after inserting whether the cup has unfolded correctly. Try to move your finger around the cup from the bottom to the top (as far as you can reach it). ”In plain language, this means, put your finger into your vagina as far as it will go and feel the part all around to see if it is sitting correctly. And that's how I did it.
You can imagine what a finger like that looks like when you stick it deep in a menstruating vagina and then turn circles in it. Not only my finger but also the rest of the hand was a bloody mess and despite repeated circling, the cup on the upper edge still felt - as feared - not completely "unfolded". I pulled it out again slightly, turned a little, and then tried to slide it back in - it's not that easy. In the end, I got impatient. The fiddling down there got too much for me and I decided to give it a try. I positioned the cup as best I could, washed my hands, put my clothes back on, and went back to everyday life.
I have to admit, I completely forgot that I introduced the cup, I didn't notice it at all. That’s a plus-point. But, just a few hours later, while I was standing in the locker room with my almost pubescent daughter, I felt very clearly that something was about to happen. I lifted my dress briefly and inconspicuously and saw that the red liquid had already painted my thighs on the inside. I rushed to the public toilet in the shopping mall and - of course – everything I had feared, happened. It was a huge mess. I can hardly imagine that a woman loses only 65 milliliters (about 6 tablespoons) of blood during an entire cycle, because what had accumulated in the cup already looked like the meal of an adult vampire.
It takes getting used to seeing the leaked blood in person and not sucked into anything, and when I say that, it means something. I poured the stuff out, dabbed the cup with toilet paper, and put it back in. (The things that go on in public toilets!) - I couldn't possibly have taken the cup out to wash it ... I also dabbed the blood on my legs, but my fingers, which of course, after all the commotion looked like fresh from the butcher, I had to wash them in front of a gathered audience, there was no other way. I don't know whether the cup was not placed correctly or if it was already full, it is certain that I was anything but satisfied and as an additional protective barrier I folded about 6 sheets of toilet paper into my panties to prevent further spills.
Yes. So, this was my first experience with the menstrual cup. I really don't feel like going for a second butcher round at the moment, so I decided to only try the cup at home next month, to get the hang of it. I don't want to give up completely yet, that's not in my nature - and after all, I've bought it now, and I admit, I would also really like to be part of the movement. It would somehow be nice if the cup and I could be friends with time, but, honestly, I am not keeping my hopes up…