The Curse

There was no Midol, no Advil, no over-the-counter formulations for PMS. There was no notion of PMS. The “M” was never spoken about. You got your period; you maybe whispered to your girlfriends that you had “the curse.” You suffered pain every month; it was hardest in the first few years—like a stabbing in the groin. It’s understood now that the pain is worse for teenagers. You had to sit still in class though you feared you would moan or scream or even faint at any moment. You heard nothing of what the teacher was saying. You just concentrated on breathing and getting through the hour.  It was not something you could go to the school nurse about. No one even said the word.

At home I was given a heating pad to ease the pain. (aspirin was for fever, not for this) At school, nothing. The girl who lived across the street was allowed by her mother to skip school on those days. My mother scoffed. Maybe she didn’t know or remember how much it hurt. No one talked about it.

Four decades later, I keep careful track of my daughter’s cycle. I offer her analgesics at the first sign; remind her to stay ahead of the pain. I am vigilant. I will not let her suffer. We joke one another about being PMS-y, even when we’re not but just had a bad day.

Progress.

-RH