The LMP

This post is not for the stuffy at heart, or the squeamish, or the ones who don't discuss bodily functions. You have been forewarned.

Imagine this, a woman looks forward (in the strangest way?) to this day, so much so, it has its' very own abbreviation in my Med Terminology course. I for one can say, yes at this point I am ready for it. Or really the end of it! This awaited event has come to be known as; LMP. Otherwise known in medical circles as (please hear the drum roll in your head) The Last Menstrual Period. Period. Amen. You. Are. Done. With. It. Forever. Ah, the joy of that idea. The thrill of it. The absolute downright frickin' oddness of it. Will I finally begin to feel my age because of it????

About 10 years ago, when this crazy journey of periomenopause began I did not have a period for 9 months. And, no not because I was pregnant and had that baby carted off secretly to Botswana. It's a long story, one I will continue on some other post but it lead me to a little insight what the future would someday be like. Easier. Calmer. No more once a month day where I swear the flood of the century occurred within my womb. Or I should say came out of it. If men bled like this there would be a paid day off once a month, no questions asked. Ever. At. All. Understood. It was and still until recently is a pain in my proverbial ass. It is an issue at work, who can run into the can every hour to "change" out her tampon when you are working a 4 to 6 hour busy shift. Usually not me. Who can stand to where a damn pad, just in case? I'm sorry, but not me. They still feel something akin to a diaper that is just in the way when walking. Don't get me wrong, on a really bad day (while working) I've had to, but I detest it.

Oh, and how about trying to sleep when your nether regions have turned into a non-stop faucet of red? Right, sure, uh-huh. Liar, I know you can't sleep well then either. I roll from side to side, trying to never lie on my front or back for fear of leaking all over the bed. Yes, even through the mattress pad. Never mind the sheets, blanket, and duet cover. Gross. I've tried sleeping on top of a towel. Yeah, that really works. For who? Not me, one move and it ends up all tucked up under me and around me. It's anywhere but where it should be. Annoying. I'm bleeding like a mad women as if I'm not annoyed enough I am tangled up in my own bed in one of my least favorite towels. Great.

How about those favorite panties? You know the ones you liked so much you bought four or five of because they were just perfect. Ha, one forgetful morning when you no longer are keeping track of every 28 days and wah-la no more perfect panties. Euwieeeeee. Now they are just yuckie and stained. Again.

Okay, and this is just the plain ugly truth. Some days I bleed so heavy if I am not careful it will run down my leg and all over everything just moving from the loo to the shower or vice versa. Told you it was ugly. Men wonder why we get grumpy. P-L-E-A-S-E. Never mind the fact that I may not have my contacts in and see this and leave it unknowingly. There is that to deal with on top of it all.

There be little mention of the embarrassing leaks, the painful cramps, the seven days of pure hell until I finally found a miracle called "the pill," the torture of putting in and wearing my first tampon, and lastly the fear of having an unwanted pregnancy when I was younger. Most of these lovely side dishes are well known by all of us who are women.

All of this said, no wonder it has earned its' own abbreviation. LMP indeed, bring it on, bring it on. Oh, and hurry up about it, would ya please.