Monthly Archives: July 2010

Things I learned in class this week

* Knitting as a method of self-soothing and to avoid the temptation to slap one’s classmates and/or teacher sort of backfires when one finds oneself contemplating the garotte potential of circular knitting needles. Ahem.

* You know what one of the risk factors for atherosclerosis1 is? Burning proteins and lipids for energy. You know one of the times that happens? When your body is starving. Such as, I dunno, from severe calorie restriction in the hopes of losing weight? AKA dieting? But teh death fatz is bad for you! So you better start dieting!! …right.

* Listening to people go on and on and on about how much life must SUXORZ if you have diabetes or Crohn’s disease or hypothyroidism makes me go all stabby. Or garottey. At least in my imagination.

* Everything can be blamed on obesity, apparently.

* If you’re unhealthy in any way whatsoever, it’s because you’re making bad food choices. (And, of course, you have ultimate control over what you eat. Even if you don’t actually have a farmer’s market, grocery store, produce stand, or farm anywhere within walking or busing distance of you. Or the money to shop at such. Or the time, skills, energy, or spoons to do anything with said foodstuffs.)

* The United States of America doesn’t have an official national language, but if you want to be a licensed massage therapist in the state of Oregon, you fucking better be literate in English. Right in the Statute regulating the profession of massage in Oregon, it reads: “the examination shall be administered in the English language”. Not just “yeah, we’re gonna give it in English because we’re Anglocentric and don’t care enough about brown people and immigrants to bother offering it any other language”, no, it’s in the fucking law. And yeah, massage therapists need to be able to communicate with their clientèle in some fashion, but y’know what? That means that monolingual I cannot be a good LMT for a large portion of the population. Because I am only fluent in English. But heaven forbid we allow people who are monolingual in any other language (or multilingual in a whole variety of languages none of which happen to be English) to become LMTs! Who knows what they’d gossip about when they know we can’t understand them?? Or something.

* One may be disallowed from practicing massage in the state of Oregon if one “Has a physical or mental condition that makes the licensee unable to conduct safely the practice of massage.” If you can’t safely do massage, you can’t safely do massage, and I don’t have a problem with the Board doing its job and protecting the public from that. But that “has a physical or mental condition” clause scares the shit out of me, given the culture I live in and what stereotypes some people actually believe about things like bipolar disorder (that’d be me!), schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, and so on. Why “has a condition”? Why not “is unable to conduct safely the practice of massage”? My answer? One word, starts with “able” and rhymes with “ism”. Bet you can’t guess it.

* I have knitting skilz. Not just in the refraining-from-murder-with-craft-supplies department, but I can, while simultaneously taking notes, participating in discussion, fighting fatphobia, (and refraining from murder), provisionally cast on 40 stitches in the round (without making a mobius), make a picot edged drawstring casing (which is harder than it sounds), flawlessly pick up the provisional stitches using a second 60″ circular needle, and (three inches of mind-numbingly boring stockinette stitch later) kitchener stitch the bottom closed. Without a pattern. Or reference to stitch guides or tutorials. Because I rock like that.

So what did you learn this week?

  1. Atherosclerosis is scarring of the arteries, which leads to plaque build up, hardening, and eventual hypertension, and potentially heart attacks, strokes, and congestive heart failure.

Talking Bodies

I have no desire or intention to police others’ bodies. We can talk about the social pressures that lead to high rates of cosmetic surgery, dieting, body hatred — but to confuse a need for systemic critique with a right to criticize individuals is one of the worst uses of feminism.

But.

And.

So.

How we talk about our bodies — our own bodies — matters. It affects how other people feel about theirs, and that matters. When we say “I’m too fat to wear a bikini”, we’re saying fat is bad, and those as fat or fatter than us also shouldn’t expose themselves. When we say “I can’t get away with going without a bra”, we’re saying to flop is not a subjective choice but an objective assessment. When we say “My hair’s an ugly mess unless I straighten it”, we’re saying everyone’s hair that’s curly like ours is ugly too.

Does that mean we have to pretend to a false enlightenment, never let a negative word slip our mouths? Does that mean we have to suppress our own truths and desires for the sake of others (always, for women, are we supposed live for the sake of others)? I cannot accept that either. We must be able to tell our truths, to take the dark things inside us out so they can be seen, to exert our rightful autonomy over our own bodies, to do as we choose with them.

How do we resolve this? Is it resolvable?

I propose this:

We start with I.

I feel. I fear. I want.

We reject kyriarchical assignments of some bodies, some ways of being, as wholly bad, or inherently good; we know better than to rely on what “everybody knows” about fat, and flop, and tresses. Instead, we get deeper: what are we afraid of? What are we reaching toward?

I feel better in a one-piece. I’m afraid people will stare at me if I don’t wear a bra. I want my hair to be straight.

Can we talk about where our senses of style come from? About male gaze and comfort in public? About the ramifications of hair choices? Absolutely. But we don’t have to. We don’t have to analyze every single choice at every single opportunity; we don’t have to let those analyses dictate our choices for fear of “giving in” to kyriarchy and all its bullshit. We can, we are allowed to, simply say “Fuck it, this is what I want right now.”

How radical is that? How much could we change the world by doing something just because we want to? What would happen if we reject the “need” for excuses, for justifications? Not “I’m too fat to wear that”, not “I ran a mile earlier, so this brownie is ok”. Just — I want to wear this. I want to eat thatI want. Sometimes, that can be enough.

A good grumpy day

I was really grumpy today.

The Man is in his fourth week of mandatory overtime, and I’m very very tired of him being very very tired and us having no time together, but that wasn’t why I was grumpy.

The kid has entered the most aggravating contrarian phase, where he automatically disagrees with whatever we say, even if it’s “Hey, let’s go get some ice cream now!” But that wasn’t why I was grumpy.

The house is a wreck (in large part because of the two above points), and I can’t cook simple fried eggs without having to stop and clean a pan, but that wasn’t why I was grumpy.

I’m menstruating and cramping and exhausted and brain drained, but that wasn’t why I was grumpy.

I was grumpy simply because I was grumpy.

The things I listed above don’t exactly lend themselves to an effortlessly joyful mood, and they might be enough to challenge even the most calm, zen-like person, but they didn’t make me grumpy, because they can’t make me anything.

I just went with it. I was grumpy, nothing was going to make me less grumpy (because nothing was making me grumpy to begin with), and that was that.

No, this is not the story where I submitted to the suckitude and suddenly everything became rainbows and kisses — but it is the story of a day I survived, and it didn’t even feel like a big deal. I took the kid to the park, and didn’t yell at him once. We went grocery shopping, and I didn’t abandon him in the cart. He punched me, and I didn’t punch him back. I didn’t even really consider it. Because I was grumpy, and that’s just how it was, and it wasn’t his fault, and that was OK.

And that? That I simply didn’t care, and wasn’t attached to any particular outcome (such as happiness, or lack of grumpiness)? That meant that today was a pretty good day. Challenging, sure. Not the most fun I’ve ever had — but there was fun. There were kisses. I didn’t see any rainbows, but we baked sweet potato fries together, and that was pretty darn cool.

We have this belief in the culture I live in that our moods are always to blame on something. Either something external (we need x and y and z to be happy — so why are people with x and y and z still not happy?) or internal (we just have to think our way to happiness, and have only ourselves to blame if we “fail” — how can anyone be happy with all that pressure?). While I am all for choosing joy, as much as we are able, I also think that we are setting ourselves up for misery if we think it is possible, much less if we expect, to be 100% happy 100% of the time.

It’s just not gonna happen. Take it from someone with a mood disorder1: moods, sometimes, just happen.  Yeah, if your lifemate dies, you’re going to grieve, and it might look a lot like depression (or it might trigger full-on depression), but being depressed doesn’t “require” some catastrophic event. Sometimes it just happens.

Conversely, sometimes happiness just happens. Happiness is a lot easier when we’re not lacking basic rights — societal recognition of our humanity and freedom from marginalization and oppression; enough food and shelter and health care and free time to not worry about surviving the day, or the week, or the year; a network of family and friends, people who care for us and who we can care for in turn; a vocation that gives us satisfaction and a feeling of contributing to something greater (such as our family, our cause, or our culture) — but happiness is possible even without great good things happening to us, and even, sometimes, without those basics. Sometimes it just happens.

If we spend all our time trying to hold on to our happiness, or resenting our unhappiness, we never get to simply experience the good possible in each moment. Even when we’re grumpy. Even when things aren’t going “right”. Even when we have a child who disagrees with simply everything.

We don’t have an obligation to be happy in each moment — we don’t have any obligations or shoulds around our moods at all. Today, I was not particularly happy, ever. But because I was ok with being grumpy, I didn’t suffer my grumpiness.

So now I can look back and say: it was a good grumpy day.

****************

  1. I am convinced that almost all “pathologies” are, basically, exaggerations or extreme bell-curve ends of “normal” human ways of being. We all experience mood swings; people with bipolar, like me, just do it a lot more. So my perspective on moods isn’t tainted by my “disorder”, but enhanced: what happens in everyone else on a low level, I get to experience in all its full-fledged glory.

Sea Pearls (menstrual sponges): a review

Warning: This post contains explicit descriptions of internal menstrual products and the use thereof, cervical and menstrual fluids, and my sex life. If you are particularly squeamish, or a member of my family, navigate away now.

Sea Pearls menstrual sponges

Sea Pearls menstrual sponges

Although I’m a happy home-made cloth pad user most of the time, I decided to invest in an internal product a couple cycles ago, for the (rare, for me) occasion when a pad is ineffective or inconvenient (swimming and massage come to mind). Because of my pelvic organ prolapses, neither traditional disposable tampons nor menstrual cups, reusable or disposable, work for me; that left, to my knowledge, Sea Pearls1.

And so I ordered some from a friend of mine, Zoom Baby Gear2, and after picking them up I spent nearly an hour giggling at the, as advertised, full-color pamphlet. I’m not sure what I found so amusing about it; maybe the starfish and shells on the cover, the obligatory bisected woman picture (to show insertion), the endorsement from Cleopatra3, or what. Perhaps I’m just not quite as enlightened as I like to think. I did, eventually, get over the giggles, and looked forward to testing them out.

Because it was the end of my period, I didn’t get a chance to try them until nearly a month later. And that is when I experienced Backpocalypse 2010, and about all I can say from that cycle is that 1) at least I didn’t leak while I was collapsed on the floor for nearly two hours then standing up wandering around in agony for another nearly two, and 2) The Man had a hell of a time getting it out for me (back spasm = couldn’t even reach to wipe myself, much less retrieve the sponge), but did, eventually, manage it.

The next month, I finally had them, a period, and the ability to get them in and out unassisted. So, I’ve had one cycle and one day of using these puppies, and finally feel like I can give a decent review.

Yes, you have to touch yourself: getting the Sea Pearl in and taking it out

Let me start by telling you that I’ve used disposable tampons with an applicator all of maybe twice in my life, and I hated it; I used non-applicator tampons throughout high school and for years afterward; I’ve charted my cervical fluid and cervical texture, position, and os width for years; my idea of a brilliant used-book-store find is A New View of a Woman’s Body: A Fully Illustrated Guide4; and I masturbate, rather a lot, including while menstruating. So I’m kinda used to the idea of touching myself, reaching into my genitals, and, when called for, getting my hands pretty darn messy. (Hey, skin cleans up great.) If you are not, consider this an opportunity to discover that our bodies really aren’t as gross as we’ve been led to believe: we can touch them, and survive!

So, the sponge. When dry, it is hard, kind of scratchy, and not at all squishy. But, run it under the tap for a moment, and, as a sponge should, it becomes soft, pliable, and very compressible, which are all very good things when looking to insert it into one’s vagina.

(A note: the sponge should, as the pamphlet says, be inspected5 and cleaned — more on that below — before first use.)

To insert, I get it wet, squeeze out as much water as possible, and compress what had formerly been a perhaps 1″ diameter, 2″ long sponge into the size of a very large pill capsule between my thumb and first two fingers. Sitting on the toilet, or standing up with a leg on the back of the toilet, I then insert it into my vagina; I try to at least get all of it between my vaginal walls at this stage so that it does not expand in the air, although it is not yet in its final place.

Next, I use my forefinger or fore and middle fingers to navigate the compressed (but slightly more expanded now) sponge into place in front of my cervix (which, because of my prolapse and sideways tilt, means it winds up in a sort of crevice high up and off to the right); I find it helpful to bear down slightly while keeping my fingers in place, effectively bringing my cervix to my fingers rather than vice versa: when I relax, the sponge is pulled back up. If necessary, I poke it around a bit more to get it just so, but at this point, I usually find I can’t even feel it anymore, and everything is quite comfortable.

The pictures and instructions have the sponge more in the vaginal canal rather than right in front of the cervix; that doesn’t work for me, since around menstruation — when the ligaments relax and the uterus and cervix usually drop a bit anyway — there’s not a whole lot of vaginal canal to use, and having anything there feels pretty uncomfortable. But it might work better for some to place it there, more like a traditional tampon.

When it comes time to remove it, I find the sponge has expanded (makes sense, since it’s filled with fluid now, right?), has moved/expanded more into the vaginal canal, and I am able to reach it fairly easily between my two fingers to gently pull it out. This can, if my flow has been heavy, squeeze some menstrual fluid out of the sponge, but since I always do this step over the toilet, I don’t find that to be a problem.

Some people, apparently, tie floss or string around the sponge, making it even more like a tampon, and so you only have to pull, rather than reach, to retrieve it. I suppose you could, but I have no desire to do so; either way, unlike a single use tampon you’re going to plop in the toilet, you have to hold the thing to get it to the sink, so your hand’s gonna get messy anyway.

Isn’t that messy?? Well, yes. Rinsing the menstrual sponge

This bit is the part I find really cool, but also sometimes annoying: I get the sponge from my vagina (or rather, from in my hands sort of floating in the toilet basin) to the sink, and rinse it out. (I have so far been lucky/able to plan it so I am only removing it in a toilet from which I can reach the sink; this stage would be a lot more complex logistics-wise if using a public toilet or one not in reach of a sink, and frankly, I hope I never have to figure out what to do then.) If my flow has been heavy, this has sometimes left drips of bloody fluid along the path it travels through the air, but so far has not landed on anything not easily wiped off.

The cool bit? The sponge usually (except on really heavy flow days) doesn’t look like much; there might be some red bits on the outside, or a brownish tinge around the sides, but it certainly doesn’t look like the movies lead us to believe a blood-soaked sponge should look like. But! When I start rinsing it, out comes all this bright-red water. Almost out of nowhere. I find this fascinatingly cool. (See above statement of midwifery/sex ed geekery.)

The annoying part is that there is almost always a spot on the sponge, I believe where it was pressed against my cervix, which is simply plastered with mucus6. And that stuff does NOT like to come off. I’m getting better at it, and no longer need to run the water for five minutes (!) to get it off; I find a bit of friction, and scraping it with my finger nail, breaks it up enough to let go of the surface of the sponge, and I can get it thoroughly rinsed in a minute or less. I’ve never read a mention of this elsewhere, so I assume it has to do with my placement of the sponge directly against the cervix, but since that’s where I’m gonna keep using it, I’m gonna keep having to deal with it, so I might as well tell y’all about it, right? Right.

After it’s rinsed, you can 1) disinfect it, and then leave it out to dry for later use, 2) set it aside to disinfect later (keeping in mind that the longer after use and before disinfection, the longer bacteria etc have a chance to settle in and multiply), or 3) pop it back in. I’ve done all of these; although I don’t use the sponge as my primary menstrual collection product, I find it easier to rinse and reuse than try to store until I can get home and clean it.

A nice relaxing soak… in vinegar: cleaning the sponge

The Sea Pearl pamphlet lists a number of ways to clean the sponges. They recommend against boiling or using soap, as these break down the sponge more quickly, but have a number of other suggestions, all of which come down to soaking in a disinfecting solution of some kind. Suggestions include baking soda, vinegar, hydrogen peroxide, tea tree oil, sea salt, and colloidal silver.7 I’ve so far only used apple cider vinegar (since I have it in the bathroom for my hair anyway), and it seems to be highly effective, leaving no odors and only one spot of discoloration.

ETA: I just tried a hydrogen peroxide soak (about 1:4 H2O2 to water), leaving it in for, ah, about two hours (I was watching Doctor Who and got distracted…), and it not only got clean, it got clean, and is now the same color it was when I first bought it. No more stains whatsoever. I would recommend very thoroughly rinsing afterward, as the same reason H2O2 is an effective disinfectant makes it rather harsh on living tissue.

The sponge requires slightly more attention than disposable tampons (though there’s no risk of clogging the toilet *cough*), and a different sort of attention than cloth pads, but overall I find it quite easy to care for.

Yeah, but does it work?

Yeah, it really does work. Other than slight spotting that comes from putting it in when my vagina already has menstrual fluid in it (and thus it continues to work its way out), I haven’t had any leaks or failures from the sponge. It expands to fill the space given it, so there’s little chance of a leak past, and I haven’t yet “overfilled” it. What I do find is that when it starts to get full, I start to feel it — and that prompts me to take it out, rinse, and reuse or return to primary pad use. It’s not uncomfortable, unlike a full tampon used to be (I used side-expanding ones, and those things had some edges!), but it is there, and nags at me until I do something about it.

Because I don’t use the sponge regularly, and haven’t used it overnight ever, I haven’t had a chance to test out the claims that it’s fine to leave in during penetrative sex, and I don’t really see that happening soon. I do think it would be fine, though. My main concern would be if the sponge was already “full” — I’d worry both about leaking (from compression) and being more in the way (from having already expanded). There’s also the cleaning issue; if cervical mucus is tough to clean off, how much more so the abundant mucus of ejaculation? But, it’s good to know the option is there, unlike with disposable tampons or a reusable menstrual cup.

FDA, TSS, and pollution, oh my!

(You can calm down, those are three different topics.)

Now, what does the FDA8 have to say about this? Way back in 1980 (the year before I was born!),

twelve “menstrual sponges” were examined by the University of Iowa Laboratory and found to contain sand, grit, bacteria, and various other materials. The sponges were voluntarily recalled by the distributor.

(As the pamphlet points out, Sea Pearls, just like single-use tampons, are not sterile, and — unlike single-use tampons — might have minor debris and thus should be inspected and cleaned before use.) I have read in many places that their sale is, because of this, “technically illegal”, but what the FDA actually says is:

Sea sponges labeled as “menstrual sponges,” “hygienic sponges,” or “sanitary sponges,” intended for use as menstrual tampons, are regarded as significant risk devices requiring premarket approval under Section 515.

I have been unable to discover whether Jade & Pearl has obtained such or not.

Does this scare me away from their use? No, not at all. At the risk of sounding conspiracy-theorist, the businesses with money to spend are, in general, the ones who get products approved by the FDA. The disposable tampon and pad industry have lot of money; sponge harvesters and distributors, not so much. While this doesn’t make sponge sellers “good” and disposable menstrual product manufacturers “bad”, it does make me take any promotion of the ones with more money, and defamation of the ones with less, with a grain — haha — of salt.

As for TSS9, I have found reference to one confirmed case of TSS due to menstrual sponge use, in 1980 (compare this to “more than 800 cases and 38 deaths” in the USA in 1980 from tampon use). TSS risk from tampon use, primarily found during the era of using hydrogels in tampons (the same super-absorbent polymers still used in abundance today in disposable diapers), is caused by microscopic wounds created in the vagina’s mucosal walls when they get too dry (and then are roughed up by friction, such as the removal of a tampon), allowing a common bacteria, usually Staphylococcus aureus, to enter the bloodstream. The Jade & Pearl Sea Pearl pamphlet reads “Rest assured that Sea Pearls sea sponge tampons do not have the same drying effects as single use tampons.”

I, however, am not completely sure: the sponge is absorbent, though not greedily the way a tampon is (consider: the sponge is inserted when damp; a cotton or rayon tampon when dry), and at the end of my period, when there is not so much menstrual fluid, but my vaginal and cervical fluids haven’t yet geared up in anticipation of ovulation, I find the sponge more sticky, as it were, to remove. Do I think, therefore, I am at high risk of toxic shock? No, certainly not. Definitely no more so than using a conventional tampon (whose risk is already quite low), and, based on comparative feel alone (and worth what you paid for it), probably less.

A concern that some people have raised which I find more compelling than TSS is pollution, and the potential of toxic chemicals embedded within the structure of the sponge. Sea sponges are (very simple) sea creatures; they grow wild in the ocean, and although they are quite low on the food chain (as opposed to, say, tuna, or swordfish), they still spend their entire life-cycle soaked in the oceans we have made nigh-unlivable. How much of that gets absorbed in the matrix we use as a sponge? And how much of that then gets absorbed into our bloodstream via our highly permeable vaginal membranes? Could it possibly be worse than the dioxin-traced tampons millions of people use every day? I have no idea. But it’s something to think about.

But… a sea sponge?? A conclusion

Totally, a sea sponge. Granted I can’t compare it to a menstrual cup, single-use tampons haven’t been comfortable for me for years, and I’m still gonna stay loyal to my cloth pads for most of my menstrual needs, but for when I want to really get my gluts worked on, or long for a dip in the hot tub, or simply want a back-up? Sea sponge, all the way. They are soft, comfortable, easy to use, effective, and fit my body like no other internal device I’ve tried. I’m definitely going to keep them around.

Your turn: Have you ever used a menstrual sponge, and what did/do you think of them? What internal menstrual products have you used? Do you have any questions or concerns about the use of sea sponges as a reusable tampon? Might you now take a second look at those strange lumpy things you’ve seen in the health food store?

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  1. Jade & Pearl Sea Pearls are the only menstrual sponges I have been able to locate, although several sources say you can buy cosmetic sea sponges and re-purpose them for menstruation.
  2. Disclosure: I received no compensation for this review from Zoom Baby Gear nor any other company or entity, and paid full retail price for my Sea Pearls, though I did receive $1 off my wet bag in the same purchase.
  3. OK, the exact quote is “Actually Cleopatra used sea sponges as tampons.” How exactly do we know this?
  4. My love for this book cannot be overstated: it perfectly appeals to my midwifery/reproduction, feminist history, and sex ed geekery.
  5. For debris or bits of sand or shell; I found none.
  6. I’m normally a big fan of saying cervical fluid rather than cervical mucus; after all, we say seminal fluid not seminal mucus, although it’s almost exactly the same stuff! (Except for the sperm, of course.) But this? Mucus.
  7. I would personally recommend against using tea tree oil, as it has estrogen mimicking/endocrine disrupting properties, and I’m not sure I want any extra estrogen pressed against my mucus membranes for hours.
  8. The Food and Drug Administration of the United States of America
  9. Toxic Shock Syndrome

Quick menstrual hit: be kind to yourself, self

Living room, 11:45pm, Friday night

I’m sitting up, bleeding, supposedly trying to work but really just letting myself be distracted by the sundry wonders of the internet, yawning and unfocused and unmotivated, wondering why when my brain was so bubbly and productive just a few days ago it now feels blanker than [insert witty metaphor here]1, thinking I’ll go to sleep as soon as I get a post up, I missed last month’s, really need to get one up now or I never will, damn I wish I’d prepared sooner, when –

– oh. Right. I’m menstruating. It’s the end of a hard week, the end of a menstrual cycle: of course I’m tired. Rather than pushing myself, ignoring my body, pretending that this cycle doesn’t affect me so I can write a post about my cycle and how it affects me (hah!), I could… Stop. Let it go. Go to bed. Before midnight, for once this week.

Kindness, to myself. What a strange idea.

I think I’ll try it.

  1. See wut I did there?
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