The First Pregnancy in the History of the Universe~ I know most of you reading this post have had a child or two, right? Myself included. You’ve been pregnant probably once, maybe more. I wouldn’t consider myself an expert on children or giving birth, no more than I consider myself an expert on men (more…)
Search results for: “shark week”
When to Worry about Skipping a Period
There’s nothing quite so terrifying to a woman over 40 than unintentionally skipping a period because it means one of two things, either you’re unexpectedly pregnant or you’re perimenopausal; neither option is very appealing to me at this point in my life. (more…)
The Gynecological Misadventure of a Millennial -ish Mom
A gynecological misadventure is never fun, especially when they involve surprises and words like fibroids, pregnancy, menopause, miscarriage and mammogram all in the same visit. Last week, I had my “yearly” exam and mammogram because women’s reproductive health is my jam. And, I discovered the meaning of life or at least solved one of life’s great mysteries, why women start getting mammograms at 40 and not 25.
As the mammogram tech, the same lady who did my first mammogram last year, gingerly fondled my breast as she positioned and repositioned my very pliable breasts I realized, had I not given birth, breastfed and subsequently fallen victim to gravity, there is no way that she could maneuver my breasts into this machine. Mammograms are not a young woman’s game. Then I laughed because I remembered that I used to be known for my breasts and my legs. How’s that for irony? Broken and Broken. Check and Check.
Pert breasts could never do what these ever so gracefully aged, slightly used breasts can do. No way my 25 year old tits cold be placed into a machine as an entity in and of itself, separate from my body, as if I could remove them.., place them in the machine, walk out of the room and come back after pressing the imaging button. No way!!
Mature breasts have lived more and while they may be slowly creeping into my armpits because my hatred of bras has increased almost as much as my newfound love of full-coverage panties, they still have some life in these old girls… even if they are 3 inches lower than they used to be. You know the story, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
I thought my “advanced maternal aged” pregnancy at 31 made me feel old, well… you can imagine what being referred to 3 times (by 3 different medical professionals) as menopausal at “my age” made me feel like?
It was like suddenly my lady bits dried out, shriveled up, got arthritis and no longer functioned. I felt old, like my uterus suddenly needed a walking cane. Like the fruit that were my loins had suddenly rotted on the vine. Hey ladies… Don’t you worry about my bits, they’re working just fine, every 28 days just like clockwork and my ovulation could give any 27-year-old a run for her money. The shark week force is still strong with this one.
The gynecological inner workings of my lady bits were insulted and then my ego was grievously injured. Shot through the uterus. Menopausal? Jesus! Had my moisturizer stopped working? This was more embarrassing than the fu man chu incident of 2005!
I knew this exam was different because for the first time in my lifetime, the doctor didn’t have to grab for the world’s deepest speculum, you know the one that feels like my uterus is in my throat? Nope she was able to use the “regular” speculum, just like she uses on everyone else. Whomp whomp. In a weird way I took pride in that crazy deep cervix of mine, it made me feel special like a gynecological unicorn but alas, now I am “average”.
I balked. “Wait? Is something wrong down there?” My doctor, whose sense of humor is just as randy as my own, replied, ” No, sometimes this just happens to women when they get “old”. Their uterus begins to fall.”
Not “older” that bitch said “old” and then she giggled, signaling to me that she was in fact giving me a hard time. I mean, I’m not Michelle Duggar, my uterus should be firmly in place and this lady wants to play Chicken Little with jokes about my uterus falling! Did I mention she’s only 3 years younger than me? Hey now!
Luckily, she quickly followed that by, “It’s hormonal. At different times of the month it can feel differently.” That didn’t give me any relief. And then while doing the physical exam, she gave me the head tilt and ” Hmmm?” Not a combo I like to see at my doctor’s visit.
Wait! What’s going on? Is my fucking uterus actually falling? Nope, she followed with this, ” Well, your uterus feels about the size of a 10-12 week pregnant uterus.”
Dumbfounded.
Silence.
Silence.
Gynecological misadventure number 1; possible pregnancy.
If you thought an accidental pregnancy at almost 40 was scary, you can’t even imagine what one today would do to me.Whispering as all the color and blood rushed from my face, “What? I’m not pregnant! Am I?” I hoped she had the defibrillator near by. Obviously being “menopausal and of the reproductive age of retirement ” I was going to have a heart attack any second now. Then, my brain, “Booyah bitches! Who you calling menopausal now?” Strangely, momentarily, I felt reproductively vindicated.
Wait? Was I one of those morons who didn’t know they were pregnant until they went into labor? 147 IQ, you failed me. Oh God, senility is setting in, maybe I am menopausal?
Then she tilted her head the other way and said, “Hmmm” again as she manhandled my uterus.., “Nope! Have you been having regular periods? When was your last one?”
Gynecological misadventure number 2; a possible miscarriage!
“26 days ago. I’m starting again on Thursday.” In my brain, ” oh dear Jesus, I’ve had a miscarriage again.” Holding back tears, saying a rosary in my head.
More uterine fondling, this time it felt personal. She tilted her head back in the other direction, “Hmmmmm, nope!”
Silence
Silence
Waiting
Jeopardy music playing in my head.
“Probably just fibroids!”
“Just fibroids?” Que loca? There’s no such thing as just tumors in your uterus.
“Just tell the front desk to schedule you for a ultrasound and we’ll take a look next time.”
Gynecological misadventure number 3; cancer?
I tilted my head, “Hmmmm, Nope!” I suddenly staged a sit in of one. I refused to leave the building without knowing whether I was dying or not. Damn you webmd. Just like the 108-degree bronchitis fever incident in 2009. I’ll sit here forever. I’ve got nothing but time, lady. She knows that I’m was just crazy enough to do it.
Needless to say, I was seen immediately for my transvaginal ultrasound. Suddenly, I found myself pantless in stirrups having trouble breathing. Then I remembered the last time I was in this room, on this table, I was told, ” I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.” The day that all I could do was cry.
Gynecological misadventure number 4; fibroids?
As a middle-aged tech, at least 10 years my senior explained to me that fibroids are common in women who are “menopausal” I nearly lost my shit. If only I could breathe. Then she showed them to me, my fibroids. All 3 of them. I had gotten my first one with Bella, a second with Gabs and I’m assuming a third with the pregnancy I lost. I wanted a tattoo to commemorate the baby I lost but instead, I got fibroids as a parting gift.
So, I go upstairs and wait to see my doctor again. She confirms that I’ve got the fibroids (guess its better than hemorrhoids?) but it’s nothing to worry about. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I quietly asked her the question that we’re all dying to know the answer to, “Am I menopausal?”
Gynecological misadventure number 5; menopause?
She giggled, no hmmm or head tilt this time, “No, you have no symptoms and you are still regularly menstruating and ovulating. Some women do start the process at 35, though. But no, you’re not menopausal.”
I felt like she should have handed me a damn t-shirt saying as much. I felt reproductively spry. Then, I gave her a hug bye and said, “Can you pass the word along to the rest of your staff and… I’ll take that referral for a vasectomy for my husband now. You know since obviously, I’m still fab, fit and fertile!” My uterus is a millennial even if my breasts are looking middle-age ish these days. Damn you breastfeeding.
And we both laughed.
Have you ever suffered a gynecological misadventure or (any doctor for that matter) and how did you handle it?
MY First EVER….Throat Punch Thursday
Throat Punch Thursday~ So, all week, I have been waiting for Throat Punch Thursday because, let’s face it, I’ve had a crappy week and I had a ton of shit to complain about..shark week will do that ya know? There was so much I wanted to punch in the throat. Then today, asshole that life can sometimes be, the sun comes out and life is all diamonds and ice cream ( yeah, its my own new saying..watch everyone will be saying it soon). I mean seriously, the day that I actually need to have a throat punch delivered life plays a happy joke on me. My husband is coming home in the morning..yey! SO, I can’t throat punch him. My girls were super awesome ( probably because I wasn’t being a raging bitch), so couldn’t would absolutely NEVER throat Punch them. I actually get to have a real life, honest to goodness Anniversary date with my husband this weekend, complete with fancy restaurant, movie and drinks ( MIL is coming to sit, so I can stay out and play in peace!) Certainly, NO throat punch there. Then I looked in the mirror and much to my OMG WTF! chagrin, seems I have spontaneously developed a bindi smack dab in the center of my forehead! Can I throat punch a pimpleBindi? Seriously, the weekend of my first date alone with my husband in what seems like a hundred years but is actually more like 5 ( still…a very long time). Where’s that little bastards throat? I’m punching…and then I am snapping a photo for posterity’s sake! Take that blemish, you bastard!
Crap!! So, I was trying to look up a photo of a bindi or a pimple to illustrate my point about my blemish when I came across this photo of Bindi and Steve Irwin. Buzz kill. I have a new candidate for a throat punch, pimple step aside, the damn Stingray that killed the Crocodile hunter. It’s gotta be a hard one, its 4 years too late but it still breaks my heart. My Bella has always loved the Wiggles Safari video, as does her lil sis Gabs, and every single time I see that crocodile hunter….I want to cry. So, new plan..I’m throat punching the damn stingray who iced the Crocodile hunter. What a cheeky bastard to do some dirty shit like kill a kids hero! Bindi, this ones for you! Truthful Mommy’s going to throat punch the crap outta that stingray and maybe Elizabeth Hasselbeck too ( just because she really friggin annoys me!)
I Am Feminist, Watch Me Free Bleeding
Cause she’s free, free bleeding!
Sorry, I just can’t get that damn Tom Petty song out of my head ever since I read that article about the woman running the London marathon while on her period with absolutely no feminine hygiene help. Tampons…we don’t need no stinking tampons (or maxi pads for that matter). We are woman, watch us bleed.
A few months ago, Kiran Gandhi (a Harvard MBA) chose to run the London marathon, “unencumbered by the ‘absurd’ presence of a chaffing ‘wad of cotton’ wedged between her legs.” And so began the third-wave feminist movement of “free-bleeding.”
First, it was the bush making a comeback, then ladies refusing to shave their legs on principal and now, dying pit hair and free bleeding. Look, I am a woman and I am loud and proud about women’s rights. Hell, I’m even a bit of a fanatic. I like causes and, if we’re being honest, women and minorities are two of my favorites because I am both.
I don’t think women should be banished to red tents and dirty sheds because they are on their periods. But damn, you couldn’t pay me money to run around London bleeding out because that is exactly what I would be doing. It would look like someone tried to kill me by stabbing me to death in my vagina. All of London would look like a traveling crime scene and quite frankly, I don’t want to be known as free bleeding Debi. Plus, it feels a bit unhygienic. I mean, my sheets are white!
I mean, no one’s going to invite me to their house anymore. Party invites and standing up in weddings, all gone forever. No one wants to take the chance I’m going to show up and damage their goods or cause a spectacle. I mean, I’m just finally living down all those sweater ass covered periods of my youth. I wore a sweater one week of every month from the ages of 12-18…just in case of an accident. Then I discovered tampons, left the flying winged diapers behind and moved on with my life.
What’s all this period-shaming shit about? I’m not embarrassed by my period. The patriarchy didn’t curse me with shark week, it’s biology. It’s for the babies! Who doesn’t love babies?
Honestly, tampons are a pain in the vagina. I get it! Have you ever got your lip caught between those two cardboard parts of the applicator? That shit hurts like a mother effer. Or have you ever completely forgotten that you had one in and put another one in and shoved the previous one into your brain? It hurts. Or the worse is when you do it quickly; go on about your business only to realize 15 minutes into a board meeting that you are sitting on the inner cardboard tube of the applicator. It’s like sitting on a broom handle….in your vagina while having a conversation. And please don’t even get me started on the diapers that are an excuse for maxi pads once you give birth. My God, I need a f*cking diaper between the pee and the hemorrhaging. Why didn’t people warn me?
So, free bleeding?
Look, I get it. It is 2015 and we want all the equal rights and I think women should be able to do everything men do, if they want to go topless, serve in the army on the front lines, open all the goddamn doors they want to…GO.FOR.IT! But me, I can do all that but I like it when my husband opens doors for me and pulls out my chair. I like chivalry and manners. I love respect for women. I don’t want to run around free bleeding and covered in body hair like a savage to prove a point. I’ll burn the shit out of my bras though, I hate those things.
As far as I’m concerned, I’ll share. Boys, you want the free bleeding? The monthly hemorrhage accompanied by tender breasts, cramps and PMS? You can have it. I will buy all of your drinks.
I’m all about live and let live but can I please live with my tampons and without the mortification of the entire world knowing when I’m menstruating. Can we just allow me that one private dignity? As for Kiran Gandhi, I say go girl. If this is how you want to celebrate your womanhood, you do it loud and proud.
How do you feel about the free bleeding phenomenon?
Parenting Techniques, Blanket Statements and Blow Ups
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akanemd Parenting Techniques are like assholes..everyone has one! (more…)
Throat Punch Thursday~ Victim of a Judgmental Doctor Edition
Judgmental Doctor You Suck
Tonight’s Throat Punch is brought to you by a judgmental doctor. Don’t get me wrong some of my favorite people in the world are doctors; my brother in law, one of my best friends to name a few. I realize that they are, in fact, human; just like you and I. But I expect a standard of professionalism when they are practicing medicine. What they say at home, that’s between them and their HIPAA conscience. But when a doctor brings assumption and judgment into the exam room, we have a problem .
I’ve been having persistent coughing fits for the past 2 weeks and decided to go to the local RediMed, as I don’t have a GP here yet. The doctor walked in the exam room ( after I had waited 2 hours to see her) with a less than enthusiastic attitude, as if I had done something to deserve to be sick. It was apparent from the moment she walked into the room looking through her nose at me, that she was a judgmental doctor. Worse still a cold bitch, as the room dropped 10 degrees when she walked in.
She began by asking me the standard questions. How long have you had the cough? Are you feeling any sinus pressure? Are you feeling any pressure in your ears? I say yes. She asked, “Pressure? or PAIN?” Her tone was as if I had misunderstood her question. I had not. She had a very thick accent. I’ve grown up immersed in thick accent as my fathers mother tongue is not English. I don’t usually have an issue understanding accents but hers was quite thick.
Judgmental Doctor You are No Lady
“Do you have any allergies?” Yes, I have seasonal allergies.
“When you cough are you bringing anything up? Yes (I’m assuming she was referring to phlegm).
This is when it all fell apart.
At this point she is looking at me, as if I have totally done something wrong, “You really have to watch what you are eating late at night!” I eat at 5:30 every night.
I have no f*cking idea what she is talking about.
“You must cut back on the greasy food! Take some Prilosec and stop eating these kinds of food!!!! ” She’s practically yelling. I feel as if I am on trial.
“Stop drinking all the sugar, sodas and coffee at night. You need to watch what you eat so you don’t destroy your esophagus with your unhealthy eating habits.”
I don’t!I don’t! I don’t!
What the f*ck is she talking about? Since when did a cough warrant a scolding on non-existent eating habits?
Judgmental Doctor Say What
Then it hits me like a ton of rocks hurled by sizists at the fat kid. Somehow, when I was explaining to her that when I lie down at night the coughing fits get worse, she heard “I’m a big fat asshole who has acid reflux because I can’t control my binge eating at night. I drink 2 liters of soda and pots of coffee with reckless abandon because I just don’t give a shit about my health!”
She was being very condescending and rude.
I know I am out of shape. I am heavier than I ever wanted to be.
I DO NOT HAVE ACID REFLUX.
I HAVE NEVER HAD HEARTBURN. I don’t even know what it feels like.
I came in for COUGHING FITS not a judgmental doctor with a side of asshole bedside manner. Who did she think she was?
I seldom drink caffeine, never at night. I’ve never been a binge eater. I’m a restrictor. To add insult to injury, I’m pretty sure that the reason I am as heavy as I am now is partly from all the damage I did to my body when I was in the throes of my 8 year battle with eating disorders. Doesn’t this bitch know I have body dysmorphic disorder?
Of course she doesn’t, she’s just the freaking drive thru of doctors and she doesn’t have my full medical records. That insensitive bitch just used her judgmental doctor powers on someone who has to talk herself into accepting herself on a daily basis. I’ve never felt so ugly in my life.
I was deflated. Enraged. Wanted to throat punch her and cry simultaneously. On top of everything else, it’s shark week and I’m not feeling especially happy with excessive water weight that I’m holding.
Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Kevorkian.My throat Punch goes to the wicked stupid, judgmental doctor with the sizist attitude and atrocious bedside manor.
Hope you will link up your Throat Punch Thursday posts with me. I wanted to extend a personal invite to all of you to link up any posts in which you air a grievance, call out any asshatery,or just dole out a well deserved throat punch to one of societies shortcomings or political douche canoes. If not this week, I do it EVERY single Thursday and would love for any or all of you to join in! All you have to do is grab the Throat Punch Thursday button ( listed under the “about” tab at the top of the page), put it in your blog post and link up. If you’d like to stay in the Throat Punch know, I’d love it if you would email subscribe ( as GFC will stop working soon). Just say No to a Judgmental doctor.
That One May when My Face Exploded
You’ve all probably been wondering where the hell I went this May. Maybe? Maybe you didn’t even notice I was gone. It is May, after all. Like many of you, I went down the rabbit hole that is May beginning with May 1st, marking the worst day of my life, and filled with non-stop obligations.
Yes, some were absolutely amazing like seeing my girls perform in their end of the year ballet showcase and violin concerts. I got the littlest one through first communion. I celebrated 6 years of The TRUTH! The Big Guy and I celebrated 16 years of friendship and marriage. Speaking of the Big Guy, he turned the big 4.0! Did I mention that the littlest turned 8? Also, we participated in the neighborhood’s annual garage sale and to bookend the craziness, last week Monday, I woke up with my left side of my face so swollen that my eye looked like it was drooping and melting down my face. My first thought, “Oh shit! All of this stress, I have Bells Palsy!”
I promptly freaked out, cried and headed immediately to the RediMed…all on the same morning that my littlest had a field trip to a nature reserve. Stress much! Thankfully, the Big Guy was on hand to step in and chaperone as I headed to the doctor to deal with what I was sure the beginnings of a stroke. Then my vanity kicked in, all I could think of was all of the traveling and conference attending that I was going to have to do with my droopy face. I hadn’t even the mental fortitude to think about my entire future.
I sat there in the waiting room with my face increasingly swelling, looking more and more like Rocky after a fight by the second. Trying my best to maintain my composure. Shaking, just a little bit but not enough to knock my purse out of my lap or anything.
I was the first patient they saw that morning After, getting a 145/90 blood pressure reading, in my mind confirming my suspicions that I must be stroking out, my doctor did an exam and said that it was an infection that was causing the swelling. I told her of my bells palsy fears and she asked me to move my face that was how she was “sure” that it wasn’t a stroke.
Nothing a 10-day supply of hearty, vomit and diarrhea inducing antibiotics wouldn’t fix up in no less than 10 days. Oh and the giant tumor looking bump that was sitting on my eyebrow that had developed over night, no worries, “It “should” go away with the infection. But if it grows or you develop any other symptoms or feel “weird” go directly to the hospital!”
Uhm, okay?
“The antibiotics should pull the infection to a head and it should burst on it’s own. If not, come back in a few days after the meds have kicked in and we will lance it!”
Uhm, okay? Did she know that this WASN’T a pimple? I’m getting more deformed by the moment and she wants to pop my zits.
She called the next night. My face was swelling even more and the thing above my eye was causing me to have blurry vision. I was beginning to look like the elephant man. “I am not a freak.” I was still not convinced that I wasn’t going to die or be permanently maimed.
The next morning, I put on my Wonder Woman panties and prayed the rosary (hey, you have to exhaust all of your resources) I went back in. Well, first I called my regular doctor who was out. Then I called the RediMed. The nurse was supposed to call me back but I had the girls’ end of the year ballet performance to attend that night and the line at RediMed usually runs 2 hours deep. So, impatience got the best of me and I headed out. By the time I got to the check-in window, the nurse was just sitting down to call me. Yep, I’m sure they thought I was a hypochondriac but one look at my face should have cured anyone of any suspicions.
I was feeling better but I was looking much worse. I was terrified at what might be happening. I was feeling awful from the 3X a day dose of Keflex, and every time I looked in the mirror I had a panic attack. I got a new doctor this time, the dad of the little boy in my daughter’s tap class. Embarrassing. My world is getting entirely too small.
He was very friendly and my blood pressure reading of 180/95 let him know that I was in full on freak out mode. He referred to the notes on my diagnosis from 2 days prior, examined my face and actually listened when I told him that the “tumor” on my eyebrow was not puss filled but was in fact a very small, almost invisible, chicken pock scar from when I was 11.It had always been there in my eyebrow but it NEVER did this before.
Upon further inspection, he confirmed it. We had to lance this thing. Apparently, the infection had caused something in the inner working of my face to become blocked and that caused the swelling. And on top of that, just beneath the surface of my chicken pock scar there was a teeny sebaceous cyst lying dormant UNTIL the infection which caused the cyst to grow rapidly. But that was not confirmed until after he lanced the CYST and realized that it was not filled with infection but instead some sort of cottage cheese substance. Oh yeah, I know, TMI! How do you think I felt? It was coming out of my face.There I was with my face looking like I had just gone 10 rounds with Stallone after finding Adrian in bed with Apollo Creed and this doctor/friend by association was on top of me on what had to be the most uncomfortable table on the planet, using his full weight to squeeze cottage cheese out of my already, extremely tender monstrosity of an inflamed cyst. He kept asking if I needed to take a break and was very surprised by my lack of screaming and crying at this barbaric tactic. I told him, “I’ve given birth twice. I’m good. Just finish.”
He said, “Well, now you’ve given birth three times. Let’s name it!” I was not amused. He apologized as he wiped the teaspoon worth of cottage cheese (his estimation not mine, as I was blind), blood and water from my head. He bandaged me up, sent me home and said, “See you tonight (at the recital).”
It was traumatic and I had to wear a giant Band-Aid to the ballet, which I’m sure has the ballet mom rumor mill speculating that the Big Guy beats me in between tap and ballet classes. Anyways, today my vision is completely restored and the tumor atop my eye is no longer and has returned to its previous tiny scar. It’s a little larger than before but the doc said it could be a couple weeks before it completely goes down. If not, there is always surgical removal.
So, today I’m telling you all about it because I’ve been on a weeks worth of Xanax, antibiotics, the bump is a blip and I can see again so I am not freaking out about stroking out. Now, I can laugh about it. But of course it all finished just in time for shark week to start. Damn you May, you started with devastation, filled with love, chaos, endings and a perceived near death experiences only to go out in a blaze of hormone migraines, cramps and moodiness. Thank God there is only 2 days left.
Hope your May was better than mine! I just thought y’all might want to know why I disappeared.
How was your May?
The Diva Cup~Naturally Divalicious
The Diva Cup~Naturally Divalicious
Diva Cup test ~Have you ever…(?)
- co-opted toilet paper from a public washroom as a temporary measure *(GUILTY.How I hate the clump of TP waddle of shame)
- planned a vacation around your period *(Many Times.)
- avoided white pants for that one ‘special’ week of the month. I call it shark week for a reason, it’s dangerous.*(When I was a teenager,white was my enemy for this very reason)
- done a supplies hand-off with a girlfriend while the dates weren’t looking *(always and it’s never as covert as we plan it to be.Nothing like dropping a tampon to the floor in front of a blind date)
- cautiously tucked the telltale string into your bikini *(why must it always slip back out.I’m not a party popper, nor do I want to “celebrate’ my period)
- accidentally pulled a mystery object from your purse in front of a curious male audience *(Yes and it’s always a stranger not someone you know.Instead of your husband, it’s someone like your husband’s boss or a potential client. “just let me get a pen..Oops, never mind my tampon that just fell on your hand))
- scuttled to the washroom to survey the leak damage after a sudden ‘surge’ *(I hate knowing I’ve leaked and can’t do anything about it but run for the restroom and pray for mercy from the menstruation Gods)
- clogged your toilet with “flushable” feminine products *(let’s not bring up the septic system that my in laws love to remind that I ruined with my tampons)
- left a party with a jacket tied around your waist * ( or high school, the club, a wedding reception,PTA meeting,mass)
- had a tampon somehow turn itself completely around inside and lose the string *(My biggest fear realized)
The DivaCup to the rescue!!!
The DivaCup is a non-absorbent menstrual cup that simply collects menstrual flow. *( Ok, take a moment and get past the ICK factor. I know it sounds kind of gross at first thought. But it is amazing and Green (BONUS)). It is inserted into the vagina and sits at the lower base of the vaginal canal. It is worn internally, yet because it is soft and smooth, it cannot be felt nor will it leak when inserted properly.*(You may however need to trim the stem for comfort which is a very simple fix)
The DivaCup is the most clean and convenient method of feminine hygiene protection. No need to touch the flow. It is worn low in the vagina, not near the cervix, so it is easy to remove. No mess! * ( No more evidence left on your fingers from lodged strings) Just remove, clean with Diva wash, re-insert and leave in for 12 hours. So easy.
The DivaCup ends hassles with unreliable disposables in endless absorbencies, shapes and styles. It is perfect for all activities – giving women true freedom without the worry, guessing and unreliability that disposable feminine hygiene products pose. *( absolutely great for running, dancing, high impact workouts like Turbo Fire and even Zumba)
The DivaCup can be worn for up to 12 hours before emptying, washing and reinserting for use for another 12 hours. It can be used for light or moderate flows and is emptied more often to accommodate heavy flows. Perfect for overnight use. *(I loved not having to worry about getting up in the middle of the night to check for accidents on the sheets or to change my pajamas.)
The DivaCup’s expert, proprietary, patent-pending features make it comfortable and assures ease of use and reliability. Perfect for traveling, running, biking, hiking, dancing, camping, swimming, diving, scuba, yoga, extreme sports and more…
- Latex-free, BPA-free, plastic-free
- No dyes, colors or additives
- Comfortable, reliable
- Clean, convenient, easy-to-use
- Worn for up to 12 hours at a time
The Diva Cup is a modern miracle, as far as I am concerned. I have been plagued with a heavy, unpredictable period since I hit puberty way back in the 80’s. It’s been no picnic and has left me with intense cramps and praying for menopause. No more! The Diva Cup has eliminated the mess, is able to be worn on those days that I “might” be starting and relieved the cramps.Relieved the Cramps!!
I highly suggest that if you have not tried the Diva Cup you do! It may take a couple of cycles to get used to it but once you do, you will be thanking me for turning you on to the Diva Cup. Through the generosity of Diva Cup, I am giving away a Diva Cup to one lucky reader. All you need to do is become an email subscriber and leave me a comment telling me your best green tip. The random winner will be selected on Friday June 17 at 9 pm EST.
The DivaCup really is an ingenious product. It’s a wonderful alternative to disposable pads and tampons and offers unsurpassed protection and worry-free ease in an innovative design. So, before you just say NO give it a try – it really is a “menstrual solution”!
Where to buy? Check out the The DivaCup website for more information.
The Diva Cup~Naturally Divalicious
Disclosure: I was provided with a free Diva Cup to use in order to review the product and give my own personal opinions on the Diva Cup. The opinions I have given are mine and may differ from others but were NOT influenced by Diva Cup.
How to Make a Nutella Sundae
Behold the Nutella Sundae
How to Make a Nutella Sundae~ I don’t do a lot of recipes on the TRUTH about Motherhood but sometimes a recipe comes along that demands to be shared. This is one of those recipes. (more…)
