Sick of her flowers trilogy
Cath Parsons
Shortlisted for the Northern Territory Literary Awards Poetry Prize in 2019.
(What follows is a frank discussion about menstrual bleeding. I would encourage you to read on, but I understand if you listen to the poem and then bug out!)
We don’t talk about it much. We don’t discuss what defines an acceptable rate of loss for a menstrual cycle, even between women. Answers I received from three specialists (including my ‘last-straw’ specialist) were vague: Well, everyone is different. There is no normal.
Consulting research and studying my own cycle, I discovered that there is an acceptable rate of blood loss. In one day, I lost three times the expected amount of menstrual blood loss for a total five-day cycle—in one day. It was a fourth consecutive day of passing palm-sized chunks of clotting and a never-ending flood of blood that gave me the courage to be graphically honest with my GP.
I was sick of my flowers.
Sick of her flowers trilogy began while I sat in a hospital bed waiting for my third ‘dilatation and curettage’. This is a gynecological procedure that should slow excessive menstrual bleeding. While waiting to be wheeled into day surgery for this procedure, my surgeon popped his head around the cubicle to reassure me that this would improve things. I told the surgeon I was writing a poem about my experience. That poem is the beginning of this poetic trilogy, Part I: Menopausal monopoly,
Five months of continued bleeding followed that procedure. A compassionate GP convinced my surgeon that, although theoretically, at age 56, I should be menopausal, I was not. She got the go-ahead for a hysterectomy.
After fifteen years of bleeding.
Post-hysterectomy, I am grateful for an understanding family and a GP who finally acted. I smile every time I walk past the stacks of ‘menstrual mattresses’ in the supermarket aisle. Oh, and I wear light colours as often as I can!