All of our grandmothers have told us about the first time they had their menstruation. In Puerto Rico we have a common saying about that life-changing event: “canto el kikiriki.” Translated, it means that the rooster sang “cock-a-doodle-doo.” Nobody knows why, but they’ve always referred to it as that. Our wise, old monarchs tell us about using rags between their legs and washing them all the time, as well as the shame that came with bleeding each month. I had never known such a thing, because my own mother fully explained to me why I was bleeding so much from my “private rose garden,” before I hit puberty. So by the time I saw blood in the toilet, the only thought in my mind was “oh, great.”
A similar thought came to me when my menstrual bleeding odyssey was nearing and it was smack in the middle of hurricane Maria. “Oh, great” echoed through my entire body and I wound up getting a stronger PMS. Menstruating during this antiquated, back to Walden’s pond, no water and no electricity time meant being dirty, and having to change my “monthly tradition.”
When the not-at-all awaited day arrived I was mad. I fully understood the words written by Chuck Palahniuk in his book “Doomed,” uttered by the 13-year old protagonist who felt “menarche barreling down on [her] like a speeding bloodmobile.” Full of teen angst, I found myself throwing pillows off the bed and angrily changing the sheets, knowing very well I could not be able to wash them for quite some time. Not being able to indulge in the medicinal chocolate, I bit my nails to the bone and ate can after can of salchichas and chef boyardee. Other tasty concoctions I made were banana and peanut butter, olives and cheese, banana peppers and tuna, amongst other typical pregnant lady snacks. I adopted my grandmother’s habit of cleaning each pair of underwear every time I took a “bath.” And, taking a bath during these first weeks post-hurricane Maria meant filling up a cooking pot with polar-ice-cold water and meticulously pouring said water on me with a cup. I tend to bathe 2 to 3 times daily when I am on my “red days”, but thanks to Maria, I was limited to one very short and freezing bath which always left me feeling dirty and sticky.
Cleaning any stain was another entirely impossible mission and I didn’t dare to use tampons yet, on the other hand, using pads was horrible because they bunched up due to the never-ending humidity and heat. Up ‘til now, almost seven weeks post-Maria, we are still without electricity, but thankfully, I have water in my house. However, there are a lot of people who have neither and are possibly on their second or third menstruation in this hardly-hygienic setting. It’s refreshing to see how, since Irma, a lot of volunteers and donations are mentioning female hygiene items because they are truly important and necessary to all women everywhere. Before, this necessity was taken for granted and often at times ignored, as if we could hold it in like we do with pee on a long car ride.
I hope that very soon every household and woman will have water and electricity and won’t have to undergo this inevitable event in lesser than already acceptable conditions. I urge every person willing to donate to the affected communities, to buy a pack of pads, tampons and baby wipes because they are very, VERY necessary. Please, understand that our periods don’t stop just because a hurricane came and destroyed everything.