Aunt Flo Is A Bitch

Stage 1

When I was 11 years old, I came home one afternoon to find a book sitting on my bed entitled, "Have You Got It Yet?". This wasn't the first book that had been left on my bed as a gift. I still have The Wind in The Willows and a few others that my Mum randomly bought for me as gifts and left on my bed as a surprise. I was shocked and appalled though, to discover the content of this particular text. Yep, that's right, "it" was a visit from Aunt Flo. I tore into my mother's room yelling at her for buying me this book. She took it all in her stride and said she thought I might want some information about "it" and I could talk to her or ask her questions any time I needed to. I declined the offer.
Instead of being appreciative of a mother who was so open I got even more angry with her and told her I didn't want to see the book again. Poor me. I was in denial. A little Emu with my head buried in the sand.
Stage 2
The book wasn't mentioned again and I never went to my mother for information or answers to my questions. I did however, sneak into her room and secretly read the book from front to back on a regular basis. Life carried on.
When I was in my first year of high school, most conversations with my girlfriends centred around which teachers we hated, which boys we liked and whether or not we had 'got it' yet. By the time we were half way through the year most of us had had some quality time with Flo. Except for me. So I did what any sensible teenager does when placed in this situation...I lied. I told everyone that I had 'got it' and it was no big deal. My secret readings of Mum's book had paid off and I came across as an expert.

Stage 3
Picture the pages of a calendar ripping off on their own and blowing away in the wind, as it was many months before Flo decided to finally pay me a visit. And being the bold and fearless expert on all things menstrual....I felt terrified. I went to my mother in tears. She was brilliant. Calm, loving, sensitive and informative.
I didn't have some irrational fear that I was going to die or that I was cursed. I simply had an overwhelming realisation that I was saying goodbye to my childhood and entering another realm. I'm not sure I ever really got over that transition.
Stage 4

At eighteen I was diagnosed with endometriosis. Up until that point I had assumed that every other woman had a similarly harrowing and painful experience as I did each month when Flo popped by. Apparently not. Apparently I was a bit 'special needs' in this department. Imagine my joy when I discovered I could take the pill and skip those visits from Flo. I felt empowered. I controlled her now!
Stage 5
I entered my early twenties and I gave away the pill during some Earth-muffin, "my body is a temple and I don't want to interfere with it's natural flow" phase. Two laparoscopies to remove scar tissue and cysts ensued.
Stage 6
Mid twenties and I was enjoying life. As much as I hated her, if Flo was even one day late for her scheduled visit I was sent into a mild panic and didn't relax or sleep properly until she did arrive. I am amazed at the number of times I worried that I may have accidentally fallen pregnant, especially with what I now know about the human race and the very, very short window of opportunity we actually have to fall pregnant each month. And even then, so many things need to work and go right in that short time frame. In fact, with what I know about human fertility, I am constantly amazed that we have managed to so successfully overpopulate the world.

Stage 7
I pushed along into my late twenties, fell in love, got married and my biological clock started ticking. Everytime I held someone's baby I would get a warm rush and an inexplicable yearning or aching inside. My husband and I stopped using any form of contraception and each time Flo visited it was a reminder of my ability to create and nurture life. Flo reminded me every month that I would be responsible for another human being. My body would give nourishment to a baby. My body would deliver this child and continue to provide nourishment. Amazing. Instead of mild panic when Flo didn't arrive on time, it was mild excitement. I willed her to stay away. Seems she didn't know when she wasn't welcome because she kept showing up.
Stage 8
I'm thirty years old now. In the last 12 months I have been diagnosed with diminished ovarian reserve and have been told I am peri-menopausal. (Perhaps those warm rushes I had were actually the beginning of hot flushes) In the last 12 months, my husband and I have gone through three failed IVF/ICSI cycles and another cycle that was cancelled before egg pick up. Now when Aunt Flo arrives it is like being punched in the guts. She is a monthly reminder of what my body is supposed to be able to do, but doesn't. She reminds me every month that other women can do this - but I can't.
I still will her to stay away each month. I have become very good at convincing myself that I have somehow miraculously fallen pregnant naturally. I have even experienced nausea, heightened sense of smell and implantation cramps. I like to call this experience "symptoms of the faux pregnancy".
Aunt Flo and I have been acquainted for many years now and our relationship, like most, has had many ups and downs (mostly downs unfortunately). But when Flo arrived two weeks after having two embryos transferred it was one of the worst nights of my life. Not only had my embryos decided not to stick around but Flo gave me an extra hard time. She threw everything she had at me that night. Vomiting and cramps so bad I was sweating. My all time low was looking down and wondering at what point did I flush my "babies" down the toilet?
There's certainly a variety of terms used to refer to a woman’s monthly menstruation. Some of them, such as the monthlies and that time of the month, make sense. Others are downright bizarre like “one’s friend”. What exactly is so friendly about it? “The Curse” is by far my favourite as its sounds so appropriately evil but the one that really gets me is good ol’ “Aunt Flo”.

When I think of someone’s Aunt Flo, I picture a gentle, elderly lady sitting in a floral dress crocheting doilies and listening to Australia Talks on Radio National. In reality though, I tend to think that the Aunt Flo we're all talking about is some sort of hardcore, middle-aged, nose-stud wearing, man-hating, biker chick who listens to punk rock.
Either way, my Aunt Flo is a real bitch.