Tag Archives: vagina

The first time I used a moon cup

I bought it at the Wellness warehouse and it came in a nice white box with silver sparkles on. There were no sizes, so I assumed that these would all be reasonable and fit most vaginas. Walking out of the shop I felt excited about a life soon to be free of tampons and their associated leaks, stupid cotton strings in hospital colours, and the expense of paying R8 per day to bleed.

Image from the Menstrual Cups Galore pinterest boardI got to the bus stop, and excitedly opened the box. Inside were some instructions and the moon cup. It was about the size of an egg cup. Big I thought, but I figured if a penis could fit inside, so could this silicone cup. And it would so that I could completely boycott bleached cotton plugs up my vagina.

It told me I had to boil the cup, which was made of silicone, before use, and after my period finished. Then I had to place it in the bag provided. I looked in the box again. No bag. Someone must have opened the box and taken it out. And touched my mooncup.

The last bus home was just arriving but it was either go back now and swap the cup, or wait another month to use it. I grumpily got up and walked past my ride home back into the store.

The security guard wanted me to explain. “I just bought this, and its supposed to come with a bag, but when I opened it the bag was gone. So I want to swap it for one with a bag.” “But what is it?” He asked. I began to blush, damning myself for blushing. “It’s a moon cup” I said with as much defiance as possible, and stormed past him into the shop.

I began opening all the other boxes and found that they too had had their bags removed. A syndicate carrying their treasures in small bags? At the back of the shelf was a last box, still sealed. I opened it and it contained a pretty blue and green bag. I made the exchange at the till and rushed down to the train station to catch the next one home.

At home, and ready to get going, I boiled my silicone cup in my egg pot for the required 5 minutes, and then one more minute for luck. I went to the bathroom, instructions in one hand, silicone cup in the other.

I sat down. The instructions told me to fold the circular cup in half until it made a sort of smiley face. I did so. It still looked huge. Then, I had to insert it using almost my whole hand, and when it was in far enough, release it. When it opened inside, I should feel if it had made a circular seal. The tiny silicone tip (which replaced the string you’d normally have on a tampon) was only short, and wouldn’t stick out much. The guide recommended lube to help you get it in the first time. I dutifully lubed up the rim of the cup.

First try: I squeezed the cup hard to fold it, the silicone not as bendy as I would have hoped. As I lowered it down and was about to get to putting it in, it unfolded and jumped out of my lubed fingers and into the air. I reached up and caught it before it fell down.

Second try: I squeezed it harder this time, using two fingers to keep it in the smiley face that would then unfold. I used two fingers to put it in, and held my other hand beneath it in case it fell in the loo. It went in. But, it wasn’t unfolding. I had to reach in and twist it slightly according to the booklet, so I spent about five minutes rummaging around my vagina, trying to hold onto the tiny silicone ‘string’ long enough to twist it. Finally it turned and I felt a little suction. Pleased with myself and with fingers covered in lube and blood I stood to wash my hands. Immediately I felt that tiny silicone string begin to stab the side wall of my vagina.

Now, I was feeling quite deflated at this stage. What was supposed to be my liberation from the boringness of tampons, had taken up a sizeable amount of my time and was stabbing me. This was not what I had expected. I walked around for a while, but then couldn’t take it any more.

So I decided to take it out. The instructions said put your finger in and press lightly against the side whilst turning the almost non-existent silicone string. Yes. That’s right. Put your whole hand inside your vagina to take this bugger out.

I sat back on the loo, after washing my hands for what felt like the gazillionth time that day. I put one finger in, and tried to manuovre it as I was supposed to. No joy. Two went in. When I got a grip on the silicone string, I forgot all about the twisting in my delight, and pulled. ERROR!

I felt like I was vacuuming out my brain. I’m convinced that some of my womb moved a little further down by body so strong was the suction from the moon cup. After recovering my senses and screaming ‘fuck fuck fuck’ into my clenched fist I took a deep breath. Relax, I told myself. Relax and breathe.

I tried again, two fingers and twists and succesfully heard a ‘pop’ sound from my vagina. The seal had broken. I was free. Inside my mooncup was about one drop of dark red blood.

I cooked the mooncup again, and put it safely in its cutesy blue and green bag. I have never been as happy to have a tampon in me as I was that day.

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Filed under Health, sexual health, Vagina

The first time I used a menstrual cup

I first heard about the m-cup (menstrual/moon cups) last year over dinner conversation. I was enthralled by the idea of environmentally friendly and safer methods of menstrual health and I seriously started wondering about all the waste products such as tampons and pads…where do they all go? It also made me wonder about women’s menstrual health and how warped it is considering the adverts on TV (especially for women who cannot afford the expense of tampons and pads).

So I went and bought a moon cup soon after the conversation. I Googled more information and read anything and everything. Like most women growing up in conservative families with a mother who taught me “cleanliness is next to Godliness” and all things about sexuality were makings of the devil, my vagina was mostly invisible. The biology lessons at school (with male teachers) showed me cross-sections of tubes and balls that made little sense to me except when I had to label the image during a test. Apart from the monthly bleed and gevoevelling with curious boys in my teens, I knew little about my vagina. And I decided to abstain from sex when I was 15 which meant the vagina was officially silenced.

Watching the Vagina Monologues is where it all began. I hate to be so typical but until that point, I couldn’t really say the word vagina aloud. And to say it in isiXhosa was close to blasphemy. Friends and I tried to find Xhosa words for vagina: usisi, igusha, isinene/inenene, ikuku (sister, sheep, no translation, cookie respectively). But I still couldn’t say much about the vagina. Watching the monologues I realised I related with “My vagina is angry…pissed off!” and much to my dismay, I also related with the old woman who spoke about “down there”.

So when I finally heard about the moon cup and decided to buy it, my mind and heart had to make peace with the fact that my vagina is a real part of my body. When talking about menstrual health and vaginas the conversation mostly becomes about sexuality. I have no regrets about abstaining from sex, but this has meant that I have experienced my vagina as purely a biological process and a no go zone at any other time thus far in my life (which is a conversation for another day). And yes, conversations with girlfriends who are comfortable with their sex lives are becoming a tad awkward because as a growing woman of 24 I’m an anomaly.

And so the day of reckoning arrived when I was going to trial the m-cup. My body balked. Nothing seemed to work and I didn’t seem to know what I was trying to do. Instead I ended up in pain and exasperated. The websites I read seemed to assume that every woman wanting to use the cup has a sense of what the vagina was REALLY like. And I realised I didn’t and I wasn’t keen to have a conversation with my vagina at the time. So I put the cup away and much to my chagrin, returned to the hard, bleached cotton wool: tampons.

Fast foward: a year later and I decided to revisit the idea of using my m-cup. Part of the motivation has been watching the price of tampons and pads escalate every time I buy them. Not only has this been denting my budget, but again, the thought about the environment surfaced (I have similar questions about disposable nappies, where do they go?). Conversations with more friends who have been evangelising the gospel of the m-cup also helped so the process didn’t seem so daunting anymore. And this time I had a conversation with my vagina every time I had a bath before my cycle began.

It wasn’t dirty or disgusting, but a simple feeling for what it really means to have a vagina. I’m not surprised people who KNOW vaginas love them. They’re soft, warm, welcoming and great muscles. So when I used the cup, it was a simple process and my instant reaction was “WOW!”. When I told a friend, her response included the word “intense”. It doesn’t have to be. Vaginas and women’s sexuality are a beautiful thing and I wish we allowed ourselves more time to appreciate our bodies for what they are not purely as a means to an end for sex, but for the pleasure of what they are…beautiful and blossoming.

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Filed under A Womanly Body, Health, Vagina

The First Time My Vagina Reminded Me of Sisterhood

Women always talk about the strength a sisterhood has but I have always wondered how true this is. I’ve never really been a person involved in big groups of friends; I always had one friend, they would always become my best and close friend until unforeseen circumstances changed that and then I would be forced to find another good friend.

My cycle of friend hopping changed when I went to university and I met a friend who had a friend who had a friend who eventually became my friend, in the end a huge network of friends was woven and when we met our res rooms would be filled with young women literally on top of each other enjoying each other’s company. I had never felt such a strong bond with so many women- we would wait for each other before we ate, we had our own table, on Sundays we would go to church together and discuss the sermon afterwards and we even developed our own secret language.

I always wondered how far my friends would go for me, I always wondered if what we kindled was a true friendship or a hobby to pass by the time. We shared our secrets, what hurt us most and what our real problems were; for such a huge group our secrets amazingly stayed well within the web. We would buy food, tampons or medicationsfor each other. We knew who had asthma, who was allergic to what, and who had never used a tampon before. We had immense knowledge of each other and our love had no bounds.

One day my friends and I were talking about private parts; which looked better between the vagina and the penis, and of course the vagina won. My one friend recalled a funny incident were her friend had called her in a frantic state asking her to come over to her house. When my friend got there her friend asked her to look at her vagina, my friend was shocked and asked why, her friend replied said that it looked weird that some hanging bits weren’t supposed to be there. My friend being the good sister she was inspected it and assured her friend it was in a normal state. I laughed when I heard the story but then I realised I really did not know what my vagina looked like, not shaving made my problem worse and I really did not know how my vagina looked like.

I felt a sense of loss, not knowing the most intimate part of me was sad and suddenly I understood what my friend’s friend must have felt like. I looked at my friend in a different light from there on, she was truly a good friend, and she went into uncharted territory not out of curiosity but out of kindness and care for her friend who was really worried. I mean how many friends would inspect your vagina for you?

Image from goodmorningandgoodnight.com

I looked at my friends in a different light from there on. There were with me when I could no longer go on with my studies, they supported me when my faith was at its thinnest, they prayed for me and asked for God’s favour to fall upon my life. They are still with me in my heart and of course on Facebook; our bond surpasses all kinds of matter. It turns out it was a true friendship I was kindling and still kindling, it wasn’t something to pass the time, it was something to contain time. I discovered true sisterhoods do exist- I am reminded of this every time I look at my vagina.

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Filed under Friendship, Growing Up