Let There Be Blood

Let’s start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start. And no, Julie Andrews, this is not where you teach us our do-re-mis and bring absolute joy to our lives. For that, we would have to watch The Sound of Music. The beginning that I’m talking about is the reason Julie Andrews’ Maria thought she had found her calling. This is the beginning of it all, the genesis. 

For you see, as the good book says, in the beginning, there was nothing. But then God came in, did his thing, and voilà, a whole new world (get out of my head, Peabo Bryson. You too, Regina Belle). 

This new world needed people to live in it, to multiply and fill it. And that is how Adam came to be. But then, he needed a companion for the aforementioned multiplication. So God waved his magic wand, a rib was taken from Adam, and after some supernatural sculpting, a woman was made. 

It didn’t end there, no. Adam’s part in this whole process was the initial loss of his rib. This was done while he was asleep, under supernatural anesthesia, no less, and his future participation was guaranteed to be super pleasurable. The woman, however, did not get off that easy. Her part would entail being a baby oven for nine months or so. And then, excruciating pain when the baking was done and the little miracle made its way into the world. And should the woman not play ball, there was a failsafe in place. For the good Lord you see, was not done making declarations. He liked the sound of “let there be light” and all the other divine edicts that came after that. And so, for the woman, he had one last declaration, “Let there be blood.”

This declaration would be one that would plague all daughters of Eve, some getting it worse than others. Depending on where future Evelets fell on the plague scale, there would be degrees of discomfort. And whenever their moods dipped for whatever reason, there would be that one dreaded question, “Is it that time of the month?” I’m looking at you, J 😒 

And no, J, it is not that time of the month. That time of the month is not evidenced by minuscule mood modifications. No! It is a plague of epic proportions. I liken this particular plague to a zombie invasion. The zombies drag around their hot water bottles. But unlike other zombies, they are not searching for brains. No, not at all. You see, to be fully functioning members of society for however long the plague lasts, some of them have to be doped to the gills on some heavy-duty pain meds. I’m talking about the kind that most pharmacies will not sell without prescriptions. Thank God for that one local chemist that read the directive and went, “Prescription, shmescription.”

Why do we need these pain meds, you ask? Why for the pain of course. There is the pain that reminds me of a scraggly, old guy wizened with age. His whole vibe is, “I’m too old for this shit.” The pain that he inflicts is half-hearted at best. He is just there whiling away his time as he waits to clock out. This is the best kind of pain to have as pharmaceuticals may not be needed. Then there is the green fireball. This is the prized new hire in the period pain corporation. This pain is anxious to prove its worth to the powers-that-be. It is super focused. Sometimes, it feels like a hollow tube, working like a cannon, through which pain balls are fired. I’m picturing the corporation’s research and development (R&D) team gathered around the tubes, someone yelling fire and one of them checking their computers to see if maximum pain has been achieved. If not, things are taken up a notch. This continues until the red light flashes and the siren blares, indicating that the danger zone has been reached. At which point, the entire R&D team cheers while you, the recipient of this pain, cry out and curse out your womanhood. This is when your body ingests the entire contents of your medicine cabinet. And the hot water bottle becomes your new best friend. I do not know if it loosens the muscles, making it easier for blood to flow, or if its heat blocks the pain receptors. All I know is that when I’m pressing that hot water bottle to the pain points, I’m like a savage warrior playing whack-a-mole with the pain, yelling, “Die! Die! Die!”

Last and definitely least, is the cowardly pain. It waits until all other pains have had a go, then sneaks in and has its turn. It shoots, hits its mark, and then hides. This kind of pain is an annoyance at best. I might have missed a level of pain or two, but the point is, there is a shitload of pain involved. Sometimes, it is a continuous barrage, and at other times, it comes and goes.

You would think the pain would be the end of it, but no. There is also that little taste of what it feels like to be pregnant (or so, I’m told). Nausea here, some boob pain there, and maybe throw in some back pain and bloating for good measure. Now, will you get pregnant? Playing hard to get, huh? How about we wait until you go to take a shower and then break the damn dam walls? I’m talking floodgates opened, a deluge, gushing, and any other words that will forever invoke images of rivers of blood. It is not all smooth sailing though. The clotty bloody mess makes it look like someone was butchered on your bathroom floor. You didn’t see that coming, did you? Just a little something that R&D cooked up….bonuses for them all this quarter.

And as the last of the pain and blood ebbs away, then comes the splitting headaches and dizzy spells to remind you of the blood lost. Maybe now you will reconsider this whole pregnancy and fill the earth thing. If not, come next month, and in the words of the good Lord, Let there be blood.