Walk It Off
Posted by Catherine Durkin Robinson on Aug 28, 2011 - 8:58:54 PM
LOS ANGELES—Newspapers recently reported that Prozac can help women who suffer from PMS, mood swings, and maybe even the desire to eat lots of chocolate. Obviously, if women are fighting severe symptoms every month, they should seek a physician’s help.
But after hearing women complain for the last forty years, I have my doubts.
When I was a young girl dealing with adolescent changes, my mother and grandmother taught me that a woman’s cycle is natural. They said being snippy, Mom’s favorite word for teenage volatility, was not to be blamed on our body. Perhaps as result, I’ve never exhibited a single symptom of anything that would require Prozac.
No matter what my husband thinks.
I can also remember girlfriends in junior high, whining each month to get out of school, work, and other responsibilities.
I was jealous of them, so I tried it.
“You’re not feeling cramps,” Mom said.
I moaned, groaned, and blinked up at her a few times as if trying to focus through all the pain.
“What?” I asked.
“Your uterine wall is breaking down and moving through your body. Reproductive organs cleanse themselves every twenty-eight days. Exercise, eat right, and drink plenty of water so you won’t feel so bloated and bad. This isn’t anything mysterious. You’re feeling your body working properly.”
I thought about that for a moment, weighing the deep desire to stay home and watch soap operas with an Algebra test scheduled that day. I wasn’t going to give up so easily.
“Tammy gets to stay home two days every month,” I said. “Her mother makes her keep her feet elevated.”
Mom made a familiar face. She’d crinkled her nose in the exact same way three weeks earlier when I’d asked to pierce my nose.
“Walk up and down our street for five minutes,” she said. “If it really hurts, you probably need to do something besides sit in front of the television.”
She was good. I’d give her that.
I stomped outside and walked around the block. I did feel better and hated that my mom was always right. I walked back into the house, pouting.
“I feel the same.” I lied, rubbing my tummy.
She stopped making breakfast and stared at me. I sensed a novena coming on.
“Do you believe men and women are equal?” she asked.
I thought of my favorite T-shirt: Anything boys can do, girls can do better.
I immediately stood up straight, threw back my shoulders, and said, “Of course I do. I am a feminist and I believe -”
“Then don’t ask to be treated differently,” Mom said. “Either we’re equal or we’re not. Gloria Steinem doesn’t ask for sick days every month. Erma Bombeck doesn’t beg for an extension and keep her feet elevated. They work hard every day, just like their male colleagues. You shouldn’t ask for special treatment. Don’t simply tell me what you believe about equal rights; show me. Now get to school.”
I never complained about cramps again.
It’s amazing what a walk around the block can cure.