I could hear the rain rapping on the window, and the sound of my husband snoring softly. Something had woken me up; I just could not remember what. It could not have been a dream; it was something closer and more vivid. I stepped out of bed and put on my slippers and went towards the washroom. I felt very alert; my instincts were on high alert. I picked my phone from the bedside table and touched the power button. The illuminated screen told me it was 4.30 am. For a Thursday morning, that was too early for me.
As I approached the bathroom, I realized that light was coming from the keyhole. I could have sworn I had switched off the lights when I went to sleep. Must be my husband, Men! I heard a cough followed by a choking sound and then a gushing sound. I quickened my steps and held the door open to see what was going on. I rushed and fell on my knees beside the toilet and held Rose’s hair back. She did not have her hair band, so I gave her mine. She looked up teary eyed and hugged me. I began to rub her back gently and felt her relax. The clock had started, I thought.
I stood up with her and wiped her face clean, and encouraged her to take some warm water from the flask in the kitchen as I fetched something from my bedroom. I shuffled off quickly to my room and took out a new box of unopened pads. I carried my hot water bottle and pain killers to give her for what I suspected were really bad cramps. This will be a long night, I thought. I went into Rose’s room and found her coiled and wincing in pain. I gave her the pain killers as I prepared the hot water bottle. She was thankful but still looked in shock and pain. I held her close and told her that this was her being a woman to which she retaliated that it shouldn’t be that painful.
It was then that I remembered a tale my grandmother told me when I had my first period during a visit home. Women are nature’s way of bringing joy to life, like honey. She said that girls are usually roses until adolescence, pure and innocent. When the roses reach full bloom, they have nectar inside them that attracts bees. The bees pick the nectar and travel to the honey comb where it is collected and made into honey. At times, the bees sting and scratch the flowers, but never damage the flower. In the meantime, the rose flowers get pollinated and start growing into fruit or wither away after growing out their term. All the same, the honey comb gets filled with nectar, the basis of the honey.
She looked at me puzzled, and then it started sinking in slowly. She smiled at me, and told me how lucky I was to have grandma and how she was lucky to have been told the story. She cuddled in my arms, reminding me of just how much fifteen years have changed my beautiful princess. I demonstrated how to use the pads and felt a tear escape my eyes as I gave her the box. She was my rose in full bloom, and the honeycomb was starting to brim with nectar.
Blog post also posted on LVCT Health’s one2one blog
I could hear the rain rapping on the window, and the sound of my husband snoring softly. Something had woken me up; I just could not remember what. It could not have been a dream; it was something closer and more vivid. I stepped out of bed and put on my slippers and went towards the washroom. I felt very alert; my instincts were on high alert. I picked my phone from the bedside table and touched the power button. The illuminated screen told me it was 4.30 am. For a Thursday morning, that was too early for me.
As I approached the bathroom, I realized that light was coming from the keyhole. I could have sworn I had switched off the lights when I went to sleep. Must be my husband, Men! I heard a cough followed by a choking sound and then a gushing sound. I…
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