My Friend

It's about time that I wrote about something that only sternladies experience. In fact, all women experience it at some point in their lives. No, I'm not talking about perms or even painting your nails red. It's something far more serious and unavoidable than these feminine rituals. I'm referring to menstration. My great-grandmother, after whom I'm named, used to refer to it as "your friend." There have been times when I was so relieved and joyous that it arrived, that indeed it felt like greeting an old friend. However, when I'm working on a boat, I'm not always so elated to see it.

Confession of a Sternlady #84: I menstrate. In a bucket.

OK, so maybe all women don't have their periods in a bucket. But some of us do. Linda Greenlaw might have her period in a bucket. Not likely, though. If she even gets her period anymore, she has sold enough books that she surely could afford a "head" on her boat. Probably has a leather toilet seat too. Maybe that's why Linda decided to go back to swordfishing: because she went through menopause! She figured: "Nothing's keeping me back now! No more bucket for me!"

I admit: I was daunted at the thought of having my period on the boat the first time it happened. That dreaded trickle sneaked up on me and I got all flustered. I looked around frantically. No toilet. No toilet seat. And certainly no little stainless box in which to dispose used sanitary napkins. I didn't even have the luxury of rest stop accomodations! My eyes fell on the bucket. I thought to myself: "Alright, Bucket, one of us is getting off of this boat clean and it ain't gonna be you." Turned out it wasn't so bad. I got used to it by the second time around. Now I even use a bucket at home! (Just kidding.)

Turning pogies inside-out is the last thing that I want to do when I'm bloated and bleeding, but I summoned my energy and kept plugging away. I daydreamed about curling up in my comfy, soft bed and eating a pint of Ben&Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream while watching a cheesy chick flick. Maybe even have a handsome man rub my feet and massage my back. OK, now I'm really dreaming!

I had to settle for sitting on the deck instead. Cap had to reset a trap and didn't need me for 2 short minutes. I scanned around the boat surreptitiously, about to steal a break. I don't like slacking when the boys are watching. The coast was clear so I allowed the weight of my body to slide down the wall of the lobster tank. I sat on a surprisingly comfortable bundle of rope, stretching my sore feet out in front of me. You wouldn't believe the relief that this position brought my feet and back, both of which were quite uncomfortable from working. The shade of the wheelhouse fell on me as the boat pirouetted around at the touch of Cap's steady hand, and I was perfectly content.

Then the trap splashed in the water, and I jumped to my feet to resume pogie annihilation. Cap needed me. And besides, I thought, it'll make a great blog post! This is what my friend Annie said to me when I was complaining about what a miserable day it was going to be on the water at one point this winter. Now it has become my mantra on the most dismal days of lobstering. The more miserable it is, the better the writing will be. So here you have it: a blog post about menstrating on the boat.