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She would be plagued with migraines and cramps for two or three days, splitting optalidones, saldevas, and nolotiles into ampoules, until suddenly we saw her resurfaced, exhausted and rickety.

My childhood is not a memory of a courtyard in Seville, but of my mother in bed with the lights out and dying of medieval pain. Every month we saw her coming home punctual from work, with her eyes half-mast, talking in a whisper, looking for a pill, whatever it was, in a bag that any cycling team of the 1990s would have envied. She spent two or three days with migraines and cramps, splitting optalidones, saldevas, and nolotiles into blisters, until we saw her emerge suddenly, exhausted and rickety, with her tiny eyes hidden at the bottom of some very dark caves. Those devastating rules were inherited by my sister and later I found to my surprise that they came to my wife whenever they wanted, randomly, every three or four months, which on the one hand reduced the periodicity of the pain and on the other hand parenting made a constant, you know, very entertaining.

I don’t know how the controversy over absenteeism due to menstrual cramps will end, but I’m glad we’re talking about it, because that’s how we refute the colorful rhetoric of sanitary pad ads, with all those laughing women looking forward to their period so they don a tampon and a being able to put on a tight bikini and go horseback riding, surfing, swimming on the beach, dyeing your hair fun colors or partying with your girlfriends all day long. What a cool period. At the time, if I had asked my mother, who was also self-employed and couldn’t stop working, what the clouds smelled like, she would have slapped me open-handed than even Will Smith. And for good reason.

Source: La Verdad

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