I got my period when I was eleven, and until my early twenties I had to set an alarm to go off during the night so that I could change my tampon and avoid waking up in a pool of blood. (I honestly didn’t care because bodily fluids don’t bother me, but my parents were pissed about my sheets getting bloody. Why that mattered when I was the only one sleeping on them and I didn’t care I don’t know, but I digress.)
One night when I was about thirteen or fourteen, I got up to deal with the impending flood. I didn’t turn on the bathroom light, because who wants to be blinded when they just woke up and are about to go back to bed? I pulled out my tampon while standing over the toilet (is this weird? I now sit to do that, so I feel like maybe it’s weird). The tampon was very saturated, and it swung out away from me when I removed it. I cleaned myself up, replugged, and went back to bed.
The next morning I was woken by my mother, who was something between amused, disgusted, and angry. She walked me to the bathroom, shut the door, and told me to look.
In addition to being plagued with a period that overwhelmed a super jumbo tampon within four hours, I also had huge blood clots. Even now, years later when my period is less intense, they look like deflated balloons, and can completely cover a shower drain. When I pulled out the tampon in the night (band name!), a blood clot flew off of the tampon, landed on the door, and slid down a few feet. The trail of blood had congealed on the door, with a clump of clot near the bottom.
I found it hilarious. My mother cracked a smile once I cleaned up the carnage.