have anyone used the menstrual cup
Replies
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"So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.
The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.
So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.
Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.
There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.
So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.
Does. Not. Happen.
Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.
Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.
And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.
Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.
Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.
Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.
But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."0 -
WHAT!!! I menstrual cup?! I have never heard of this... and kinda seems icky?
I am going to have to google this, but please tell me if that's a bad idea.0 -
Yep, been using one for 8 years...brilliant things!0
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WHAT!!! I menstrual cup?! I have never heard of this... and kinda seems icky?
I am going to have to google this, but please tell me if that's a bad idea.
Nah just read my post! The one previous to yours.0 -
I love mine!!! It's no higher on the "gross" factor than a tampon, and MUCH less than a pad.
Put it in in the AM, leave it there till after work. No problems!!
It took me a bit to figure it out without worrying about leaks, but it's all good!0 -
Never tried one!! Didn't even know they exist, as a matter of fact, I wish I still didn't know they exist!!!0
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Love mine! Very comfortable, easy to use (after the slight learning curve), holds a lot and saves lots of money! Not to mention better for the environment.0
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The Diva Cup is probably one of my favorite inventions of all time. I will never ever go back to tampons or pads. It does take 2 cycles or so to get used to it but it is so much easier and cleaner than anything else I've tried. I love it!!0
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It sounds interesting however I am an extremely heavy bleeder on day 2 & 3. so much so that i will go thru 5 or 6 or more overnight pads in a day & still manage to leak
Any heavy bleeders out there use them?
This is me and I have tried the cup. It didnt work for my heavy days. I could fill it up and leak out within 30 minutes at my heaviest. For my lighter days (day 1 and 4-5) it was no problem and I could last several hours with no leaks. I dont use it anymore due to the frequency of the leaks and I just couldnt be sure when it was going to happen. I double up with an ultra tampon followed by a heavy pad on days 2-3 and with the tampon I can tell when I am about to leak and can usually get to the bathroom before I do. The cup was too unpredictable for me. One second fine, the next second it emptied all over me.0 -
I never have. I saw it in a magazine and just thought it would be my luck for it to come loose when it was full of blood.0
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0
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It freaking rocks! I will never go back and have converted about 6 other women to it. everyone says the same thing! you have to get over the slightly more interaction when using it as apposed to tampons. but it's well worth it. I just do the changing and cleaning in the shower. easy peasy! And it saves loads of money!
I know that Mooncup in the UK, have a no quibble returns policy if you don't like it. but the testimonials speak for themselves.
Do you have "heavy flow " days? if so did you find it worked as well on those days too? I tried it on the heaviest day and it didnt work out too well..any advise0 -
The Diva Cup is probably one of my favorite inventions of all time. I will never ever go back to tampons or pads. It does take 2 cycles or so to get used to it but it is so much easier and cleaner than anything else I've tried. I love it!!
I agree! I found the DC from an old Cloth Diapering site i was on and i thought " no way" but i tried it and im hooked! Along with cloth pads for when i dont use a cup.
I have PCOS and I am a heavy bleeder. It works for me. I would say it takes practice to get the fold right for what works for you and also how to take it out if youre out someplace. I should say too- it says i should wear a size 2 but for me the size 1 fits better.0 -
I never have. I saw it in a magazine and just thought it would be my luck for it to come loose when it was full of blood.
it cant come loose- it works like a tampon and opens up to form a seal.
Lay821- You need to work on the fold you use.0 -
Nope never tried and don't think I want to. I use tampons and nothing else except maybe the occasional panty liner. I hate pads, nothing like sitting in your own period diaper, yuck!
Anyone else notice this post is from 2011? How'd this one get dragged up again?0 -
LOVE mine. Seriously, I spent about 5 years on tampons then someone mentioned a mooncup. And I adore it. Far nicer than a tampon. Yes, there's blood, but there's no drying stale blood held up against the vaginal walls, no risk of TSS, no guesswork as to whether you can leave it for another hour or really need to change it already (cos it holds a lot more; and it doesn't hurt to come out cos it's half dry).
Seriously, why don't they mention them in growing up stuff? Only options mentioned are tampons or pads. And like, this is so much better. Go Mooncups!0 -
"So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.
The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.
So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.
Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.
There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.
So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.
Does. Not. Happen.
Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.
Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.
And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.
Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.
Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.
Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.
But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."
I have to bump this.0 -
"So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
The theory is that the cup catches your pan drippings, and you empty it a couple times a day, washing it with hippy soap, and reinserting. It presupposes you are enough of an Earth Mother to be OK not only with your monthly outpourings, but also with generally fossicking around in your flaps. Now, I am no stranger to gore. Nor am I squeamish about my delicate rose of delight, except that I have no such illusions about it and indeed am always reminded of nothing so much as stuffing an oddly-warm raw turkey. So, when after several weeks of teasing, the Period Fairy threatening to postpone the Communist Invasion until I was actually getting on the plane (I was about ready to scream and cry at some hapless unwary male just as a sacrifice to appease her) at last I greeted the rosy-fingered dawn and set about embarking on my new life as a eco-friendly Diva.
The Moon Cup comes in two sizes; Size A, for youthful nymphs under 30 who have never given birth and have silken tresses and tinkling laughs and are all size 0, and size B, for Big Ol' *****es like m'self, who have either spawned, or are so old (ie over 30) that they might as well have been poppin' them out like Duggar Donuts, because their sugar walls are now echoing corridors full of cobwebs and slackness. Of course the packaging phrases it more nicely, but I was miffed to see that despite having never replicated, I was still doomed to the Big Gulp size because of my age alone.
So, chalice in hand, fingers washed, and let's fold that thing like a taco (no, not THAT thing, the other thing!) and cram it up where only one man has gone before and even then not for a damn long time even when he WAS still around. I'm sure I imagined the rusty creaking sounds as I tried to shove something which was larger than anything previous (with the exception of various medical speculums which, I believe, were constructed by the same person who designed the Montlake Drawbridge)into the Gaping Maw.
Now, you're supposed to roll the cup up, smuggle it past the border, let it expand, then turn it clockwise (or counter clockwise, or then one way and another, stopping when you hear the click, or something...) anyway, you're supposed to be able to turn this thing like a dial in there."If the cup does not turn easily, you did it wrong" Oh, of course, I'll just grasp hold of a thing about the size, shape, and slipperyness of the pointy end of a peeled hard-boiled egg, which is now buried in the meaty folds of my innermost femininity, which, I may add, are well-sluiced with the special effects from a Quentin Tarantino film, and spin that sucker like a dredel.
There is, also, a small stem at the base of this cup, which, being made of the same slippery silicon and about a centimeter long, is about as helpful as providing a live, untrained earthworm for a handle. More on this later.
So, rotate this thing in situ, to ensure a good 'seal' and a comfortable fit.
Does. Not. Happen.
Ladies (and gentlemen, although I hope for your sake none of you gentlemen are reading this), I tried. I hauled that thing in and out of there more times, and with much less joy, than Eeyore with his birthday present, and not once could I get that thing to "turn easily". I finally gave up, since it seemed, at one point, to be "fully inflated" and more or less in the right place. Frankly I think that having left my furrow unplowed for so long, I'm not exactly the proper degree of hotdog-hallway that the instruction-writer was intending to address, but so be it. Let's give this thing a whirl, if we can't give it a twist.
Fast forward a few hours in which I've done nothing much. To its credit, I don't feel the presence of THE CUP at all, no discomfort, not even a vague sense of "eugh" as I sometimes have when knowing all that stands between me and my khakis is a small cottony Dutch boy. In fact, I'm getting rather concerned that the Diva Cup has wormed its way in like some form of parasitic jellyfish and is now eagerly migrating up my fallopian tubes, with me all unknowing. Time to go fishing.
And that is where I discover that, while it's difficult to try and 'turn' a Diva Cup newly lodged in your sanctum sanctorum, it's a freakin' log-fall compared to trying to recover said Cup after it has gotten comfortably settled in the downy folds of your blood-engorged tissues. Yes, indeed, if cram my fingers up there to the point of pain, I can just, tantilizingly, tickle the end of that goddamn silicone 'stem'. Grasp it? Not in hell.
Of course the instructions say, if this happens, DO NOT PANIC. Well, thank god for that, because I was already running through the list of people I'd trust with a flashlight, a set of forceps, and an experience that would scar both of us for the rest of our lives. There were instructions for different positions, and "bearing down" and so forth, which I tried, to no avail, and I was pretty sure that my ham-fisted efforts (ahem) were just making things worse on the "swollen" front, so Diva and I took a break, and retired to our respective corners for an hour or so.
Now I brought out my secret weapon: Beer. If, gods help me, I ever have to have a baby, I intend to be drunk off my *kitten* for the delivery, and I surely hope that the Fairy Prince Unicorn Elvis who is my chosen Babydaddy will provide a bedside IV of godly ambrosia, or at least Jim Beam. But anyway, two beers and I'm good to go spelunking in quest of the Holy Grail once more.
Either the beer, or the break, or the combination of all of these and squatting on the bathmat like a Neanderthal crapping, finally, produced enough of that goddamn 'stem' to grab (which was good, because I was dreading having use the kitchen tongs Up There or something) and, with a surprising amount of horrible suctioning "discomfort", the invader was routed! And, wonder of wonders, it was indeed partially filled. Not filled with DELICIOUS CANDY, no, but it did seem to have been, you know... -working-, before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel. Provided we could agree to disagree on the whole "turn 360 degrees in place" aspect, perhaps this could indeed be a workable partnership. Better than bleeding into the Rupununi and attracting every caiman, pirahna, and candiru fish for fifty miles.
But not without some boundaries first. I tied a ROPE to that stupid stem this time."
My first comment on here. But I HAD to. One of the best pieces I've read in AGES... awesome. You must be a writer...0 -
before I so rudely dislodged it from its parasitic feeding. I felt a combination of grudging respect and intrigue, as one might upon meeting a foe worthy of their steel.
ROFL! I laughed out loud @ "parasitic feeding"...
Hilarious read
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I have no idea why I came in here... But Slickfoot made it worth it.0
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Nope never tried and don't think I want to. I use tampons and nothing else except maybe the occasional panty liner. I hate pads, nothing like sitting in your own period diaper, yuck!
Anyone else notice this post is from 2011? How'd this one get dragged up again?
*waves* I did it. I was searching for Lunette, and I think it's interesting, and thought it was worth the bump.0 -
I have a Diva Cup. I trimmed the stem to make it more comfortable. I love everything about it and wish I had learned about cups earlier. It would have saved me so much money on tampons...0
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I liked them...I am past that now I am hoping...finger crossed...once you got used to them they were awesome. If it is properly in place you should not feel it at all.0
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Nope never tried and don't think I want to. I use tampons and nothing else except maybe the occasional panty liner. I hate pads, nothing like sitting in your own period diaper, yuck!
Anyone else notice this post is from 2011? How'd this one get dragged up again?
then you should try cloth pads- much better than the other kind!0 -
"So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
My best friend uses a diva cup but I never, ever could. There's just so much about it that is incredibly icky to me. I just.. I couldn't.
I don't see how people can call pads gross. I never. EVER get my hands bloody using a pad. I change frequently and no mess. I'll stick with that thanks.0 -
I think its gross personally. and it just feels weird.0
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"So one of the many new devices I purchased for this trip was a Diva "Moon Cup". Since feminine hygine supplies would be hard to come by and waste-producing, I opted instead to buy a thing like a Barbie Deluxe Toilet Plunger, and stuff it up my hooha.
My best friend uses a diva cup but I never, ever could. There's just so much about it that is incredibly icky to me. I just.. I couldn't.
I don't see how people can call pads gross. I never. EVER get my hands bloody using a pad. I change frequently and no mess. I'll stick with that thanks.
I dont ever get my hands bloody no matter what i use. I wonder what people are doing wrong if thats the case? Could see walking out of the stall with your hand like that? LOL.0 -
Wow! It is an oldie thread....however I googled this said menstrual cup and I think I'll pass....I don't want to clean my own vag blood up thanks :sick:
I'm good with tampons....yank and flush0 -
I bought mine on ebay for $12.00. Came with an adorable satin carry bag too :P0
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I have a divacup and I love it. It doesn't hurt at all and I've played rugby and done yoga in it. The only cup I don't recommend is the reuseable one called Instead. That one was painful to use and defeats the purposes of a menstrual cup. I also suggest you look into lunapads or other such items as well.0
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