Examine Yourself: Secret diary of an Irish teacher on cancer education

I GOT my first period in 1993. The memory of it is seared in my mind. I remember everything, the exact bathroom I was in, what I was wearing, and my firm conviction that I was about to die.

I’d heard of periods by then. My best friend had got her period two years previously, but we hadn’t actually talked about it. It hung in the air, an invisible presence between us. It almost had a trophy quality, for me at least, like she had achieved something I hadn’t. In theory, I wanted my period more than anything. When it happened, I felt very vulnerable and very afraid.