This October will mark the six year anniversary of my hysterectomy and I have no complaints about life without a period.

Most of the women I work with are still dealing with the inconvenience and discomfort caused by menstruation but it doesn’t come up in conversation much so I am blissfully unaware.

The other day in the ladies room I heard the familiar crinkle of wrapper and the swearing that accompanies missing the waste basket with the tampon applicator. It was a bit of a jolt.

I got an odd sensation. It was kind of a “what is that?/yeah I remember that” combined thought. I guess you could call in ennui. Did I ever make those noises in the ladies room? A vague and distant memory tells me I did. But the memory is not readily available enough to remember how it felt. And that realization gave me an odd feeling.

Am I so far removed from my menstruating “sisters” that I am no longer able to dredge up my memories of what they deal with every month? To be perfectly blunt “does that make me a different kind of animal?” One who no longer shares the very core of common sisterhood?

That’s crazy – right? Sharing a common inconvenience does not a sister make – right? Or does it? Does my “life change” mean that I am no longer “one of them”? It was pretty heavy.

And then I thought “I am different”. I know what they know and I also know something they don’t know. I think they call that wisdom. And I am the same as they are with one notable exception. I don’t have the cramping, bleeding, fear of leaking, fear of killing a co-worker, surprise I’m here early, surprise I’m back again, expense of supplies (and extra expense of tampons that get shredded in my purse) monthly headache anymore.

I think they call this survivor guilt.