• Reagan Hart

Diva Cup Horror Story

In my recent thrivemarket.com order, I purchased the Diva Cup. Usually, my order includes a six month supply of organic cotton tampons, ranging from regular to super absorbency, but a couple of friends told me how great the Diva Cup has been for them and I assumed I would have similar results…


My period came, and I tried to use the Diva Cup immediately, folding it hot dog style and sticking it up “there,” and I could not get it up “there” properly, it kept unfolding before I could satisfactorily secure it to my insides. I tried five or six more times with no avail. Finally, I shoved it up! The only problem was the little tip that was hanging out of the end. I decided to pull it out by the tip and go on with my day, sans Diva Cup.


After going out for the day, I decided it was time to try this thing again. I had spent 25 dollars on this thing, and I wanted to see what the hype was for these “reusable” tampons. So, I sent one of my friends a message and asked if the tip is supposed to hang out. She messaged back that it is not, and she had the same issue and cut it off. I went to the bathroom, grabbed the cup, and asked my husband to bring me scissors. I cut the tip off, folded it in two, tried three times to get it in, and finally succeed! I could still feel the bottom of the cup without needing it quickly. I was so proud of myself, as this accomplishment had taken me a full day. I got ready for bed and felt pretty secure in my new menstrual device.


I awoke the next morning excited to take the cup out; it is the little things that get me going. I went to the bathroom and reached up “there” to pull it out by its thick, silicon base and, to my surprise, it was not there! I yelled to my husband that I was dying and we needed to go to the hospital immediately. He ran into the bathroom to see what was up. I told him that I could not get that “cup-thing” I was trying out, I could feel the base of it, but I couldn’t get a grip to pull it out. He said that he wanted to try. I practically ran out of the house at this point, each one of his fingers is the size of hot dogs, and at the moment, I did not need that in my life. Instead, we both pulled out our cell phones to investigate.


Our MacGyver-like abilities led me to walk around the apartment while doing various lunges and squats—this was supposed to let gravity take over and lower the cup naturally. After 30 minutes of this, it was again go-time. I covered my fingers in lube and tried attacking one last time, I could feel the bottom, but it was at an angle that I could not easily grasp with my thumb and pointer to pull out. Back to the squatting, I went. After five more minutes, I tried again; my husband was patiently waiting in the doorway. I reached up, up, up and de-latched the rim of the cup from my insides, pulling the Diva Cup out of me. I threw it in the bathroom sink, washed it off, washed my hands, and my husband and I headed to the couch to enjoy our morning beverages.


I wanted to like this damn cup; I wanted to sing its praises and join the women who are free from buying tampons every month. I cannot. After this conundrum was over, my husband headed off to work. He called me from the road and asked if I had thrown the “thingy” away. I told him that I had not. I have decided to keep it, and it is in the back corner of our bathroom cupboard, behind the organic cotton tampons, where it belongs.

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© 2020 by Reagan Hart