So, I want to "go green" for my monthly menstrual cycle...

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:I love my diva cup.

Also, I was able to only empty twice a day, even during the heaviest days of my cycle. Just once in the morning and once before bed.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:Your coworkers will thank you if you don't. I don't understand how this works or is sanitary outside of your own house.

My flow is light enough that I don't ever have to remove or clean it outside of my own house.

[Anonymous]

I use a Diva Cup. It took a cycle or two to get used to, and I wore a resusable liner during that time for leaks. As for in public, I just pour it from the cup in the toilet (like at home) but wipe it with tissue paper when the restroom is a shared one (no easy access to sink).

I started the Diva to avoid the chemicals in tampons, but my favorite thing quickly became how amazing it felt to have a period with no waste.

[Anonymous]

http://www.amazon.com/Jade-Pearl-Sponge-Tampon-SP-RM/dp/B000VV27OU

This is what I use. Earth friendly and very comfortable. Cleaning is a breeze, rinse under cold, then hot water.

[Anonymous]

Best Amazon review ever!!!!


Customer Review

2,814 of 2,977 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars Prepare for battle!, August 23, 2009
By Ben Dover
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: DivaCup Model 2 Post-Childbirth (Health and Beauty)

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' Bitches 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 ass 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.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:Hippie here. In lieu of the cup, may I suggest a sea sponge? You purchase one, cut it into strawberry sized pieces, and pop them in. Once youve used one, rinse out the blood, wash, and airdry. Extremely environmentally friendly, and no subsidizing patriarchal "feminine hygiene" companies. Cheaper too.

Another hippie here. I second this suggestion. I used sea sponges for many years in college and they are SO COMFORTABLE. A couple of things to consider - sometimes they are hard to grab once you insert them, so I would use a needle and thread a longish piece of dental floss through the sponge. This made it easer to remove.

The one drawback is rinsing them if you're using the same one all day. I never kept extras or anything - always used the same one throughout the day. In college it got awkward because I'd be in a public restroom and would have to take my bloody sponge to the communal sink to rinse it (I guess it's sort of unsanitary in that regard). But if you use it at home or have access to a private bathroom, this isn't an issue.

I'd also use a dark colored wash cloth at night instead of a sponge. Where do you think the expression "on the rag" came from?

OMG. I use a Diva Cup, but I would give you the stinkiest stink eye if you were washing out your bloody sponge in a communal sink.

I have had to change the Diva Cup at work. We have several private bathrooms, so I have been able to wash it with soap and reinsert. As a pp stated, in public, you can just wipe with tp and reinsert. I love the Diva Cup - been using it for over 10 years.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:Best Amazon review ever!!!!


Customer Review

2,814 of 2,977 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars Prepare for battle!, August 23, 2009
By Ben Dover
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: DivaCup Model 2 Post-Childbirth (Health and Beauty)

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' Bitches 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 ass 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.

Awesome, haha!

[Anonymous]

I'm seriously jealous of you ladies who are able to use Diva cups and such. My flow is so heavy that even a superplus tampon and a large pad will only last me about 2 hours. I cannot imagine dealing with these reusable options and living a normal life. It's hard enough now. Anyway, if it works for you that's great.

[Anonymous]

I used to use a menstrual cup. Prior to that I only wore tampons, never pads because they were gross and uncomfortable.

But for the past 6 years I've used reusable pads and they've been life changing for me. Will never go back to anything else.

I've had the same set of 12 pads for all these years and they are still going strong.

[Anonymous]

I am a 46 yr old woman and have never heard of a diva cup or any other menstrual cup. Consider me educated (and slightly unsettled).

[Anonymous]

I have the Moon Cup and I love, love, love it! I have super heavy periods (the first two days I was going through a tampon an hour, forget about overnight) and I was worried it wouldn't work for me. I have no problems with leakage, and only have to empty it max four times a day, usually much less.

For the squeamish or unsure, the Instead disposable soft cups are a good intermediate step to get used to the idea. But I highly recommend using a menstrual cup!

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:I am a 46 yr old woman and have never heard of a diva cup or any other menstrual cup. Consider me educated (and slightly unsettled).

I never heard of that either until I read posts here. It sounds like a nasty 3rd world country kind of thing. I imagine some smelly unclean women.

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:

Anonymous wrote:I am a 46 yr old woman and have never heard of a diva cup or any other menstrual cup. Consider me educated (and slightly unsettled).

I never heard of that either until I read posts here. It sounds like a nasty 3rd world country kind of thing. I imagine some smelly unclean women.

I love my cup and I feel they are cleaner and more comfortable than tampons, and pads for sure! Why in the world do you think using one would make you smell bad?

[Anonymous]

Anonymous wrote:How do you know what size you need?

There are 2 sizes. One for before and after birth. I'd pick the bigger one if you're 30+, I think anyway. Not a big deal - I've been using them for probably 7 years so I've had a few of each.

[Anonymous]

I don't think I will ever use the work bathroom again. I'm going to hurl.