Great, I think, as the ribbon of blood twirls down the drain, with a bit of luck I won’t even need to pack tampons. As I rinse my hair, my head now tilted up, I dream of the seaside, the sun and the cramp-free holiday to come. I finish with my shampoo and bend over, squinting, to grab the conditioner bottle. The ribbon of blood catches my eye again. It looks thicker. Too thick.
I blink. Then I notice.
It’s not going down the drain: it’s coming up my leg.