With any mention of menstruation, I assume I’ll lose half my audience (the half with the Y chromosome).

And because this is a horror story about menstruation, I might lose the weaker stomached women as well.

Plus, menstruation is uncomfortable for everyone. On so. many. levels.

So I might just be here talking to myself. But that’s normal. So here goes.

Once there was this woman, who was probably pretty rich. And she had a terrible condition. She bled constantly. There was no relief. No 26 day rest in which you start to believe you aren’t cursed after all.

She always felt the curse.

The Bleeding Woman spent every last penny on trying to fix herself. Wouldn’t you? I mean, the world had kind of stopped for her. She sought doctor after doctor, throwing all her money at them, trying to find a way to stop her pain, embarrassment, and the shunning from her society.

Bleeding forever. The practicality of it is embarrassing, the challenge of keeping yourself clean. The social aspects are overwhelming, for she was in a culture that wouldn’t let her touch ANYone or anything or else she’d make them unclean.

Her, the desperate woman with sterile blood constantly flowing from her…making others unclean. *scoffs*

Note: “what comes out of the mouth, this is what defiles a person…” -Jesus

Because let’s face it, menstruation doesn’t make you all touchy-feely. In fact, the feeling is usually something like, “PUT THE CHOCOLATE DOWN AT A SAFE DISTANCE AND WALK SLOWLY AWAY.” Or, sometimes on good days it’s more like, “Let’s watch a movie together at opposite ends of the couch.” But you never really want to talk about it and you especially don’t want to get all cuddly. It can make the softest teddy bear personality turn into a pincushion.

I wonder if this woman was like that–prickly and bitchy and short tempered and PMS’ing all the time. Hating herself. Hating others. Never at peace. Never leaving home. Getting weaker and paler by the day. Losing hope.

But then she heard of this healer. This man who touched lepers and spoke to women…a combination that gave her hope. So she gathered her courage and went outside.

There were people everywhere. She was nearly crushed by the crowd. People touched every side of her, unaware that at her touch they were unclean, unable to enter the Temple, and owed God a debt before they could be clean again…

She went on anyway until she found him. His back, actually. He was passing at great speed, surrounded by followers, and had a very important-looking man leading him somewhere.

She couldn’t stop him. She just wasn’t that important. And she was scared he would treat her like everyone else did.

But if she could only…just…touch him. Maybe then some of his power would accidentally heal her. If anyone could do it, it’d be this man…the one who spoke to women and touched lepers.

So as he passed she reached out. His robe brushed her fingers. And power spread through her. She fell on her knees, trembling, yet feeling stronger than she ever had before. Was–was–was she clean now? Had she been healed?

But then her worst fear was realized.

Jesus stopped. People bumped into his back. The caravan slowed.

“Who touched me?” he asked.

“Uh, Jesus? Everyone is touching you.” “You’re in the middle of a crowd.” “Yeah, duh.”

“But power passed through me.”

She knew she was clean. The trickle of blood had stopped. For the first time in years and years, she was not bleeding. And it was time to own up to her actions. She didn’t want to hide any longer.

“It was I,” she declared. “And I have been instantly healed.”

He turned and faced her. I can only imagine the look of love and value Jesus gave her. He healed her.  But that wasn’t enough. He saw her, brought her out.

“Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”

Peace.

It was finally hers. If she wanted it.