Early warning: This post will contain such words as Pap, “Jinur,” “Lady Bits” and Crotch. Be prepared or turn away now.
Paps are scary. Well, not scary — but pretty uncomfortable. I heart my OBGYN, don’t get me wrong, but that one appointment every year where you have to undress and straddle-up — just to have a cold piece of metal (gently) shoved in your Business…it makes me shudder. I don’t think I know any lady-friend who actually enjoys doing those things. Well, my annual Pap in December was standard fare. I hopped up there, my doc talked with me about skiing, dusting TVs and how her cold hands can really make this whole thing pretty crappy. Great. Thanks for trying to take my mind off things while you’re poking, prodding and brushing the inside of my Lady Bits. “Alright,” she said, “We’ll mail you those results and see you next year.” “Cool, thanks,” I said.
Two weeks later. Still nothing in the mail from the doc. Which was pretty unusual, as they’re usually prompt. About two days later, I listened to a message on my phone. “Hi Sara, this is the doctor’s office, if you could just call us back, that’d be great.” Ha. Really? That’s your message? Why don’t you just say, “Hi, you’re dying. Would you like to schedule an appointment for that?” So, of course, I don’t get the message until after the entire doctor’s office had gone home. Cool. Now I have to think about this thing all night at work. Yeah. Because I work third shift.
So, I call the next morning. Promptly when the office opened at 8 a.m. Heck, I even stayed up past my “bedtime” to make this call. It better be good.
Nope.
I have an “abnormal” Pap. This doesn’t sound that bad, in theory. Heck, women have abnormal ones all the time. But this was a first for me. Scary. Then, the lab nurse-lady informs me that a Colposcopy is necessary. Not sure what that is? Neither was I. All I know is that after being at work all night and tired as hell, a Colposcopy didn’t appear to be rainbows and ponies. Of course, I “google” it. Let me break it down. Basically, they snip away pieces of your cervix to test it for “dysplasia.” Again, not sure of that dysplasia is? Yeah, I googled that, too. It’s infected tissue. It can range from mild to severe. And that severe can turn into cervical cancer and/or the inability to conceive.
Alright, so, a lot to swallow in a short amount of time. I make the appointment and call my Mom. Yikes. Mom didn’t take this one too well. I’m pretty sure she assumed I had cancer immediately and my legs were going to fall off in the process. So, after I talked her down off the ledge — we had an intelligent conversation about what the issues were and how the doctors were going to fix them.
I went to the Colposcopy. Alone. Yeah, note to self — and others: Bring someone with you. Your mail carrier, a friend, a co-worker. Anyone. Granted, you don’t want to give them a show with your Jinur all in the spotlight and whatnot. But, it’s not a comfortable thing.
So, that’s over. Cool. I have sore Lady Bits for a few days — and knots in my stomach, waiting for those test results.
Then, I get the call. Again. (So dramatic, huh?) “Uh, Sara, hi,” the nurse stumbles out. “Your test results show you have moderate to severe tissue damage. We’ve got to do another, more serious procedure. Basically so you don’t get cancer and you can eventually conceive children.”
I lost it. Bawling on the phone with Lori. (That’s the nurse who called me.) For whatever reason, the cancer and inability to have children really hit me hard this time. Wow. So, this is serious. All I could mutter out on the phone was, “Ok.”
Again, I make an appointment. This time, for a LEEP. That’s “Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure.” Yeah, that’s electricity… and a hot loop-like tool that again… cuts away at the cervix.
Geez.
This time, I enlist my Mom and Eric. Hell, I wasn’t doing this one alone. My Lady Bits quivered at the thought of it.
I had that one Tuesday. My Mom came back with me, to the surgery room. Eric so kindly stayed in the waiting room. I was terrified. The procedure didn’t scare me as much as the possibility of what could be to come. Cancer? Not being able to have kids someday? Shit, man.
My Mom was wonderful. She held my hand as I shook like a leaf. They numbed my Jinur up. Yeah, shot me “down there.” Then, had to put a “grounding pad” on my thigh so I didn’t get electrocuted. Hey, great. The whole while I was hoping that this shit wouldn’t put me into cardiac arrest. The doc kept telling me, “Oh, this is going to be just fine, the hot loop will cut through your cervix like butter.” That’s right. She compared my Business to butter. Sweet. I’ll never look at those four-pack sticks the same.
It was all over in about 15 minutes. Easy-peasy. Errr. No tears were shed. I think, because I was too scared. I even got to check out the part of my cervix they cut out. Sweet. Errr.
And now. I wait. Hoping I don’t get another bad phone call. I don’t know how many of these procedures I can do. The doctor even said they don’t want to cut away too much, because of the important role the cervix plays in childbearing/birth.
I mean, kids… make me nervous. They drools, poop, need things and are a human being that I’m not quite ready for just yet. But suddenly the thought of never having them… is scaring the crap out of me.
I’d say cross your fingers for me… but that just wouldn’t be right.
Cross your legs, instead.
