The C-Word

Somehow, I managed to not realize how exhausting worry is.

As I lay on an exam table - feet in stirrups and stripped from the waist down - I writhed my hands together and listened to the reproductive endocrinologist talk me through the procedures she was preparing for, the C-word continued to dance in my head. Her nurse had gone to search for the results from my Pap test two weeks ago that would give us an idea of what the heck was going on with me. 

You see, two weeks ago my doctor prepared me for a possible cancer diagnosis and I was freaking RIGHT out. And by no fault but my own,  I've skipped every Pap smear I was supposed to be having because I was terrified of hearing I had another abnormal result. Hearing once that I had an abnormal result was scary enough.  I don't know why I thought not having another test was the answer, but there ya go.

This is about the perfect time for me to tell you: get your Pap tests done. Seriously. I will never miss another one.

Then the Pap result arrived and it was normal. Perfect even. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing one possible problem was gone and then felt my breath catch in my chest because the list of possible problems was endless. 

The doctor sat on her stool and wheeled over to the end of the table and I couldn't help but wonder what exactly motivates one to spend their career looking at people's vaginas. She flipped on the light, patted me on the leg and launched into an explanation of what was about to go down (no pun intended).

Swab. Colposcopy. Vinegar test. You passed. Swab. OH! I think we found the problem - you've got a cutesy little polyp hanging out there. Sorry polyp, we're getting rid of you.

Then she likened my cervix to a donut, told me we wouldn't be doing any freezing, counted backwards from ten before "snipping" and then asked how my sex life was. I'm pretty sure I'd befriend this woman under other circumstances, because she was the coolest lady ever. And then she showed me the "cutesy" polyp, which was roughly the size of the top of my pinky. I didn't think it was cute. That polyp is an asshole.

After losing a little part of myself that's (hopefully) been the reason I've been in big pain for weeks, I walked out of the exam room feeling 100 pounds lighter. And about an hour later, I barely had the energy to stand.

It's shocking the way your body reacts to stress. I would have expected to have felt so alive - so energized - by this good news, but instead I was zonked. Some coffee and a new outfit were a good start to re-energizing, but all I wanted to do was nap. And hug F. And call Mr. Hockey Coach and then hug him. And just bask in the awesomeness of knowing I don't have cervical cancer.

Before saying goodbye, my doc looked at me and took my hand, explaining how things would be playing out. In 2 days, she'll have results back from the swabs. The polyp she removed will take 6 weeks to be analyzed, but she's confident it's just a blob of nothingness. No news is good news, and she thinks I'm great but hopes she won't have to call. She gave me her card and told me to call if I had any questions and then assured me I'd be OK, that I was young and healthy. I'm OK. I'm OK. I'm OK.

And apparently my cervix is beautiful. So there's that.