My Father raised me to be paranoid. And so when I noticed some irregularities in my lady parts I decided to go get it checked out. After all, with all the vigorous sex I’ve been having since I arrived in England, I figured that it could have been a cause and effect thing. So off I went to the free clinic, only to get a bit of a fright.
Going over my symptoms with Doctor Jones was fine, and it was no surprise when she suggested a full examination. So on the table I lay, legs suspended mid-air, while my hoo-ha is spread wide open for the world to see. Now, it’s a part of every woman’s life to get in the stirrups and whenever I have had examinations before it’s always been, “all a-ok, nothing to worry about”.
It’s only when the doctor in questions frowns and states that she wants a second opinion that I started to really worry.
Enter the second opinion, another doctor whose name escapes me. They look up me with their torch and magnifying lens and talk of polyps, damaged tissue and the like. Upon hearing the word “polyps” my overactive imagination starts envisages cervical cancer, and the tears started to form in my eyes (we all know that I’m a big fat sook!).
I was surprisingly upset by the whole encounter. Usually, I can deal with things like that surprisingly well, but exposure combined with known scary health words genuinely made me a bit upset (my lovely boyfriend came up trumps with a cup of tea and a cuddle, which did make the whole thing a bit better!).
Turns out though it’s NOT cervical cancer, praise the lord, but a fairly common condition (hurrah!) that looks rather like the beginnings of cervical cancer. But despite it’s commonality, today I received my referral to see the lady-parts specialist.
So in two weeks I have to go through the whole uncomfortable, nerve-racking procedure again. And this time they are throwing a biopsy in – just for good measure.
Awesome.
No comments:
Post a Comment