The dreaded poke

Ahem, well, it’s smear day. Sitting in the waiting room at the Drs, late after a diversion to a post box. Also late because I had the reminder 3 months ago, but life and reluctance and unpredictable periods had put me off booking in.

Anyway here I am, doing my duty to my family, making sure if anything’s wrong we catch it early.

I’m sure everyone sitting there waiting for their smear has some degree of trepidation. Maybe worry about the discomfort, or that something might be wrong. Not to mention the aftermath of birth, worry about someone seeing our vaginas in their no-longer pristine state. Of course, there are women out there for whom the idea of a smear is even more traumatic, having suffered abuse or damage.

It’s not easy for anyone, and for some it’s much much harder than others.

I’m a lucky one, I know it’s going to uncomfortable but the anticipation is worse than the event.

I’m a strange shape inside, my cervix is off to the left and tilts backwards. Today’s nurse (my favourite at this practice) had me put my fists under my bum to make the angles easier and was in and out in less than 30s. I was tense waiting for a sharp pain when she said “all done”. She said nothing looked at all unusual and the results will come through in a couple of weeks.

So that’s (hopefully, probably) it for another three years.

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