Monday, April 7, 2008

Coochie Coochie Coo.

Last July, I had my first abnormal Pap ever. A lot of women get the abnormal results that involve "atypical squamous cells," which doctors will typically just monitor with more frequent Paps. My cells were not this kind. My abnormal results involved "epithelial cell abnormalities, plus atypical endocervical cells," and whoever had read my Pap said that a colposcopy was necessary to further analyze the cells.

So, two weeks later, I had my first colposcopy. I have to say, it wasn't the most fun thing I've ever done.

It started out sort of like a normal Pap except that my doctor was looking inside my girlie parts through a high-powered microscope the whole time. Oh, and when she took the actual cervical biopsies after spraying everything down with vinegar solution to reveal any "problem areas," it felt like she had taken some sort of Middle Ages tool of torture and was massacring my cervix with it. Seriously - I was biting down on my lip and fighting back tears because the pain was so acute. Thankfully it was over pretty quickly and all I had left to bitch about afterwards was a little spotting and cramping for the rest of the day.

I thought everything was tip-top after getting the call that the results came back showing no problems. But when I went back in December for a five-month re-check, the same abnormal cells came up on the Pap. Rather than torture me again, my doctor decided to wait until this month to do another re-check. And by "this month" I mean today.

So, I go in, go through the whole rigamarole of gettin' naked from the waist down, and submit to the usual procedure, stirrups and all. Only instead of the quick, nearly painless, little pinch that's part of the usual Pap swipe, my doctor goes at my cervix TWICE with two different instruments of torture. I actually yelped at one point. I swear to God it felt like she was roto-rooting some major sewage pipes and encountering some serious clogs for the way she was jabbing and scraping around in there. Nothing like a little of that to make sure you're awake in the morning. Holy crap.

Afterward, when I was reduced to little more than a quivering pile of goo on the exam table, I asked her what she'd do if the results came back with the same abnormality again. She said she might do another colposcopy, but would have to wait and see what the results show. Boy, I can hardly wait.

Thankfully, she doesn't think any of this has anything to do with my difficulty getting pregnant. Although she did say she thinks maybe it's time for Super Man to belly up to the bar and get his swimmers checked to see if it's his half of the equation that's falling short, so to speak, since all the basic tests she's done on me in the past three years have come back fine.

I ran all of that past Super Man on the phone a little while ago. I swear I could actually feel him shudder on the other end of the line. Not with joy or desire either; he has a deep and abiding fear of all things medical, and I know he loathes the idea of white-coated lab freaks analyzing our sex life - or, more specifically, his half of our sex life - under a microscope. He said he "needs to think about it."

At this point, quite frankly, I think that's the least he could do to help the cause. I've been poked, prodded, given blood, given what have to be enormous chunks of my cervix up for evaluation, and so on and so forth. I need a break, man!

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