I told my boss that I'd need Tuesday afternoon off, for an appointment in Holles St. She got all excited for me, thinking I was pregnant, til she read the rest of the email. I'm going for a colposcopy, see, and that's not something to get excited about at all.
A colposcopy, for those of you fortunate enough not to have come across the term before, is a diagnostic procedure to examine an illuminated, magnified view of the cervix and the tissues of the vagina and vulva. It seems I have some abnormal cells on my cervix that the doctor wants to take a look at. A really really good look, by the sounds of all that illumination and magnification. I may also need LETZ treatment, which is where they remove the abnormal cells with a fine heated wire loop. We'll try not to think about that bit too much, as Andrew says it makes his gee hurt.
I know it'll be grand. I'm told that colposcopy is common. Not in a wearing-your-jammies-to-the-shops kind of way, but that it could happen, as it were, to a bishop. Friends have been there and done that and while they didn't buy any t-shirts, they're straight-up heart-on-sleeve sorts and they've told me what to expect. Discomfort, mostly, and upsettingly large images of my undergrowth onscreen. Not this screen, don't worry. I don't think they give you any of the photos to take home.
Still, common as it might be, I had to google it.
I'm scared, thinking about this invasive and potentially painful procedure and the potential consequences for my health should the doctor find anything untoward. I know that she won't. I have been reassured that this is precautionary and that the abnormalities are negligible. But I know that with the c word (either c word, you choose) you can't be too careful, so I'll take my doctor's advice and get it seen to.
My sister asked me today if I was all set for tomorrow. She probably meant mentally. Maybe she was wondering if I've shaved my legs. I haven't. "I went to Tesco yesterday and bought fannypads" I told her "and then to Carvill's for a flagon of Old Rosie scrumpy." I didn't tell her that I started crying a little bit in the Tesco aisle. It's so long since I bought sanitary towels that I was bewildered by the array of them on the shelf and think I might have bought pantyliners by mistake.
A colposcopy, for those of you fortunate enough not to have come across the term before, is a diagnostic procedure to examine an illuminated, magnified view of the cervix and the tissues of the vagina and vulva. It seems I have some abnormal cells on my cervix that the doctor wants to take a look at. A really really good look, by the sounds of all that illumination and magnification. I may also need LETZ treatment, which is where they remove the abnormal cells with a fine heated wire loop. We'll try not to think about that bit too much, as Andrew says it makes his gee hurt.
I know it'll be grand. I'm told that colposcopy is common. Not in a wearing-your-jammies-to-the-shops kind of way, but that it could happen, as it were, to a bishop. Friends have been there and done that and while they didn't buy any t-shirts, they're straight-up heart-on-sleeve sorts and they've told me what to expect. Discomfort, mostly, and upsettingly large images of my undergrowth onscreen. Not this screen, don't worry. I don't think they give you any of the photos to take home.
Still, common as it might be, I had to google it.
I'm scared, thinking about this invasive and potentially painful procedure and the potential consequences for my health should the doctor find anything untoward. I know that she won't. I have been reassured that this is precautionary and that the abnormalities are negligible. But I know that with the c word (either c word, you choose) you can't be too careful, so I'll take my doctor's advice and get it seen to.
My sister asked me today if I was all set for tomorrow. She probably meant mentally. Maybe she was wondering if I've shaved my legs. I haven't. "I went to Tesco yesterday and bought fannypads" I told her "and then to Carvill's for a flagon of Old Rosie scrumpy." I didn't tell her that I started crying a little bit in the Tesco aisle. It's so long since I bought sanitary towels that I was bewildered by the array of them on the shelf and think I might have bought pantyliners by mistake.
