So, for the next few minutes, I just try and breathe and not
have a panic attack about the strange woman weeding around my downstairs while
my parts are well-lit. Then she has something else to say.
“Oh, I can see something!”
Oh. She can see something. The mystery continues!
“I’ll just get the doctor.”
The nurse hardly just gets the doctor. She abandons the
theme of mystery for full-blown horror and calls out the door:
“Doctor, just come.”
Oh god. The door is open. The door is open. I know we’re
halfway down the hall and the nurse is standing in the doorway but the. Door.
Is. Open. I am not prepared for this vagina viewing party I seem to have been
tricked into attending. Why, Jesus – why didn’t you invent nurses who realise
that some of us are not emotionally ready to show our cervixes to the world?
“Oh, yes – I can see a polyp just at 11 or 12 o’clock,” the
doctor says from the doorway.
Okay, it’s fine. Don’t panic, don’t move. There is still a
speculum involved.
The nurse decides she’s going to explain. Kind of.
“Don’t worry – they’re usually not cancerous. Sometimes it
just causes problems with conception.”
Soon after, the swab was done, the speculum removed and I
was told they’d be setting up my referral. A shaky legged me slid off the
examination table, made sure what I wanted to wear was on and I walked out of
the room. The nurse didn’t initially want me to walk away with a set referral
date but the doctor insisted.
(Part Five: Coming Soon!)
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