Ah, the Pap Smear. How I loathe you.
In my advancing years, I have become much more selective about what goes in and around my vagina. Mostly because on the odd occasion I have thrown caution to the wind, I ended up pregnant. And after that happened, a rather large, warm, slithery human had to come out of my flaps. And I wasn’t too much of a fan of that experience to be honest.
What goes in, must come down. What goes in, must come out. It’s just physics.
Even when I was pregnant I had the unfortunate honour of getting plundered by the Dildo-Cam on more than one occasion. Because of my retroverted uterus (never was one to follow the pack) It was difficult for the sonographer to get a good view of the baby until it was much bigger in size. So Dildo-Cam became my lubricated BFF for a few appointments. Also, lucky me got a student the first few times meaning they’d have a crack at it (pardon the pun) and then send in their superiors to get the job done properly. Yay.
Every place was different too, with the bedside manner also varying wildly. I even had one woman give me a heads up with Dildo-Cam in hand, announcing, “Going in”. WTAF. This is not a fucking mining exploration. Where is my safe word you son-of-a-bitch? I just lay there while she waved that thing around like a lightsaber and vowed never to get pregnant again.
Since babies, I also haven’t been a fan of using tampons, especially now I have discovered the wonders of Modibodi “period undies”. No need to stick a bleached wad of cotton up there, I just free bleed like the tree hugging hippy I am not. But at least my poor, ravaged, vagina gets a break.
Anyway, back to the Pap Smear. Like an idiot, I have avoided going back since the birth of my second Womb Raider 3 and a half years ago. I know you are meant to have them every two years, but I have scooted around the appointment and only summoned up the common sense now to go and get one.
I booked myself in and then made exactly one minute of small talk with my doctor before she asked me to get on the bed. No curtain, no martini, not even a backrub or some music. I lay there and stared at the ceiling while she lubed up the dreaded speculum and then she asked me to drop my knees to the side.
Then comes THE LIGHT. Sweet baby Jesus, it’s not already awkward enough when you are laying there thinking “Did I shave properly?” Or “Did I shave enough?” Or “Maybe I shaved TOO much? I don’t want her to get the wrong idea….”.
Knowing the GP had a fabulous view of my cervix with her trusty light, the conversation died down a bit as she scraped away merrily with her giant cotton bud and then filled a jar with my vaginal cells. Such a pleasant task for her, my job was easy in comparison.
I was pleasantly surprised when she told me unless I test positive for HPV I only have to have another one in 5 years time. RESULT. Time to rest and recuperate until the next time a health professional needs to go cave diving up there.
Ladies, funny as this may seem, it is very important and it really only took 2 mins. Book your pap test today and take a selfie for me with the hashtag #fuckyoupapsmears and I’ll give you a discount code for my Emporium.
And, while you’re at it, get your man to have his balls and arse checked as well.