I Got High and Live-Blogged My Smear
I’ve been a right dickhead and ignored my smear for ages. I should’ve been on one-to-three yearly smears because I tested high-risk HPV-positive, had CIN3, then had to have LLETZ, but I’ve avoided it all for seven whole years.
I’m an absolute dickhead, aren’t I?
Queen of the dickheads.
To be fair, when you’re as depressed as I was, avoiding cancer (and just taking care of yourself in general) is really not a high priority.
But I can’t avoid my smear any longer. I have *SYMPTOMS*.
I don’t want to talk about the *SYMPTOMS* yet because I’m absolutely fucking terrified. But I know I can’t put it off any longer.
My smear is today
I’m so anxious that I can’t sit still. Or think. Or eat. Or work.
It’s silly, really. Today is just the test, and the smear itself isn’t *that* bad. I find it a bit painful, super embarrassing, and very stressful – but it’s not *that* bad. I’ve had a colonoscopy. And an endoscopy. Those are worse, TRUST ME.
It’s the after-smear stuff that does me. Waiting for the letter in the long, white envelope. Watching my postman walk up the drive with it in his hand. Seeing it land on my doormat. Tearing it open and reading those horrible words — and ALL of my letters have had horrible words.
It’s bad.
Yeah, it got worse.
Soz, it’s burny laser time now.
Don’t even get me started on the burny laser.
“Mildly uncomfortable,” MY ASS.
It’s 8:31
I’m having my third poop of the day. Too much info, I know, but my anxiety is directly linked to my gut. Any stress or conflict and BOOM, I gotta poop. It’s ridiculous. Between that, the IBS, and the diverticulitis, I’ve gotta give myself HOURS of extra time in the morning. Poop time. I’m a grown ass woman and I’ve gotta allow myself extra time for toilet trips. Embarrassing. What is my life?
(In my pitiful defence, the poop problem happens less and less these days. Sertraline is a magical thing.)
I haven’t had sex in a while, and Sertraline has totally wiped out my need to wank, so I wouldn’t exactly say that my legs and/or poonani are in great condition. It’s time to tackle that problem. I wonder if I can still remember how to shave my flaps? Do I still have flaps?
*peers down pants*
I hope I stop pooping soon. I need time to hop in the shower and properly fanny-scape. We all fanny-scape before a smear, right? I’m gonna ask that question on Twitter.
This blog post is a mess. I’m sorry.
My appointment is at 11:45. I wish I’d booked an earlier one now. It’s gonna be a long ol’ morning, peeps.
It’s 08:44
I’m having my fourth cup of coffee. Why am I over-caffeinating myself when I’m already buzzing around the house like a stressed-out lunatic?!
It’s 08:45
Can someone please remind me that I need to buy coffee? Thanks.
It’s 08:46
And milk.
It’s 08:57
I’m gonna roll a joint. Just a baby one. I wonder if the nurse will know that I’m mildly stoned. Ha, who am I kidding? My mother can’t even tell when I’m stoned these days, so I’ll definitely be able to slip it past the nurse.
I’m getting annoyed with myself for being so fucking nervous. What is wrong with me? It’s not even *that* bad. I keep repeating that line to myself, like some sort of mantra, but it’s not working. If you’re reading this and you’ve never had a smear before, it’s really NOT THAT BAD. I’m overreacting on a massive level. I bet I come back later on like: “Oh, it was fine. Over in a jiffy. Don’t know why I got myself so worked up.”
It’s 09:57
I smoked a doobie and accidentally shaved all my pubes off. I only meant to have a quick tidy-up down there. Ooops.
I’m currently lunging around the house because I’M SO SOFT AND BALD AND SMOOTH.
Since I shaved it all off, I reckon I deserve some sex. Ooooh, actually, not sex: oral. Any takers? (Please don’t actually offer.)
It’s 10:01
I’ve got one hour and 45 minutes left before my appointment. An hour and a half if I take out travel time. Can I be bothered to wash my hair?
It’s 10:06
I left a clump of hair on one flap and had to re-shave. Maybe I have actually forgotten how to do it.
I’ve done more ‘scaping in the last hour than I have done in the last six months. Maybe eight months. Shit, it might even be a year. I hope the nurse appreciates it.
It’s 10:09
Should I wear a dress or skirt for easy access? That feels too dressy.
Fanny-scaped, legs shaved, hair about to be washed, picked out a dress…
Am I going on a date???
Should I put makeup on?
I think I’m a little bit more stoned than I’d planned. Ooops.
It’s 10:37
I’m not gonna wear a dress. What was I thinking? It’s a no to the makeup, too. It’s just my smear, for fuck’s sake.
It’s 11:17
It doesn’t matter how early I get up, or how much time I give myself to get ready, I always seem to find myself running late. I need to leave in approx. 13 minutes, but my hair is still wet, I can’t find one of my trainers, and the jeans I’d planned to wear are still damp around the waistband and pockets.
I’m a disaster. An actual walking disaster.
I’m panicking now.
It’s 11:33
I’m gonna need to RUN to the doctors now. Great. Now, I’ll be nice and sweaty for the poor nurse.
It’s 11:39
I’m writing this so I have something to focus on, otherwise I’m going to have an actual panic attack in this waiting room. I think I’m breathing really loudly. Is that woman looking at me? Oh gosh, am I panting like a dog?
Only a few more minutes to go and my smear will be over. Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat a hundred more times until the nurse finally decides she’s ready for me.
I fucking hate waiting.
It’s 11:44
I’m going in. Wish me (and my chuff) lots of luck!
It’s 11:47
I am naked from the waist down. Legs going in stirrups in 3, 2, 1…
It’s 11:52
Swish-swoosh, all done, time to put my clothes back on, then the nurse and I are going to have a chat.
It’s 12:03
I’m walking home. I did it. It hurt AS USUAL. And the bitch made me bleed. She was a good nurse, in her defence. One of those no nonsense, let’s-just-get-on-with-it type. I like that kind of nurse. The ones that mollycoddle me just make it worse.
Seriously though, my smear test wasn’t really that bad. I told the nurse about the *SYMPTOMS* and she was reassuring. She did tell me to book an appointment with the doctor, though. Not quite so reassuring.
I’ll book that appointment soon. I’ve had enough fun (ahem) for one day.
Cough.
My chuff will see you all again mid-2025, folks!
(Actually, you’ll see my chuff again a little earlier than that: That Time I Thought I Had Genital Warts.)
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you’d like to read my smear test/HPV+/CIN3 story from start to finish, you’ll find it right here.
Super helpful resources:
- Cervical screening – NHS
- Cervical cancer screening – Cancer Research UK
- How to prepare for a smear test – BUPA
