The yearly pap smear test
I went for a pap smear test yesterday. I receive a free voucher yearly from my city. The truth is though, I haven’t been in three years.
For anyone not familiar with cervical screening tests, it is a very personal exam. I am aware that different countries have different procedures, but this is what happened in the hospital I attended yesterday.
The procedure
I was called into a room with a curtain pulled across separating me from the medical staff. I was instructed to remove all clothing below my waist and to sit in the chair. It kind of looks a bit like an armchair when it’s in the upright position. A towel is provided to cover your exposed lap.
Once seated, the chair is electronically raised and tilted backward. Then the footrests separate, opening your legs so the doctor can access you easily. It’s obviously an extremely vulnerable position and I imagine most, if not all women, feel a little anxious about taking an examination like this.
In other hospitals that I’ve been to in Japan, the doctor has then carried out the procedure from behind the curtain. I know some people can feel this is a bit weird to have someone you can’t see carrying out an intimate examination, but I have grown to appreciate this way of things being done. In the hospital I went to yesterday though, they pulled the curtain aside. In all honesty, it doesn’t make that much difference to me, because it’s not particularly pleasant either way. I just wanted them to hurry up and get it over with.
Why I avoided going
A pap smear test is a daunting procedure for anyone. However, for some women, it can be even more traumatic. I imagine anyone who has suffered any kind of sexual assault must find it extremely difficult, for example.
I found it hard for a different reason though.
Six years ago this December I lost a baby at almost 16 weeks. Exactly one year before I lost one at 9 weeks. For both, I had to undergo a D&C to remove the remaining tissue from my uterus. It was an extremely traumatic experience, carried out with twilight anesthesia, meaning I was aware and conscious of the whole procedure, although it was a little fuzzy. This is of course on top of the devastation of losing a very much wanted baby.
I may make a post about it in more detail at some point, but for now, I will just summarize it as being one of the worst experiences of my life. Tied down, spread-eagled to a surgical table, while my baby’s remains were literally ripped from my body, I felt alone and thoroughly devastated. When I became upset, I was met with little sympathy and understanding and in fact, the nurses swiftly vacated the room after the procedure and left me alone to “give me space”.
Loss and guilt
I think losing a baby is one of the most lonely experiences of my life. It’s a pain I carry every day.
I’ve been through the whole spectrum of self-blame and questioning whether I did something wrong. Did I eat the wrong food? Did I move too much? Had I gone back to work too soon?
Then the big question. Did the hyperemesis I was hospitalized for three weeks with cause it? My liver had started showing signs of damage during that time, due to my body going into starvation mode. I was being closely monitored in case the pregnancy needed to be terminated to preserve my life.
Throwing up constantly is awful. I had continual nausea. I was unable to tolerate even water in my stomach for longer than a few minutes, let alone food. Yet this was combined with desperate and permanent hunger. I was severely dehydrated when I was admitted and I was literally kept alive thanks to IV fluids. I had headaches, constipation, low blood pressure, dizziness and I was sleeping much of the time. One of the worst things though was feeling so miserable that occasionally my mind would wander to just wanting the pregnancy to be over.
I’m sure you can imagine I felt a considerable amount of guilt around having those thoughts later when it did actually end.
Memories
This is why I hadn’t been for a pap smear in the last three years. Even though it’s a different hospital, with no obstetrics department, it still brings back so many memories. Memories that I pushed down, in order to function. People told me to be grateful for the two children I have, that I was lucky the pregnancy hadn’t gone further and then lost it, that three children would have been hard, so I was better off. I know people come from a good-hearted place and no one ever knows what to say, but some things were hard to hear. To be honest, though, there isn’t anything you can say that makes losing a child better. All you can really hope to do is let the person know that you hear them and that you care.
Pregnancy loss is horribly common. I think probably a lot of women suffer in silence and it is likely there are people around you who are doing so. If you know someone who has had a miscarriage, I can guarantee that they haven’t “forgotten”. It’s a pain that stays with you every single day. Even an early loss can be devastating. I believe a life growing inside you is something you uniquely connect with. It’s a part of you forever.
Facing my fear
I forced myself to go to the clinic and take the pap smear test because last year I lost a very close friend to ovarian cancer. Many gynecological cancers can be treated and even cured if they are caught early enough. So, I chose to confront my fear and discomfort. But it wasn’t easy. No one said to me yesterday morning, hey I know today will be hard, but you’ve got this. No one knew I drove to that appointment with tears streaming down my face as I remembered things I usually do much better at putting out of my mind.
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