Wednesday, December 21, 2011

just a pinch- diary entry part two


Tuesday, November the 15th was a doozy.

A few days after that terrifying phone call, I got another one. This time it was a lady from the women's health center to schedule me an appointment for the colposcopy. I was relieved that she called so soon, except that the next available appointment wasn't until December 8th. Eek. A whole month to sit on this and think worry about it. To go home for Thanksgiving for a week and not tell anyone yet because we don't know what it means. I was having a hard time sleeping that Sunday night, so I prayed a bit for strength and a clear mind.

The next day, I got a phone call saying that even though I had an appointment on December 8th, the Dr. would not be in that day, and would I like to re-schedule. "Hell no, I don't want to wait longer," I thought as she was checking her books, but when she came back on and said "could you come in tomorrow? It'll be a different Dr." I said of course I'll come in, a different Dr. who cares, I want this to be DONE."

I went upstairs and got down on my knees and said thank you a millon times. Sometimes answers come so quickly it's freaky. But good freaky. That was the night we got to see Feist, it was a much better Monday than the previous one turned out to be.

I couldn't sleep AT ALL that night, partly because I was worrying and partly because Tilda slept on one appendage or another of mine the entire night. There was no shaking her- she was sleeping on me, and that was that. I was grumpy when I woke up. I went back to bed. I got back up. I laid back down, covered my head with the covers.

The fire alarm started going off. I jumped out of bed, searching for my flip-flops and glasses. I chased the scared to death kitten around the house, until I finally caught her and crammed her into her carrier, pulled on a hoodie, grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I still had crazy bed-head and pink zit cream dotted on my face. Awesome.

About 30 minutes later, we were back in our apartment safe and sound. False alarm. Phew!

I went back to bed.

I reluctantly got up, showered, and made it out the door and on the bus in time for my appointment. Early even. I had to walk 5 blocks from the bus stop to the office. After crossing the street in front of the building, I totally ate shit on the sidewalk. Tripped over my own feet, stumbled, caught myself- or so I thought. In slow motion my phone flew out of my hand, hit the sidewalk, and I went down. Palms first, followed by my left shoulder, knee and hip. My face was inches from the ground. I haven't fallen that hard in a very long time. I bet whoever saw it was laughing hysterically. I got up, dusted myself off. Grabbed my phone- saved again by it's ugly case. I tried to calm my shaky skinned hands as I walked into the building.

I had to wait forever. Get measured, weighed, pee in a cup. I barely had any pee, and I totally peed on the cup. Wait forever again. The Dr. finally came in, we talked. Went over the same stuff my regular Dr. told me. "You do NOT have cancer. But the abnormal cells do need to be removed or you will develop cancer. This procedure is just a more in depth version of the pap," she said,"and the biopsy is just a pinch and then it's over."

I don't usually resort to profanities on my blog, so be forewarned. I have resorted.

What started out as a normal, yet more in depth pap, turned into one of the most terrifying situations of my life. As you know, I had just gotten a pap done not more than a month ago. Everything I read and/or heard from the Dr. was that a colposcopy is really no different, and not painful at all.

First off, metal speculum. Really? My other Dr. has nice plastic ones.

"Ok, I'm going to put vinegar on your cervix, and then look at it with this fancy microscope."

She starts stabbing the shit out of my cervix with a q-tip. Oh thank god you stopped stabbing me. Take your time. Look all you want!

"Now I'm going to prep the area for the biopsy. But I'll tell you before I do it."

More stabbing, with a much larger object. What the fuck is that, a fucking bottle brush? Ironically, the Feist song "I Feel It All" came into my head.

"Ok, now for the biopsy. Your going to feel a little pinch."

Knucklesandwich! I can't help myself from crying out in pain. Cutting out a cone shaped chunk of my beaten up cervix does not feel like a pinch. It feels like you are slicing out a chunk of my cervix. Yes, I most certainly "feel it ALL."

I always hate it when the dentist tells me I'm going to feel a little pinch. No, actually I can feel a big fat needle making it's way to my brain stem. And then they wiggle it around. And then they pull it out. Shudder. But I'll take that pinch any day over this bullshit biopsy pinch.

And then she took a second biopsy. Are you fucking kidding me????

Then more with the bottle brush. Dude! I have two gaping wounds up there! STOP!

"Now I'll do the scraping."

Okay, could you call it something else than scraping? Maybe sweeping?

You know that feeling, the one in the pit of your stomach that says "you are going to fucking die right now in a very horrible and painful way and every second is going to feel like eternity?" Also known as a panic attack or anxiety? The very emotion I have the most trouble with? Yeah, that.

Now this is strange, as I've never run into anyone else with the same issue, but I can't stand having my belly button touched, as it brings about this very same feeling. It hurts in a way I can't exactly describe. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I fill with dread whenever it happens. Also, nobody believes me.

OMG. My cervix is somehow connected to my belly button, and that is where the pain lies in wait.

As she twirls the scraper around and around, I force myself not to scream in horrible pain and anguish. Waves of nausea wash over me, my brain pulses with panic, as satan is surely sucking my soul down to hell where it will burn forever.

I moan. She asks if I'm ok. I tell her I'm nauseous. She says "yes, sometimes that happens when your cervix gets touched. Take a deep breath."

Touched? Yes, and sometimes you lose the vision in your left eye when I poke it out of your skull.

After another round with the bottle brush and more stabbing with a different q-tip to stop the bleeding, she removes the horrid speculum. My anxiety goes down, but I still feel like I'm going to projectile vomit while laying down. I breathe deeply.

"You might experience some cramping"

Little shoots of pain are going from my wounds to my belly button, over and over again. Cramps? What the fuck is wrong with your choice of words? Pinch, touched, cramping. You need a dictionary, and a lighter hand.

I want to ask her if she has a nice dark room that I can cry in for the next 4 hours. One with a toilet, please. My bowels feel as though they might expel every ounce of food, as well as every organ in my body in protest for "touching" my cervix.

She says I'll bleed and spot for a few days. I ask her when we can resume our sex life.

"Not for a couple of weeks. And by then you'll need to have the LEEP, so not for awhile after that."

Please just keep taking the joy out of my life, okay? No sugar, no wheat, and now, no sex.

After I've convinced her that I'm ok, she leaves. As I dress, I am dreading the 5 block walk to the bus stop and the bumpy bus ride home. I should have had Danny come with me. I opened the ridiculously wide yet thin pad she gave me, and in the sink I saw what I'd imagined was a bottle brush- it was actually just a gigantic q-tip covered in betadine.

I realized having a heavy-handed tattoo artist is nothing compared to having a heavy handed Dr. wielding a giant brown soaked q-tip to your cervix.

Walking was painful, it made the "cramping" worse- but it helped clear my head. I realized that I was starving and needed food. Across from the bus stop I spot a cheesesteak place. I ordered a sandwich, and ate it alone while watching the street. It was delicious, and it settled my stomach.

As soon as I got home, I put on my favorite comfy pants and scooped up my not-so-little furball and gave her sweet little head a million kisses. It was over, and I made it. I'm ok.

And if they won't knock me out for the LEEP, then I'll find someone who will. I don't need any more cervix related emotional trauma, thankyouverymuch.

No comments:

Post a Comment