On this Tie-One-On-Tuesday, I will likely start drinking in early afternoon. This, because mid-afternoon, I must go through what is apparently a painful procedure performed on my lady bits. You see, I have done gone and gotten myself a low grade squamous intraepithelial lesion. Though it sounds like a group of miniature Indian maidens have taken up residence on my cervix, it’s actually abnormal cells that are dwelling there. From what I can deduce from all my bing-ing and googling and such, it is a sort of Pre-Pre-Cancer condition that can either go away on its own or progress into the disease.
To see exactly what is going on up there, I will undergo a colposcapy where they illuminate the cells to see just how f*ed up they are. So, now I’m imagining the mini-maidens under a black light all smiling at each other and saying “Look, my teeth are glowing in the dark.”
My exam will be performed by my new gynecologist who is appropriately named Dr. Lady. Get it? Dr. Lady and she’s a lady doctor. I like her very much, despite the fact that she does not have a poster of a chimpanzee wearing a cowboy costume hanging on the ceiling above the exam table like my old GYN did. I imagined the primate as my Pap Smear Protector. That monkey, grinning down with guns drawn ready to shoot anyone who caused me discomfort me, made me feel safe and much less self-conscious about being ass out, stuck in stirrups.
Today, if the cells look particularly odd, a biopsy is in order. This is apparently where the pain comes in. I asked a co-worker who’d experienced it, “Does it hurt?” She didn’t even try to be supportive and subtle. She declared, “I nearly jumped off the table and then passed out.” Needless to say, I am not looking forward.
So, why am I blogging about something potentially serious instead of my usual trivial topics? It goes back to this Greek girl I knew who refused to say her fears aloud because then the devil would hear them and make them come true. I feel the opposite. I prefer to announce my fears, like Oscar nominees, so the devil knows who is boss. I own my fear. I own my fate. It’s my bitch. And if the devil has an issue with that, he can take it up with the pistol-packing chimp.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.