Fear the smear

The leather of the table felt cold on my back and I shifted the paper so it lay correctly under my butt.   Another sheet was placed across my legs so I didn’t have to watch what would happen next and the doctor vanished from the room, leaving the curtain and door wide open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”  My eyes widened as I watched several people walk by as I lay spread-eagle on the bed, lady parts flashing like a red traffic light for all to see.  This was my first smear test, and at present I think I might make this my last.  How could this be happening?

Five minutes later my doctor returned, accompanied by a nurse, and shut the door.  “How are you feeling?”  He asked.

“Great, thanks.”  I love being laid open like a well-worn book.  I do this every day.

“Excellent,” he said.  “Now, try to relax and this will all be over in a jiffy.

I laid my head back, hands clenched in my lap and stared at the white ceiling.  Don’t fart!  Don’t you dare let one slip.  Thankfully the building gas that had miraculously appeared dissipated and the cold metal clamp entered my never regions.

“You might feel a slight pinch,” said the doctor.  

“Kay,” I muttered.  All I could see, was his white coat bent down between my legs as the nurse stood dutifully by his side and watched, as if this was the best episode of Casualty she’d seen in a long time.

The slight pinch, or more like burn occurred as my pelvic muscles screamed with the need to clamp on the clamp.  I willed myself to be footloose and fancy free, but it didn’t feel natural.

“Wow,” said the doctor.  “That’s amazing.”

“What?” I snapped.

His head popped up beside my right leg, a grin on his face.  “I wish I’d bought my camera.  You have one hell of a perfect cervix, dear.”

Automatically my lips curved in a smile as my polite gene kicked in.  “Thanks.” 





The cervical smear is not something I’d imagine any of us gals look forward to attending, but we do it, as it’s important and could potentially save our lives.  So, every five years I receive my letter and book myself in.  Suffer the ten minute embarrassment and move on. Overall it’s not all as bad as it seems, but that’s not to say I haven’t experienced an embarrassing event whilst enduring this procedure and after speaking to a wide variety of friends, I discovered that many women had their own tales to tell or knew ladies that had.  Including the above scene I created, which is based on a true event.

My own experience goes back to my first ever smear when I had to have a follow-up treatment due to abnormal cells-supposedly a treatment not needed anymore-and I had to go to the hospital for laser treatment.  My doctor appeared to be a very old gentleman with shaky hands, which didn’t fill me with confidence.  I honestly thought he’d keel over at any second, and how he was going to stick a laser with precision skill up my never regions with those epileptic fingers, I hadn’t a clue.   A few months later when I had a follow-up smear, I discovered that the treatment wasn’t a success.  No shit Sherlock!  So I had to go through the whole damn thing again, this time with a different doctor and a very steady hand.

Another lady had the blush-crushing experience of trumping on the table.  I’m sure the nurses are used to a bit of flatulence, but be sure none of us gals enjoy letting one pop.

A  friend of a friend had a passion for crafting cards as a hobby.  Unfortunately this creativity followed her into the doctor’s surgery and somehow the nurse discovered that glitter had somehow managed to get inside of her vagina.  I can’t imagine how, but I guess glitter does pop up in strange places and that’s probably the oddest of all.

Those are but a few that I’d heard, and I’m sure there are many more.  We all perhaps fear the smear, but more so we fear what could happen if we don’t suffer those humiliating ten minutes up on the nurses table.  And it’s nice to see that us ladies can share and laugh about the experiences after the event.  So, please make sure you keep your smears up to date, and don’t let the above stories put you off.  It’s all part of life’s little challenges.

Centre Photo by Yoann Siloine on Unsplash




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