August 1st, 2006, 3:31 pm

Snip Snip Snapped: Waiting for the Colposcopy

I’m sitting at Emory Clinic, waiting to go get my colposcopy, which despite talking about for the bulk of the day, I’ve let to learn how to pronounce.

There’s wifi, which is good, since the magazine “Cure” with the feature article “Approaching Death: What Life Means At the End of Life” is not something I want to read right now.

I know statistically I’m fine - pap smears are notorious for returning unclear results, which is why the colposcopy is the next step. But the little card says “three weeks” on it … three weeks that I’ll be spending in Europe, trying not to think too much.

It’s all so dramatic, isn’t it - the wake up phone call, the unclear results, the need to immediately schedule an appointment for some procedure that, after a few hours’ worth of Googling, sounds hellish and invasive. Most women get several weeks lead time on their appointment - most don’t have to pack up the rest of their belongings and get them into a storage unit before getting on an international flight tomorrow.

(I know, it doesn’t even seem like a real scenario, does it?)

So, realistically, I probably have three weeks or so of wondering. Fate timed this one for maximum impact - there’s virtually nothing worse for self-involved introspection than a European backpacking trip, except, of course, mentioning the C-word. (Cancer, people. Cancer.)

Can I survive the inner monologues? Will this blog become a horrid hot bed of ill-informed speculation and … crap, the girl next to me is reading Women & Cancer, which means she’s either a mascocist for depressing reading or she actually has cancer. If the later is the case, I’m the total asshole next to her freaking out about a colo … whatever.

There’s a number of enormously pregnant women here, which makes me wonder … is it bad to have a laptop on a pregnant belly? And where would you fit the damn thing. Awesome, her husband is taking picture of her posing with the pregnancy magazines. Maybe he’s a blogger too.

A girl in a cute skirt walks by, pulling a large chart full of medical files. Her job must be so relaxing. Clean, neutral walls. Soft, murmured conversations. And files - lots of folders. Everything in it’s right place.

The door keeps opening, and kinda-hot doctors in lab coats escort out pregnant women. Number two just walked by. Are these Dr. Daddies escorting their budding families for checkups? Or are the doctors here young hot men?

Because if so, I’m totally going to freak out. I cannot have a hot young doctor cutting pieces out of my cervix. At least not without a drink or two first.

***

I am so retarded. I literally am so distracted that I peed like normal … and then looked around for the cup. Retard!*

I will drink this Coke with vigilance in case the three drops I squeezed out weren’t enough.

(* Please don’t take offense if you or someone you love is indeed retarded. It’s just a word.)

There’s a little chart on the wall that explains what kind of abormalities one could order. The drawings make the cervix look like a plump Krispy Kreme donut, except the kind of donuts that would be served up in a Homer Simpson hell. Although the donut covered in scaly white patches and the donut leaking yellow mist are terrifying, it’s the evil donut with the red cancerous maw that frightens me the most. It has a black, black center, and it looks like it could take on any speculum or colposcope with ease … and ahhhh! The women in the hall are talking about squeezing an ELEVEN AND A HALF pound baby out of their Krispy Kreme!!!

And they giggle, and they laugh. What the fuck.

I ask a nurse for some Tylenol; the head’s killing me.

The woman who’s in charge of me says I can have it, “Though she don’t need it!”

Christ, my head is throbbing. I messed up on peeing in a cup, and there is a set of evil Krispy Kreme donuts staring at me, and I don’t need any Tylenol?

A woman with a reassuring Caribbean accent comes in, places her hand gently on my knee. “I’ll be right with you,” she says, which sounds great, since she’s not a hot doctor.

[to be continued ....]