So I’m at my gynecologist’s office getting my annual pap smear and I’m dreading it.

Imagine putting your feet in stirrups, having someone sit between your legs, insert a cold speculum, then brush your poor sensitive cervix with a bristle brush. . . all the while you are being told to relax.

Yeah, right.

So there I am, assuming the position when my doctor starts asking me questions.

Her:  When was the last time you had your period?

Me:  I don’t know. Maybe four months ago.

Her:  Could you be pregnant?

Me:  Only if you believe in immaculate conceptions.

Her:  Okay.  When was the last time you put in your nuvo ring?

Me:  Maybe six months ago.

Her:  I’m asking because I see you have a nuvo ring in right now.

Me:  [silence]

Me:  [blush with embarrassment]

Me:  I had no idea.  I forgot. . .

Just so you know, the remedy for leaving your birth control ring in for 6 months (it only lasts one month) is taking two pregnancy tests, making sure they’re negative (they were) and then putting in a new nuvo ring.

There is no remedy for the embarrassment.


This blog post isn’t pretty.

Nor is it fun and lighthearted.

It’s serious.

It’s the C-word.

No, not THAT C-word (which I HATE with a passion).


Both my grandmothers died from gynecological cancer at a young age and I hate that cancer robbed me of a chance to meet them and get to know them.

I was 22 when I was reunited with my birthfamily.

So when I had my latest PAP smear come back irregular, I panicked a lot.

My doctor called me in for a biopsy.

Now for those of you who DON’T have a cervix, imagine a soft, delicate organ hidden safely within the depths of your body.

Now imagine someone using a harsh bristle brush and a device to CUT away pieces of that organ,

Ouch, right?!

BIG ouch.

To make matters worse, the doctor used a COLD speculum which almost lifted me out of the stirrups!

She grabbed her samples of my misbehaving cervix, and swabbed my nethers with something that looked like Dijon mustard which stopped the bleeding.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“Your cervix is UNREMARKABLE,” she informed me.

Never was I happier being described as being unremarkable.

So now. . . the waiting game.

Is it pre-cancer? Cancer? Just a blip in my medical record?

Only time will tell.

But until the test comes back, there’s nothing to do except rest my mustard coated vagina, and try to chill the fuck out.

Wish me luck!