Cute...Cervix

Cute is not an adjective I ever expected to be associated with my cervix. Until today. And you know what? I kind of get it. When they removed my cervix, they put in a cerclage (essentially a super-stitch) that, in the words of one of my doctors, pulled the end of my vagina together 'like the top of a coin purse'. So, when my surgeon gazed up my vagina at my cervix today, and uttered the word 'cute', I could kind of imagine it there, all puckered up. Posing with duck lips taking a god damn selfie. This was her moment to shine and girl, shine she did.

I spent the morning in a cleaning frenzy. It was check-up day. I bawled my eyes out while I did the washing up. I pulled myself together to take the recycling out, then bawled my way through brushing my teeth. Chris was away for work. This would be the first appointment he had missed. So mum was along for the ride. Naturally, when she arrived, I bawled some more.

After a short wait at the hospital outpatient department, my number was called and we headed in to see my surgeon. After a quick greeting, I was taken behind the dreaded curtain. "You know the drill," he said before stepping out. I stripped down and placed the hospital sheet over my lower half. Although I honestly don't know why I bothered. These check-ups are full on. My surgeon's nonchalant words, "You know me and I know you, inside and out," could not have been more accurate.

After poking and prodding the lymph nodes in my neck and groin, as well as my abdomen, a speculum was inserted into my vagina. While I can't count the number of times this has been done over the past year, each experience is equally as unpleasant as the last. Do they really need to jiggle it around in there so much?

A pap smear, or should I say 'Liquid Based Cytology' test (the new fandangled version), was completed. And boy was it thorough. It honestly felt like forever that the rough poker was jabbed into my newly formed coin purse cervix-imitation. "Just let your knees relax," were repeated more times than I care to recall and I ignored them every damn time.

Just when you think the exam is all over...they go in with their fingers. "Everything is normal." The doc looked at me while he poked around and I stared at the ceiling, grasping my t-shirt in my fists. "See how I can move your cervix around...that's good." I cringed and nodded, hoping it'd be over soon. After he squeezed and pushed against every part of my vagina, it was finally done.

I heard the door beyond the curtain open and close. The doctor stepped out and Eilish stepped in. My favourite nurse. There I sat with the 'dignity sheet' draped haphazardly across my lap as she lent in and gave me the biggest hug. We exchanged a few words before I realised I was expected to be getting dressed. So, as we talked, the dignity sheet was tossed aside (along with any semblance of my remaining dignity) and I pulled my undies on. Thank goodness I had proper undies. It only took me a year, but it seemed I had learned my lesson!

As a group we spoke about the ongoing fear I have about the cancer returning and we all agreed that seeing a psychologist was probably a good call. My single-handedly making my way through their tissue box was probably not helping my cause. I thanked Eilish, as I always do, until my surgeon interrupted. With jovial, collegial banter and a smile on his handsome Brazilian face he looked at us both..."I cured you and you're thanking her!" This man had played an enormous role in literally saving my life. He did the surgery others couldn't. I really did have a lot to be grateful for.

Eilish left and, as she stepped through the door into the corridor, her parting words danced past my mother and my doctor..."Go and have lots of sex!"

And off me and my cute cervix trotted.