Another Day, Another Hospital, Same Overalls

Ordinarily, I sit right on the speed limit. Ok fine. Sometimes I like to sit ever so slightly above the speed limit. I mean, I ain't no speed racer. About 1k over the limit is where I like to spend my time. Not today though. Today I sat behind the slowest truck I could find and plodded my way to the hospital.

You see, it's not very often in life that we know pain is coming. We might trip over and scape a knee, jam a thumb in a drawer or stub a toe but the common denominator is that, most commonly, we don't see it coming. Today I spent my twenty minutes drive and, if we're being honest, a large majority of the eight hours prior, thinking about the pain that was coming.

Most women are used to having a pap smear every two years and now, with the new fandangle test, it's only every five years. Good thing too because it's bloody horrible. And when you don't have a cervix and they're scraping at whatever the hell they've gathered together to form some kind of cervix, it's really not much fun. I was back for yet another smear test after having one only four months ago. So the memories, tears and trauma from the last one were still pretty fresh. I could still feel the sharp brush scraping away at where my cervix used to be.

I'd been asked to come in early so, after passing through the Covid-19 checkpoint I sat in the waiting room. A different hospital to the one six days earlier but sporting the same overalls. Every so often I would open my book and glance at the pages but it was no use. My throat was tight, my head was racing and my bowels reminded my that I am a nervous-pooper. Eilish said hi as when we ran into each other outside the toilet and it was lovely. She is lovely. And then I was back alone in the waiting room. And by alone, I mean alone. Because of Covid, most appointments were happening via phone so it was damn quiet in the outpatient area.

After an hour wait, and it being pretty damn close to when was my original appointment was scheduled, I went and sat in the same chair in the same room, with the same surgeon who had removed my cervix, called the stitch that held things together 'cute' and who liked to talk about surfing when I was wanting to be discharged. This time though a medical student was present. Oh, and a chaperoning nurse. So as I delicately laid the white sheet over me and spread my knees, three people stood around me.

The test was awful, as always, but it was over. Plus, I remembered not to wear a g-string. Win. I'd have another MRI and another smear test in three months. The memories would still be fresh and I'd probably try to find another slow truck to drive behind.

A colleague text and asked how my appointment went. I told her I'd had my smear, was waiting for results and that my MRI had come back negative. No evidence of disease. I had found this out when Eilish rang to tell me come early to my appointment a few days prior. My colleague was joyous, asking if we'd be celebrating. I didn't tell her that I'd known for days and that scan results had become so normal, sometimes I forgot that it was pretty awesome that I didn't have cancer.

That night I went to bed and dreamt that I was dying. That Chris and I had two weeks to decide where I should be when I died so that the ambulance could come and take my body away.

A few days later I would have a stellar morning. Driving down the highway, window down and country music blaring I would watch a flock of pelicans fly on a backdrop of bright blue sky and smile as a car drove past with a dog's head peeking out the sun roof. I would swim in the magical, sparking blue ocean that was as calm and clear as I could remember and float about with my family before returning to Chris and the puppy we had adopted a couple of weeks prior. For a moment I would wonder if all of those precious moments had come together so I could die happy. You see, I was having surgery a few days later. On my wrist. Not my cervix. So that was a happy change. But a general anaesthetic is never a fun thing and the associations my mind makes with hospitals are less than fun.

Thankfully after a quick pep-talk from Chris, and a cuddle with the puppy, I realised that being nervous is human nature but that happy moments can simply just be happy moments. Because life is pretty grand. Especially when there's a puppy.