A Cancer Checkup at 23 Weeks

I walked into the room to be greeted with, "Hello Mama." My Brazilian surgeon sat there with a smile.

Almost immediately I started crying as I tried to explain that I'd had some spotting and was quite nervous. Dr Marcelo quickly told me that if I continued to cry every time I saw him, he'd stop coming. I laughed, while I continued to cry. After a quick chat, Marcelo got down the business.

In what was obviously just an attempt to comfort me, he said that he would start by only 'having a look' and if it was easy, he'd do a pap smear. I agreed, knowing full well that I was on my way to a dreaded pap smear.

I was led into another room for the examination. Before leaving me behind the white curtain, Marcelo found a chair for me to put my clothes on and checked..."do you know what to do?" I almost laughed outloud. Yep, I'd say having this done every 3-4 months for the past 3 years has left me, at the very least, knowing what to do. I stripped off everything from the waist down and draped the sheet over me before sitting on the edge of the bed.

As usual, the sheet was a complete waste of time. I had my legs spread in the supports only to have them pulled further apart. I got told to scoot my butt further down the bed because, despite doing this every 3-4 months for the past 3 years, I never want to scoot my butt down. Ever.

Marcelo had the big light blaring between my legs and the speculum in his hands when I looked down and asked, "are you sure this is safe for the baby?" He looked at me with sarcasm and said, "No, I'm just doing some research." After reassuring me that he would not do anything that wasn't safe, he started the exam.

About 30 seconds in I was bawling my eyes out. It hurt, as always as he pushed the speculum in at different angles, trying to get the best view of his handiwork. I heard a knock at the door and a familiar voice. She pushed the curtain aside and grabbed both of my hands in her's without hesitation. It was Eilish. "You poor thing...you're terrified," she calmly soothed as she held me tight, stroking my hands with her's.

Marcelo asked the nurse for 'a brush' and I knew what was coming. He poked around taking cells from around the edge of my non-existent cervix before finally removing the speculum. As usual though, it wasn't over. His fingers then took over as he poked around my vagina and cervix trying to feel the cervix itself for abnormalities. It was all normal.

I got dressed having a giggle to myself that it only took being 23 weeks pregnant for me to be wearing appropriate underwear to one of these appointments. Granny panties for the win!

Back in the original room, Eilish looked so happy to see me finally pregnant. She had been the one who declared, "You beat the bastard," all that time ago and who had asked me, at every appointment, if I was pregnant yet. Eilish left and it was me and Marcelo.

We spoke about the outcomes of pregnant women post-trachelectomy and he reassured me by telling me that if I could make it to 32 weeks, babies were pretty much the same from that point on. He told me that the stitch had lasted this long so that things should go well.

He stood up and hugged me before he rubbed my belly. He told me that he truly believed this was a miracle baby. That Chris must be pretty incredible for his sperm to get through that stitch! Through tears I blubbered how grateful I was for him. For his surgery that gave me the opportunity to carry a child.

I left feeling truly cared for. This team of people who I met in the darkest days of my life were here, supporting me through some of the most magical.