The Letter
A month ago, I got a letter from our local hosptial, inviting me to do a Pap Smear. Sure, inch back in disgust if you will, that's what I did. Well, that's not all I did. I panicked.
Me: "They're gonna scrape me! They're gonna scrape me bad!"
Him: "Calm down. They're just going to use a q-tip and poke around a bit!"
Me: "They're gonna poke me! they're gonna poke me bad!"
Which, considering, didn't sound like the worst possible scenario.
I went, they did what they had to do, I left. And now I have to go back again, which is so wrong. Spreading your legs in front of someone wearing a nurse's uniform does not rank in my top ten fantasies of all time. After the procedure, filled with babbling about- if I recall correctly- extra-terrestial life forms from my side - I asked the nurse what the chances of getting called back were. The nurse laughed- "Oh, they're little, very little'" And what were the chances of getting called back on account of cancer, after that second callback? "Oh, even littler! Even littler!". It's not the 'little' I'm worried about now, it's the 'littler'. The fact that there is a tiny letter 'r' standing between me and some Very Bad Things.
The nature of the call-back letter did nothing to ease my mind either. They were careful to assure the reader that "NOTE WELL! Just because the previous test has shown that there have been changes in the cells, this does not mean that they were changes of the cancerous sort, but may only indicate that you have a mild infection."
Infection or cancer.
Pest or Cholera.
Cake or Death.
Don't like those odds.
NOTE WELL! In Capital letters. Hate it when they do that. It's the equivalent of the part of the movie where the skinny researcher nerd guy goes "We seem to be having a minor problem here. Nobody panic." Famous last words juuust before all the Godzilla babies run out of nowhere and try to eat everyone especially the fat people first. And that's a consolation. I may have a vaginal infection and or cervical cancer, but at least I'm skinny and can run like the wind.
To recap: Dan gets a new girlfreind, and I get new pap smear.
So not cool.
Me: "They're gonna scrape me! They're gonna scrape me bad!"
Him: "Calm down. They're just going to use a q-tip and poke around a bit!"
Me: "They're gonna poke me! they're gonna poke me bad!"
Which, considering, didn't sound like the worst possible scenario.
I went, they did what they had to do, I left. And now I have to go back again, which is so wrong. Spreading your legs in front of someone wearing a nurse's uniform does not rank in my top ten fantasies of all time. After the procedure, filled with babbling about- if I recall correctly- extra-terrestial life forms from my side - I asked the nurse what the chances of getting called back were. The nurse laughed- "Oh, they're little, very little'" And what were the chances of getting called back on account of cancer, after that second callback? "Oh, even littler! Even littler!". It's not the 'little' I'm worried about now, it's the 'littler'. The fact that there is a tiny letter 'r' standing between me and some Very Bad Things.
The nature of the call-back letter did nothing to ease my mind either. They were careful to assure the reader that "NOTE WELL! Just because the previous test has shown that there have been changes in the cells, this does not mean that they were changes of the cancerous sort, but may only indicate that you have a mild infection."
Infection or cancer.
Pest or Cholera.
Cake or Death.
Don't like those odds.
NOTE WELL! In Capital letters. Hate it when they do that. It's the equivalent of the part of the movie where the skinny researcher nerd guy goes "We seem to be having a minor problem here. Nobody panic." Famous last words juuust before all the Godzilla babies run out of nowhere and try to eat everyone especially the fat people first. And that's a consolation. I may have a vaginal infection and or cervical cancer, but at least I'm skinny and can run like the wind.
To recap: Dan gets a new girlfreind, and I get new pap smear.
So not cool.
