*Inserting a disclaimer here to clarify that I am about as close to being a medical professional as pigs are to flying, so it goes without saying that any talk about the smear test procedure is purely from my experience and should not be taken as anything more than that*
Back in December, when excitedly checking our postbox on Christmas Eve for any last-minute cards we may have received, I was greeted with a letter informing me that it was time to book my first cervical screening test (also known as the ‘smear test’). Merry Christmas to me! I had worked out that the chance of receiving the letter around December time was likely because the notifications tend to be sent around six months prior to your 25th birthday. It just so happened that for me, Christmas Eve in the middle of a pandemic was the selected delivery date.
It’s safe to say that the letter was opened, but then remained in the envelope until the new year. The plan was to think about it later once the Christmas period had passed, but also subconsciously forget that it even happened so I could pretend I didn’t have to book it. Good one Harriet... This could only go on for so long however, because I knew well enough that there was no way I wasn’t going through with it.
But, I'm hoping that there is least one person reading this, whether you’ve had the smear test or haven’t yet received a letter, who was/is genuinely terrified to go for it. Please say I'm not alone. In the past, I’ve nearly fainted from far simpler situations but there we go. Drama queen and proud. I completely appreciate that this makes me a total scaredy-cat, and some may say pathetic, but I just can’t handle things like this particularly well.
I always remember my Mum and sister having a giggle when I was about 17 and got so panicky about having a blood test that the nurse took me into the children’s ‘butterfly room’. Yep, really happened. I am THAT person. If anyone can relate, likely not directly to this experience because I’m sure I sit in a minority of young adults that have used the butterfly room, but more to the fear of unknown medical procedures and trouble keeping calm, I hope this article provides some sort of comfort. From one over-the-top drama queen, who cringes from head to toe when even reading about, listening to or conversing with people about certain things, to another.
The smear test is one of those topics that people often joke about because no woman is ever going to call the experience pleasant, but as humans we have such a brilliant ability to lighten situations with humour. I think because of this, and the general perception given to it, I was simply fearful of the unknown. I also have a funny habit of worrying that something 99% of people get through with no problem is all well and good, but ultimately the 1% who don’t will be me. As much as people say it will be fine, because for all of them and everyone they know it was, I still convince myself that I’ll be the anomaly.
Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.
Weirdly, the prospect of a random woman seeing my vagina wasn’t the issue for me (yes, they do try to assure a woman performs the procedure and that’s coming from someone who double-checked it three times on the phone). But really, nobody should be feeling embarrassed about their body in this situation (or any situation for that matter!) And while there's no denying the perceived awkwardness of the situation, so many of us will carry this embarrassment as a barrier to booking the appointment. Even when it's our ‘private parts’ that are completely ours to do what we want with; we have no idea what other women’s vaginas look like, so WHY do we let worries about what theirs must look like compared to ours become a genuine concern?
All this can amount, but the reality is that the only person seeing that hallowed area on this day will be the female nurse/doctor. I took comfort from knowing she sees more vaginas on a daily basis than I have cups of tea. And I enjoy a fair few cups of tea every day! But, whether I could drink nine cups to match the number of vaginas she informed me she had booked in for a smear test the very day she was performing mine... well, I may as well be writing this article while sat on the loo if I tried doing that. Plus, every woman can ‘keep’ their vagina in a way they want to; it’s hardly like a nurse is going to pass comment or even pass any thought on how it looks for that matter. A vagina is a vagina. I feel strongly about this, so quite honestly this wasn’t even on my (long) list of worries I had prior to the test.
Once I'd panickily driven to the surgery and was called into the room, I cannot describe how incredibly amazing the nurse was. With everything else she inevitably has on her plate with Covid-19 and the immense pressure it continues to put on our GP surgeries, the bottom of her list was probably Harriet who’s petrified to come in for her smear test. I embarrassingly told her how nervous I was, mainly because it was my first appointment. I then felt instantly relaxed when she said to me: “Well, no one really wants to be lying down naked on the bottom half with their legs open unless it’s with a sexual partner do they?” I mean, what a woman.
As I said earlier, humour has such a brilliant way of lightening a situation and providing comfort. She had instantly humanised the entire appointment, reminding me that this isn’t a popular trip out for anyone but it’s quite simply something that has to be done. Flash forward five minutes and she’s down there doing her business while asking me what Jordan does for work and whether he’s been furloughed or not.
When I first sat down, we went through all the boring tick-box checks and once that was completed the nurse explained what was going to happen and why it’s done. I’m pretty sure I didn’t take in over half of this because of my nerves – information has a habit of entering one ear and then exiting straight out of the other before my brain in the middle has a chance to process anything. BUT, the important thing I did acknowledge is that the smear test involves a sample of cells being taken from the cervix to essentially check for any abnormalities that could be warning lights for wider issues. This is why the smear test is so important. Any changes or abnormal cells noticed can be looked into further before they have the chance to later develop into something worse, such as cervical cancer. We’re extremely lucky to have these tests offered for free every three years, so let’s not skip them!
Oh, and then the actual procedure. Well... that was over within a matter of minutes (literally, less than five). I, the drama queen who took a bottle of water in with her for fear of fainting, said to the nurse afterwards “I feel so silly for worrying now!” I’m sure most people reading this know what the actual procedure entails – essentially, a speculum (plastic device) is inserted into the vagina with a brush in the middle to collect the cells. And let me tell you, this sounds FAR worse than it is. As is often the case when it comes to routine appointments of many kinds, but the fear of not knowing what to expect is a unique sort.
I was adamant that this was going to be a painful process, and I wouldn’t even use that word to describe any of it. I’d say ‘slightly uncomfortable’ and ‘weird’, but seriously pain-free in the great scheme of things. It is somewhat intrusive, there’s no doubt about that, but a few minutes of uncomfort for something so important is a no-brainer for me now. Plus, since the smear test is repeated every three years, that’s a whole 1,095 days until my next one! I can officially afford to not think about it for a long time now.
I now look back and realise what a beautiful thing hindsight can be…
I read the same NHS article about the smear test, and looked at images of a speculum countless times in the build up to my appointment. And yes, as I knew it would, it intensified my worry. This isn’t to say it’s a bad thing to do, because I made sure anything I read was from an official source, such as the NHS, so not scaremongering and completely factually accurate. It helped me feel prepared and although more nervous, I knew what I was going in for so ultimately, imagining the worst made the reality far easier than I could have ever imagined.
But really, I was searching for something to completely relax me and alter my mindset to 100% believe that it was categorically going to be fine. Articles, like this very one, are amazing for lowering fears through real-life stories, but the reality is that nothing will make the experience completely doubt-free until we do it ourselves. I was searching for a fix that didn’t exist.
That NHS web page I visited a few too many times was never going to miraculously change; the content was always the same regardless of the day I opened it, yet I kept going back as if something it said would trigger differently for me at some point. It’s like opening the fridge 12 times in the space of half an hour just in case the ideal snack has magically appeared whilst the door was shut, or our eyes somehow missed that leftover pizza the 11 times prior.
It’s not going to happen until you make it happen.