When Dr. Korman said, “You only have two more Paps in your future,” my first thought was relief and overwhelming joy. This thing that I dread, that I postpone and that triggers my anxiety…I only have two more? Unbelievable.
Let’s back it up. I just came from my annual OB/gyn appointment and I have a lot of thoughts. I went in today with the expectation that there’d be a manual and visual examination of my bits and pieces but no Pap. This is important because, as a sexual assault survivor, certain examinations and situations can be very triggering and uncomfortable. And expectations around visits are important. I cannot stress how much of an understatement this is.
So when she said I was coming up on the five-year mark for my Pap, I nearly burst into tears. Because I thought I’d had one last year. I know. Who forgets these things? But I’d been in and out of her office several times last year and seen both her and another provider, and I could have sworn that I’d said, go ahead and do it. But I hadn’t. Ugh.
So we talked it through today, and Dr. Korman assured me that it was no BFD to wait until next year. And, since women are done with the screening after age 65, and they’re only recommended every 5 years…let’s do the math shall we? I only have two more in my future. Whaaaa?
Mini celebration in my head. Smile on my face.
Then came the realization: O.K. so that information sank in. But now what? What comes after that?
I had a similar reaction when, six years ago, both my naturopath and my OB/gyn recommended I start hormone replacement therapy. Here I was, nearly 54 years old, and my periods were still hitting right on schedule. Heavier than usual, to be sure, but there was no sign of menopause in sight. But you know what else was hitting me with a certain regularity? Hot flashes. And they were no joke. Every 15 minutes. And I tried everything, and I mean everything to go through this “naturally”: from adjusting the temperature in the room, to the food I ate to herbs and acupuncture. But nothing touched it. Add to that the now-annual Venofer infusions to counter the monthly blood loss, I said, “Sign me up.”
Yes, there was a slight adjustment period of about a month as my body became accustomed to the boost, but there was no denying the pep in my step as I realized I was less tired, more energetic, and so much happier. Especially when I realized, when I missed that first period in December, that I’d never need another feminine hygiene product again in my life. It was liberating.
Kind of like the liberation I felt when, after nine months, I weaned my second–and last–child. I felt free. But also there was a kind of sadness because I realized it was the end of an era. I could always learn to play tennis or golf, but I’d never nurse another child again, because with my C-section I’d chosen a tubal ligation on the side. A decision I was happy with. And yet it still represented a small ending.
I was also reminded of when my best friend was undergoing chemo infusions for terminal pancreatic cancer, and people would high five and exclaim, “Another chemo down,” and all I could think of was, “We’re that much closer to the inevitable end.” Despite the magical thinking around her diagnosis, Brandie knew there was no beating this thing. There was only reducing the cancer to minimize pain and extend her life, giving her more time with her devoted husband and young son.
With me, it’s always been difficult to sit with the present. I’m always looking to understand what’s next? Relaxing into the moment is a challenge, because I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
What would it look like to just sit with the happiness of the moment, no matter how fleeting? To soak it all in? This is my life’s work.
What about you?
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