My Hero

At the age of 26, having grown up in a relatively safe environment with all things I have needed provided for me, there have been very few times where I’ve felt simultaneously exposed, vulnerable and absolutely batshit terrified at the same time.

My colposcopy was one of those times.

If you don’t know what that is, like I didn’t a few days ago, it’s a test they do when they find “abnormal cells” in your cervix (that’s inside the vagina). This is a follow up from a smear test, where they do something similar but less invasive (opinions vary on this). It’s basically to determine how abnormal these cells are and whether or not they need to be removed to avoid getting cancer.

Now if you’re a man, let me paint the picture for you. You undress from the waist down, and normally put your legs up so they can shove something the shape of a duck’s beak inside your vagina so they can open it up and poke around. And yes, you guessed correctly, it’s highly uncomfortable — not always painful, but far far from pleasant.

As women, we understand this discomfort. We understand the unpleasantness of having someone literally look inside you, and what I only realized after the exam, we silently understand the fear that this brings regarding our ability to reproduce — which culturally, even today, and even if you don’t want kids or aren’t even in the realm of thinking about them, it’s something we attribute to the essence of being a woman, the ability to pop out a healthy baby.

A colposcopy isn’t normally a scary thing. It’s ultimately about prevention and when caught early, can be treated quite easily. But having one on new year’s eve after what I can only describe as one of the most stressful ten days of my year, this test was just the cherry on top of the finale of my 2020. And having one with a terrifying history of cancer in your family is also not a fun experience. There’s only so many times you can read the big “C” word in a pamphlet before you have a mental breakdown.

But I got lucky. I had a doctor and a nurse that were patient with me (both coincidentally women). The doctor took her time to explain the procedure to me. She went over it a few times because my food deprived brain was struggling to keep up. She weighed out my options for me and gave me time to process them. And she offered me her advice when I asked for it.

She could see the fear in my eyes and hear the tremble in my voice. And for as much as I tried, I couldn’t hold my tears in.

The nurse handed me tissues and asked me about my job, which lead me to talk about my dog, which they immediately recognized as my tether to a calmer place. I held on to that image, to his smell and to the unwavering support he brings by just existing.

Once the procedure was over, I held my tears back and walked out of the hospital — which I really believe someone needs to make them less depressing. And I did what I always do. I called my mom.

I vented about how angry I was that the world, that our society, does not prepare us for such things. I told her how I would have preferred to have someone talk about the stress of having to do a colposcopy in school, rather than learning how to make pickles.

I was angry. I was angry at my body for creating these cells that were causing me so much stress. I was angry at the society that never prepares you for the doom and gloom of having to go through these procedures (of which this is probably the easiest). I was angry at the man that had denied me his support and had pushed my tolerance to the max. I was angry at the pandemic that kept me from running home to my mom.

I was angry because I was scared.

But with my mom’s voice in my ear, on the platform of the overground in Denmark Hill, I was less scared. I felt strong because I knew I could be weak, because she had given me the space to rely on her, to trust her. And that had never faltered. I knew she would be there for pick up the pieces if I needed, but she had taught me how to do it myself. She had taught me to be strong by allowing me to be weak when I needed to be. And through expressing my weakness, I heard a flicker of fear in her voice. She was human after all.

And I marvelled at how she had never let that fear show until that moment. She was able to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and never show a sign of fatigue. To me, that was remarkable.

She is by far the strongest woman I knew.

And while every cell in my body aches for the fact that I cannot be there for her birthday tomorrow, I know of no better way to celebrate her existence in this world than by dedicating this article and my strength to the true wonder woman of my life. The ultimate hero of my stories.

Mommy, thank you for being the best role model a girl could ever ask for.

I love you and happy birthday.

Originally published at https://www.monologuesofalondongirl.com on January 2, 2021.