A little issue with my undercarriage...
So last year I did the right thing and went to have one of those nasty Pap Smears that one hears about ladies having.
Nasty, embarassing. Apparently my inside bits are as twisted and upside down as the rest of my life, so finding the bit to smear is difficult. But thats fine, because its only every two years right?
Wrong.
That little test came back abnormal, so I had to go back again this year and again have my lady parts examined and smeared.
And again, this years test was abnormal.
So apparently what happens when you are abnormal two years running is that they send you off to a gynacologist, who is just the next step up the vaginal examinatory team ladder.
I trundled off to my appointment (which took me a month and a half to get by the by) with a fist full of cash ($240) and when I was called in was relieved to see the lovely little doctor lady.
She was in a pretty skirt, and we had a lovely chat during which she gathered my details. I perused the office. Nice desk. Nice floral arrangement. Nice examination table - no sign of any stirrups. All good.
"Ok," she said "Just come into the exam room and we'll have a look at you"
The fucking what room? What other room??
She opens a door to reveal a torture chamber complete with scary looking trolley loaded with undercarriage inspection equipment, and a chair complete with freaking stirrups.
"Just head behind the curtain there and take your bottom half off"
Now my Dad always told me that if you played with your belly button your bum would fall off... but I figured she wanted me to remove my jeans and undergarmature rather than fiddle with my belly button. So I did.
She loaded me in to the chair of pain, and I found myself be-stirruped and in a position which made me pretty sure that expiration from sheer mortification was imminent.
Firstly she did some more smearing, because shit, why not.
Then she "had a look around" which made me feel like I should be pointing out the facilities and touting the benefits of the neighbourhood and making sure that she didn't steal any of my stuff.
She found some obvious abnormal bits while she was looking around, so she decided to take a biopsy - this is where the real fun began.
Apparently a biopsy of the cerviacle area involves just slicing off a section of cervix without the assistance of any sort of anasthetic or numbing cream of any kind.
"Good Golly Gosh that smarts!" is probably preferable to what I actually yelled at the nice little woman stabbing at my vagina.
She then cauterised the wound - a nice way of saying that she burned my insides to stop them from gushing bloods everywheres - again without the inconvenience of anasthetic.
Based on this experience, I have decided to open my own clinic.
I will rig up some stirrups - I can get some chicken wire and baling twine and spray paint them silver.
Equipment required is only the long sharp silver letter opener currently on my desk.
I totally have the skills to stab unsuspecting women in the vagina and charge them excessively for the priveledge.
Sass's Gyno Clinic! Book Now!!
In reality, my poor undercarriage is a little tender, and worse - est of all is that there will be no jiggy jig for me for at least a week. Sorry CK!
