August 13, 2002 @ 2:34 p.m.
My Cervix is Cooler Than Your Cervix

What I Did On My Diaryland Holiday

By Rev, age 19

On my Diaryland hiatus I had several interesting things happen in my life. Unfortunately most of them involved either physical or emotional breakdowns.

Hurrah for the mid-youth crisis and all the stress it brings! Hurrah for the role of the Snivelling Bint! Hurrah for staring moodily into one's black coffee whilst listening to Leonard Cohen! Hurrah for realising that you are a stereotype and a very melodramatic one at that! Hurrah for getting the hell over yourself and getting on with things!

(Hurrah less sarcastically for gorgeous wonderful friends who help you get through things, and for greater levels of self-realisation that help you realise what it is you want.)

I got a kidney infection. It was awful and persistent. The doctor diagnosed it and looked over her glasses at me and said "you get these from too much sexual intercourse", and I felt like I was in Year Eight again and had been caught making out with my boyfriend behind the tractor shed by Mr Moyle, the PE teacher who hated us both (mostly because we were weird and geeky and always wagged PE). And I was all "yes ma'am", "no ma'am", "fornication is bad, ma'am". And I had to take antibiotics for two weeks, which gave me thrush as well as the kidney infection. And I told one of my friends I never wanted to have sex ever again, and she asked for it in writing. And, um, no.

But wait! There's more! Not involving a free set of steak knives buy by hell it's so fucking tempting to take one to my uterus sometimes (except that I one day might want to make babies. However, if any child of mine becomes, I don't know, a Liberal Party voter or a talk-back radio host, I reserve the right to a post-partum abortion.).

Like a good girl, I trotted along to have a pap smear and blood tests and blah blah, all that stuff it's good to do occasionally. Returning two weeks later to get my results, I sat in the chair semi listening to the results I knew would be fine (Nineteen years and still syphilis-free, baby!), and wondering vaguely why they hadn't read out my pap smear results first.

Turned out there was a good reason.

They tell you as a way of calming you down that pap smears are a very vague kind of test. Then they tell you that your results mean that either you're fine and your cervical cells were just acting funny on the day of the smear, or that there really is something serious wrong. Which, in the end, isn't very calming at all.

I had to have a colposcopy. They look at your cervix and poke around at it and maybe take a tissue sample. I was scared. Especially about the tissue sample. And the fact that if there were bad cells on my cervix, I'd have to be operated on to get rid of them, and that would mean pain and hospitals and no sex for a month or so. Ugh.

I brightened up somewhat when I learned that the little camera they look at the cervix with would be hooked up to a TV and I could see my cervix. I was not disappointed - it was very cool. In fact, for days after I went around telling people (including those I really didn't know very well) how I got to see my cervix and how cool it was. During the examination I kept my eyes focussed on the TV screen and had a little mental conversation that went something like:
"Hi, Cervix!"
"Yo, Girlfriend."
"Don't worry, it'll be over soon. I'm so glad we've had this opportunity to get acquainted."

And then the doctor poked it with a cotton bud and it bled. I whimpered, not because it hurt but because when you've just made a new friend it isn't nice to see them covered in blood thirty seconds later.

"Don't worry, I'm not hurting it!" The doctor bellowed cheerfully (she was one of those really bellowy doctors, you know the sort). "The cells are just really fragile in this area!"

I could see that. I knew she wasn't being rough. "Cervix,", I promised, "If that's what a cotton bud does to you, I promise to never let a penis get anywhere near you ever again."
"Gracious," said my cervix. "Don't go to that extreme on my account. Really, it's fine."
"Well...okay," I thought. Forgetting that my cervix and mind were now connected, I continued with "Not that I was really going to do that anyway."
"Hey! I heard that! Bitch."

But that was my encounter with my cervix. And it turns out that my cells were just being dicky - I'm fine.

The kidney infection is gone too. Apart from the school related stress, job searching, and my fucking hormones going into overdrive everytime I see a cute baby (Them: "Breed!" Me: "Fuck off." Them: "Fine. Mother your housemates then."), everything's peachy. My friends are plotting to take over the universe and sometimes fucking truck drivers.

But there's one thing. In an effort to provoke me into updating, Scott posted that his titties are bigger than mine. Whilst that attempt did not, in fact, succeed, and I am updating purely because I have some free time, I would nevertheless like to make the following official reply: Oh yeah? Then let's see you take another guy's cock between them, bitch.

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