Part III - The LEEP

I guess I'm kind of a pussy about my vagina.

I mean, if there was in infection in my inner ear and a doctor had to look into my eustacean tube with some flashlight thingy I don't see myself getting all weepy about it on the examination table.

But there's something very special to me about my vagina and stuff. Which is that it is my vagina and stuff.

Leading up to my LEEP, which is a day surgery, all I did in every doctor's office was blubber. But by LEEP day I kind of had my head wrapped around the whole HPV thing. I'd done a lot of research and had some conversations with friends that made me realize dysplasia (abnormal cells on your cervix) is really common and really treatable. And I was just glad that it was something they'd be able to take care of with their thingies and stuff. Yay modern medicine! I say this without irony -- if not treated dysplasia can turn into cervical cancer which is a huge killer of women in the developing world.

Also, my baby was six months old at this point which meant I was worlds saner than when he was three months old. They say it shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks for your weepy-go-nutsy hormones to pass after childbirth but for me it definitely takes longer. Much longer.

A LEEP is a loop electrosurgical excision procedure. They are for removing abnormal cells found on your cervix. A doctor uses a super-electrified loop of wire to burn a kind of cone-shaped chunk out of it. I had a pamphlet that explained it all to me. The pamphlet urged that while it wouldn't hurt a bit (because of the anesthetic) I should take the rest of the day off work.

No problemo. We packed up the wee ones and headed to the hospital where my daughter was promised ice cream and chocolate milk if she'd wait nicely with daddy in the cafeteria while mommy got a big needle.

I was already familiar with how to put on the gown and get through the medical history and yadda yadda yadda.

And it was fine. The smell of burning flesh was definitely disconcerting but other than the poke of the anaesthetic needle, I felt nothing. If you're reading this now because you've googled LEEP and are about to have one done I'd like to caution you that they put the anaesthetic needle directly into your cervix. I know, right? It's kind of obvious if you think about it, but who would think about it? Heebeejeebeejibe.

Afterwards the doctor made me promise not to have sex for two weeks and I was, like, "No problem."

Then he added, "and no other physical activity whatsoever."

I knew our sex life wasn't what it used to be when my mouth dropped open in horror and I spluttered, "You mean NO HOCKEY?"

"No. Definately no hockey."

"For TWO WEEKS?"

"Yes."

"And no running?"

"No running."

"But I can go cross-country skiing, right?"

"No." It was then that the doctor and the nurse exchanged a "well this one is kooky" look.

"Really? But it's so gentle...."

"Really. You don't want your wound to tear. You don't want to rip and hemorrage. I want you to just do nothing for two weeks."

"So no housework, right?"

"You can do light housework, sure."

On the drive home I explained to my husband about the no sex and the no housework of any sort for two weeks. And as we headed down the freeway the aenesthetic wore off. And as it wore off it kind of struck me how the doctor had removed a fairly large piece of my flesh. And it started to hurt. And it kind of hurt for the next week or so. Mostly just when I stood up or sat down. But it was allright. I was allright.

It was just before Christmas and I was a little heartbroken to miss the sporty parties I'd been planning to go to with my stroller running group and with my hockey team. But I just made do with the regular kind where you eat too much baked brie and too many truffles while watching everyone else get blotto around you and your nursing baby.
I didn't really tell anybody about "my gynelogical procedure." Except one friend. It didn't go well. I kind of casually mentioned it over a plate of antipasto. And I was going to say it wasn't a big deal but my voice kind of cracked while I tried explaining that it was no big deal. And then I was embarassed and she had no idea what to say and her toddler tripped on his own feet so she leapt up to comfort him while I wiped a quick tear away and had some antipasto.

And that's the thing. If it was toe surgery or nose surgery or something in my eye or my ear, I would have told more people. It would be a pretty good ice breaker at a party. And I wouldn't get all leaky and cracky talking about it.

But I'm kind of a pussy about my vagina and stuff.

Down the Rabbit Hole: An HPV Story

by Betsy B. Honest

Part I - An HPV Story

Part II - The Colposcopy

Part III - The LEEP

Part IV - The Diagnosis

Part V - The Happy Part

Part VI - The Hysterectomy

Part VII - Happily Ever After The End Part, or LUCKY

Part II - The Colposocopy

A colposcopy is when a gynecologist looks at your cervix with a telescope that shines light where the sun doesn't shine. The image is projected onto a flat screen TV. Beer and pretzels are not served. Upon seeing my cervix's television debut the phrase "one-eyed snot monster from outer-space" became indelibly etched upon my psyche.

A bad pap smear led me to a colposcopy.

The procedure began with checking into the hospital. Then I traded my clothes for a hospital gown. Then I was weighed and asked a series of questions about my periods, my reproductive history, and my current method of birth control. When I answered "lactational amenorreah" as my method (my baby was about 3 months old then) the nurse told me I could use whatever fancy words I wanted but it was just "having your head in the sand."

Well then.

She ordered a pregnancy test which took a long time to come back from the lab. I was left in a tiny room to watch a terrifying video about a procedure I wasn't actually scheduled to have. The video was all about how everybody is scared by a brush with cancer but there's no reason to freak out -- you can probably still have babies!

Ack! I have cancer? Ack! They are going to take a melon-baller to my cervix? Ack! I might not be able to have another baby? Ack! Ack! Ack!

The longer I sat in that tiny room with all the laminated posters of female anatomy in cross-section, the more anxious I became. By the time I was led onto the examination table and scooched into the stirrups, I couldn't stop crying.

A nice nurse reassured me that it was fine to cry.

"You're not used to all this," she said. "Crying is good for us. It relaxes us."

The doctor swabbed my cervix with a vinegar solution that helped him see whatever he was looking for. He told me to look at a picture of some fish taped to the ceiling above my head while he took a little nip of flesh out of my cervix with a little tool. It felt a little crampy and quickly stopped hurting.

Then he told me that if I wanted to "curl up into a little ball now," I could.

I did, in fact, want to curl up into a little ball. So I did.

When I sat up he sat down beside me and gave me a very sincere hug. Then he took out a pad of paper and drew me a little picture of my cervix and what he saw there. There were three little lesions - too small to see without magnification.

"It's called dysplasia. It's what we're screening for when we do pap smears. It may or may not be cancer. It probably isn't. It's very treatable. We will take good care of you. We're going to schedule for a LEEP procedure to get rid of this for you. Somebody will call you to explain the treatment and tell you where you need to go and when."

Then I was sent home with a commemorative sanitary napkin, hospital garment bag and bracelet.

I cried all the way home.

"Did it hurt?" my husband asked?

"Nope."

"Why are you crying mommy?" my daughter asked.

"I'm not sure honey."

I really wasn't sure.

I was unsure. 

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I had begun to fall down down down a rabbit hole.

Down the Rabbit Hole: An HPV Story

by Betsy B. Honest

Part I - An HPV Story

Part II - The Colposcopy

Part III - The LEEP

Part IV - The Diagnosis

Part V - The Happy Part

Part VI - The Hysterectomy

Part VII - Happily Ever After The End Part, or LUCKY