Cervical Cancer Blog One (originally written 22nd January 2017)

Let’s start with this. I have brown hair, brown eyes and cervical cancer. Amongst other many descriptions of me, I am also these two things: –

• Stupid
• Lucky

Before I go on I just want you to know that you can also think these of me and I would understand it. Really, I would. So, think it, digest it, but just don’t say it to me. If there is anything at all I have learnt in the past few weeks is that I don’t need anyone telling me what I already know. But I am stupid and I am lucky.

If I continue to be lucky then my cancer story is going to be short one with a positive ending which, at the time of writing this, it looks like it will be. So, let’s hope my entries on this topic are short. Sadly, I can’t guarantee that they will be sweet.

My reasons for wanting to write all this down are mainly due to the below: –

• Mainstream cervical cancer stories that are positive are in short supply. The majority that reach main news are either about Jade Goody, women who didn’t get treatment in time or women who died before they even reached cervical screening age. I understand these stories highlight the severity of cervical cancer and bring its own kind of awareness, however, when you have just been diagnosed with cervical cancer, these stories are terrifying.
  
• Cervical cancer doesn’t nearly get as much awareness as I would like it to have. Before my diagnosis, it wasn’t really on my radar and neither were the events surrounding it. For instance, I didn’t know that January was the designated month for cervical cancer and contained a Prevention Week concentrating on getting women to attend their smears. This is extremely important because cervical cancer is a cancer that is preventable through screening. Partly due to a lack of awareness on cervical cancer it took me a long time to realise the symptoms I had were problematic. More on that fun topic later.
• Sharing stories with women who have gone through similar experiences are a bit of a lifeline right now. I have stumbled upon some blogs written by women just like me (and one in fact who was treated by the very same consultant who is now treating me) and have poured over every single word. This is oddly comforting when the insomnia kicks in and you scour the internet at 3am for anything you can get your greedy, needy eyes on. It may not always be pleasant but the majority outline their own experience and it makes me feel better prepared for what may be coming my way.
• Writing helps me.
• I’m hoping if someone finds themselves in a similar situation that they will find this an odd sort of comfort of their own. I’m also hoping that if someone is thinking that they don’t need to attend their cervical screenings, or know of someone who won’t, that this may be the slap upside the head that they need.

That brings me nicely to the first issue at hand and back to the first point. I am stupid.

Cervical cancer is a relatively slow growing cancer which can take up to ten years to fully present itself. So, whilst you are doing things like this….

…and are feeling absolutely wonderful doing so, those cancer cells could already be making their home quite comfortably throughout the cervical tissue. In fact, the first three photos were taken a matter of months before a cancer diagnosis was confirmed. Do I look sick to you? Do I look like I’m in pain? Nope. Because at that point, even though the answer to the first question is yes, the answer to the second was mainly no. I say mainly no but again I’ll get to that and the lack of symptom awareness at a later stage.

The point I’m trying to make is that cervical cancer doesn’t always present itself. For some reason an episode of The Simpsons where Bart is skipping out on lessons comes to mind…

Well at least I have a grasp of human autonomy. But sadly it wasn’t that I popped off my work chair one day grabbing my crotch Michael Jackson style screaming ‘my cervix, my cervix!’

This is why those screenings, that take minutes, are vital because if a medical professional finds abnormal cells they can take them out and often be done with the whole thing.

In an alternate version of this universe there is a version of me, sitting at home without a care in the world. That version of me went to my cervical screenings. This version of me did not. I’m not going to lecture. I don’t respond well to lecturing myself but that is another reason why I wanted to document this. If, like me, you think that attending those screenings are a waste of time because cancer doesn’t happen to people like you (like it was never supposed to happen to me – doh!) then I just want to open your eyes a little. If anyone good comes out of this I hope to act as yours, or someone that you know, terrible warning.

I have a print that says as much on the hallway wall. ‘If you can’t be a good example, be a terrible warning.’ At the time I bought it, I meant you know, don’t eat towelette’s or something. Or, don’t eat out of date ham the night before you’re due to have a thorough pelvic examination. True f*cking story.

This is my first post on the subject. There will be quite a few more.

I just wanted to make sure I had words on a page ready for the start of the Cervical Cancer Prevention Week. The campaign is #smearforsmear and I’m for anything that works but if you know me you also know my views on not hiding the reality of things. So, just in case you wanted a harsh and brutal prompt check out the below photos.

Go. Get. It. Booked. I make a point of not making wishes on the past as making wishes doesn’t change what has happened. But honestly? I wish I had just gone to the screenings.

Stay tuned for more soon.