Those Tests Are Out to Get Me...

This is a continuation of the last blog entry, in which Dr. Stern's Stephanie told me that, although all the tests to detect cancer were negative, I need follow-up Pap smears for the next several years.

My initial thought was, "No, no way." That's still my thought. When I said to Stephanie, "I don't think I'll do that," I was waiting for counterargument. Is there something else you could recommend, could I be sedated, etc. She didn't answer with any other recourse.

The pelvic exams that were ordered by my doctor, Dr. Miller, were the reason I put off any exams for a year. Just as I had suspected, the 30-year separation from having any pelvic exams have not lessened the pain, and the ultrasound was unbearable and could not be performed. So, I just stopped mentioning it to my doctor. She didn't follow up on that issue until she wanted a full-blown physical, and at that point I talked with her about it. As it turned out, I had cancer, and that delay gave the disease further chance to spread.

Dr. Stern did warn me this morning that if I were to show any signs of bleeding, I should come back to his office immediately.

It was at that point that I figured out that he was telling me that I could make my own medical decisions -- fine -- but that there were certain warning signs to which I should pay attention. And he apparently figured out that I might be more willing to talk with Dr. Poddatoori about such things, or that she could figure out some sort of compromise, like sedation, etc.

In fact, Ruth and I made a pact: any signs of bleeding returning and I have to submit myself to Pap tests. I agreed begrudgingly. I can't figure out what's worse sometimes -- the cancer or the actual tests. I realize that's cavalier on my part, but please forgive me. I have never felt the ravages of cancer, even though I've had it twice. I've been rescued, both times, by surgery.

While my luck has continued along those lines, I don't feel that lucky. My purgatory involves a sharp instrument stuck up my vagina. Ouch.