We’re Here #ForHer – The Impact of Sharing Our Stories

I’ve experienced this in my own life more times than I can count, all starting from when I was a teenager.

I remember being SO thankful that the internet was around back then, because I was too embarrassed to ask my parents, or anyone else for that matter, what sex was or how it worked. This was especially considering that “sex ed” in my small town school consisted of one single day of discussion around what it was like to get our periods, and that was pretty much it.

I remember having to repeatedly lie to my parents, my teachers, and past employers when I called in sick or stayed home from school because I was too embarrassed to tell them that I had debilitating period pain symptoms that prevented me from even getting out of bed.

Finally, I remember hiding my horribly painful experience behind my cervical precancer treatment for years before I realized just how traumatic it was.

I had never heard any of my friends talk about getting their periods, dealing with cramps, or going to a gynecology appointment, and had no idea what to expect. I simply wanted to get on birth control just so I could get some reprieve from my damn period cramps. I had no clue just how invasive and uncomfortable it was getting a pap smear for the very first time – I had simply accepted it as “part of the process” and just dealt with it. I walked out of my appointment with a prescription for birth control pills that I could go pick up myself, feeling a little bit of relief that I wouldn’t have having to explain to my parents that I honestly wasn’t having sex, I just wanted to not have to deal with period cramps anymore.

Fast forward a couple of years and another pap smear later, and nothing in the world could have prepared 17 year old me for how I felt when I received a phone call a few days later from my doctor informing me that my test results came back as abnormal and that I would have to come back in to discuss next steps.

I didn’t even know “abnormal” test results were a thing, but my doctor informed me that the test results indicated that I had severe cervical dysplasia, and that I was also diagnosed with a particular high-risk strain of HPV – human papillomavirus. This meant that the cells that were detected as abnormal would very likely develop into cervical cancer and spread to nearby tissue if left untreated.

The treatment? Cryotherapy. NOT a fun sounding word to hear when you’re by yourself in a doctor’s office at 17 years old.

I went back in a few days later for the procedure, again having no idea what to expect. Did I talk to anyone about it? Absolutely not! I was terrified, but at least my doctor reassured me that this procedure was minimal, didn’t require anesthesia and wasn’t considered a surgery, and that it would very likely prevent me from actually getting cervical cancer in the future. For a moment, I felt like everything would be fine and that I had nothing to worry about, and that this would be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

Hoh-boy was I wrong.

Without any offer for pain medication or even local anesthetic, I had what felt like a giant freeze-ray shoved up my hoo-hah that essentially blasted away any of the previously detected precancerous cells, and what felt like the rest of my uterus along with it. I began uncontrollably sobbing, gripping the sides of the table and trying not to scream from the pain. The procedure only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When my doctor was done, the nurse standing beside me helped me sit up right away, despite me clutching my stomach and asking for them to wait. I couldn’t stop crying from the severe cramping I was experiencing, and tried to explain how badly I was hurting. They acknowledged that feeling some cramping would be normal, and that it should go away in a few minutes. They then instructed me that I could get dressed and leave whenever I felt ready.

Then they left the room.

I sat there sobbing, by myself, for at least 10 more minutes before I finally forced myself to try to get up. When I did, I bolted to the nearest trash can and vomited before passing out on the floor.

I woke up a few minutes later, or so I assume, considering no one came back in to check on me. I was still alone, so I had no choice but to pull myself up, get dressed, and leave. I made it out to the hallway before I had to sit down in an attempt to stop myself from passing out again. About 15 minutes later, I finally was able to get up and walk out, remembering halfway out the door that I still had to drive myself back home, about 45 minutes away.

Even now, that was one of the most painful experiences in my entire life, and I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I was embarrassed, scared, and pissed off that I had to go through all of that with what felt like minimal sympathy from my medical providers. It took me years to discover that cryotherapy was one of many reproductive care procedures that are done without any anesthetic or pain management of any kind. Since then I’ve read and listened to many stories from other women who have had similar experiences with other procedures, such as IUD insertion, where pain management is rarely ever offered.