TWENTY-TWO YEARS ago I received a letter from my then gynaecologist, marked urgent.
The letter informed me of my irregular smear result and what it meant in terms of cell change and the grading of that change which was significant and shocking to me despite a clear smear less than twelve months before.
The letter arrived on the Saturday morning. Yes, there was Saturday post then.
The unknowns
The tone of the letter was serious and insistent, outlining how imperative it was that I call the office first thing Tuesday morning, to arrange treatment.
From the moment I read the letter until Tuesday morning, I pondered all the unknowns. Writing this brings it right back to me. All plans for the weekend went on hold, my mind preoccupied in a way as never before.
I looked around me noticing all I had and all I loved. I tried to tell myself all would be fine, but deep down in the quiet of me, a thousand questions seeped through.
How bad is bad? What are my treatment options? Is this the beginning of a cancer that I will be chasing for years until it finally takes me out of life and worse out of my child’s life?
That holiday weekend held nothing but worry, concern, sleeplessness and fear. Self soothing, or reassurance from anyone could not outweigh the anxiety brought on by not knowing what I had ahead of me, the uncertainty and the outcome.
Days like this
I am now thinking of the 11,700 and more Irish women who are having days just like this right now. Women who have had clear smears and now worry if they can trust the results. Women who are in the middle of difficult and challenging treatments and have to wrestle with what an earlier diagnosis may have meant for them.
How hard can it be to bear the reality that an earlier diagnosis may have saved your life and yet now you must battle through treatment for some time.
My heart breaks for these women desperate for answers, for reassurance, for some certainty about what they can do next to protect their lives and their health. The torture that they will endure while waiting will be silent and deep and will be far longer than my few days.
By the Tuesday morning I had reached the low of thinking about what songs I would like at my funeral. Such is the torture of uncertainty and waiting for answers, a torture that men cannot understand.
My story is tiny
My story is tiny. I share it in solidarity with these women and as an offering of some small help and support that may help in navigating these difficult days.
My Lletz treatment worked perfectly and I feel very lucky that my consultant highlighted to me the fallibility of the smear screening results at that time and encouraged me to have scopes in addition to smears for a ten-year period.
In fact, I continued with his advice and had my last scope in January of this year. I was lucky, but healthcare for us must not come down to luck.
Stephanie Regan is a Clinical Psychotherapist and regular contributor on Newstalk’s The Hard Shoulder.
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