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Recently in Salon Health & Body

Urge
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She's a bad girl in the working world but too wholesome for her boyfriend.
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[08/19/99]

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Urge
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[08/16/99]

Urge
Out, damned cuff link!
When Milt called about an emergency visit, little did she suspect just how desperate he was.
By Tracy Quan
[08/16/99]

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After my stomach returned from its bungee-drop, I examined myself. I pressed my fingertips softly in circles to define the perimeter of the hard swelling. It didn't seem to be part of a larger mass that, once removed, would prove to be the size of a grapefruit. My mystery lump seemed topical, so I resorted to my usual modus operandi for health irregularities: I ignored it.

I felt justified. If it was a cyst, I knew it wasn't the end of the world. I'd learned that most just come and go and should be left alone. Besides, my OB-GYN checkup wasn't for another two months, and I didn't want to make a fuss and have it turn out to be nothing. While my mother and I are close, the last thing I was going to do was ask, "Hey, feel this, do you think it's malignant?" And my dad ... forget about it.

But then my little sister wanted to see "Stepmom," and I found myself watching Susan Sarandon's character prepare for her untimely death by cancer. Not only did she have to die, but for the good of the children she was supposed to reconcile herself to her husband's marital trade-in. When I wasn't stewing, thinking Ed Harris' character should have been the one sewing his last quilt, my thoughts turned to my pelvis -- what if my lump was cancerous?

Maybe I'd accomplished everything I was going to, and from now on everything would be a denouement of crushing fatigue, lost hair and surgical glare. It made sense, right? Sure, I'd been as healthy as a farmhand my whole life: my only health problem had been a brush with anemia in high school. But what adult didn't get cancer or some other equally scary affliction? Just because I was 24, why wouldn't my number be up?

With shame, I discovered I was relieved that at least it wasn't a sexually transmitted disease, about which people would act sympathetic but secretly blame my reckless behavior (read: deficient character). At least with cancer, people wouldn't worry about sharing my Coke bottle or holding me close. So I was ready. If I had cancer, I would just deal.

May arrived and I went to my checkup. I told my doctor about my mystery lump. In a patient voice, she said it was probably an ingrown hair. I wanted to say back, "No, I don't think so." But instead of feeling disgust, I felt relief. My doctor finished my pelvic exam, said that no news was good news and that she'd contact me if something came up in the pap. Not wanting an ounce more of her attention, I skedaddled, ecstatic that so far her trained fingers and speculum view had pronounced only health.

I had a work assignment in Cologne, Germany, and flew overseas. From there I called home.

"The doctor called," I was told. "They said it's not an emergency, but you need to call back."

My stomach dropped 10 stories. "What did they say?"

"That's all they said. Guess you have to wait till Monday."

It was 5 p.m. Detroit time on a Friday night. I had all weekend to choose my casket. I prepared myself for the worst-case scenario. When the doctor announced I had operable cancer (or maybe terminal cancer was the reason it was a "non-emergency" because what were you going to do? No rush, right?), it would be no big deal. I'd just sit up straighter and say, "Hook me up with your best oncologist."

Monday finally came. I noticed the change in the receptionist's manner. Usually she was all business; now there was more compassion. Great, I thought, they've probably got the Make-A-Wish Foundation on the other line, wanting to know my favorite ice skater. She placed me on hold as she got the nurse.

"Your pap revealed abnormal cells. Now, this happens all the time, and doesn't necessarily mean anything. But it does mean we'd like to bring you in for a colposcopy. It's when we take a closer look at your cervix. And if that reveals something, then we'd do a biopsy. But don't worry."

Yeah, right.

Next page | Tampons, penises and sex toys can all irritate the cervix