Cooter Scopin'

It's official: I had an abnormal Pap smear. I kind of figured that out when they called me instead of sending me the card in the mail telling me everything in the nether regions was fine and dandy. I'm not fine, and I'm sure as hell not dandy.

It's sad that I've been preparing myself for this for as long as I knew what a Pap was, yet I still wasn't ready for it. I think I said something like, "Oh, fuck." That sounds like something I'd say.

I'll soon be scheduling a colposcopy or something equally hard to spell and pronounce, and then my gyno, who is already far too familiar with my uterus due to that pesky surgery a few months ago, will go diggin' around with a scope. I'm hoping it's still something they'd determine precancerous and not cancerous, but one can only dream.

I explained all this to my therapist, who noted that every time I come in, I tell her all these terrible things that have happened to me (really - it's ridiculous; it gets worse and worse every week, and I always think I can't top it, but I do), and I do so with little or no emotion. I told her it was the simple matter of if I let myself actually feel everything, I'd never stop.

Then, Saturday night, everything went to hell. More on that later.