The Test

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When Jade Goody walked out of the Big Brother house back in 2003, I thought that all she’d taught me about life was a) never to have sex on TV and b) that salmon satin looks good on no one.

How wrong was I?

The woman single-handedly raised awareness for cervical cancer in young women.

Sadly, it took her dying to do so.

Left undiagnosed, it can become terminal and treatment can grow futile. Wishing to avoid this fate at all costs, I went for my annual smear test this morning.

As I sat in the waiting room for longer than anticipated, due to strains on the NHS, which we shan’t go into now, I grew anxious. As somebody who is, let’s say, unafraid to bare all, these nerves came as a surprise.

Will I wee on her face? Will she find a tampon up there from 2008 that has now turned into a foetus with cotton wool hands? Should I have shaved? Will she care? And WHY does this waiting room smell like poo?!

These were just some of the thoughts running through my mind pre-inspection that I thought I’d share with you because, well, nerves are normal when you’re about to show your private parts to a complete stranger.

But then my name was called.

She closed the door behind us and asked me to remove my pants in the same way you’d ask someone if they’d like to remove their jacket at a dinner party. Naturally I obliged, in awkward silence, and lay down on the bed.

She then pressed on with it – poor girl – and it was actually fine, aside from her awkwardly complimenting me on my pelvic floor muscles and the impromptu arrival of a young man looking for his umbrella. We had a laugh about his ill timing, I put my vagina away and all was well with the world within a few short minutes.

And now it’s over for the next 1095 days and I will endeavour to forget the whole thing until then.

But I don’t want you to forget it. Not the part about me opening my legs – you can definitely forget that part – but I don’t want you to put off getting yours done.

If you weren’t aware of what a smear test was before reading this, then hopefully it’ll spark an interest and if you’ve been putting it off: don’t. It really isn’t that bad.

I can’t help but feel that post-childbirth, I’ll look back at this post and think ‘Dear girl, if only you knew’.

But until then, I will continue to dread them in a mid-twenties, without child, ignorance but I will also endeavour to endure them on a regular basis. And so should you.

Good luck!

The Balls

So last month I didn’t stop banging on about boobs. This month, I’ll be nattering about balls.

Girls, be prepared to encounter some rather grizzly smackers for the next few weeks as Movember kicks into action. While October was exhumed in a female-friendly pink colour which I hope will continue beyond Halloween, this month men across the country get a little hairy (above the neck) in aid of Testicular Cancer Awareness. Just like most things man-related, it’s one of those topics that is avoided by most and worried about by many. Men will readily admit to finding it far more difficult to talk about their feelings than women. Ladies can run up and hug each other when times are tough, but for men, a comical caterpillar that sits above their lip for four weeks, speaks volumes.

Although they are arguably one of the funniest looking body parts, those two balls that hang off your man (or yourself) ultimately create life. And with 2,000 men diagnosed with testicular cancer in the UK each year, I think we should all start thinking about them a little more. So whether they are hairy, huge or rather non-descript, check them out regularly rather than just scratch them in public. It’s important.

But listen, I’d love to say and chat but I really moustache.

Have a great Movember and get involved. It really is a wonderful cause.

The Boobs

My obsession with boobs began at a young age when I shoved a couple of mum’s granny smiths up my blouse and decided that life would be better with boobs. 

But despite my ever-increasing adoration of women’s wobbly bits, it wasn’t until I grew older that I learnt that as beautiful as they are, breasts can also turn out to be life threatening. But although the figures are scary (which is why I shan’t be quoting them here), it’s reassuring to know that with an early diagnosis and the correct treatment, most breast cancer patients are cured and are able to put the disease firmly behind them.

So don’t panic. Just lend a hand. Today marks the start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and you know what that means… It’s time to ditch your Starbucks fix for one morning only and instead, pay a small amount for a little pink ribbon to show men and women all over the country who have suffered with breast cancer that you care.

So as well as looking after our boobs or moobs, let’s celebrate them too!

Happy Boob Month everyone!