For ladies' eyes only

Being a do-as-I'm-told sort of person, on Monday, I answered the summons to attend for my three-yearly smear test.

I hopped up on the bed, as requested, and waited.

'Now just bring your heels up to your bottom, let your knees flop apart naturally and relax.'

Relax?

With a light shining up my nether regions and a smiling nurse in rubber gloves approaching wielding a shiny metal penis, yes, I'll relax. What is there to be tense about after all?

'Now give a nice cough for me.'

Cough? Cough?!! That's what men have to do; I've never had to do it before. Is this nurse confused? Should I leave now before irreparable damage is done to my married life?

It reminds me of a similar experience last year.

Then I was having my coil checked by the doctor.

Now normally it's a case of hand in, a quick how's your father, and, 'see you next year.' This time it was how's your father, how's your auntie and how's your granny's cat? And she's still rummaging.

Meanwhile Mrs Hypochondria is getting the first pangs of panic. What has the doctor found? Something fatal? Of course it is; that's why she's taking so long.

She speaks to the nurse. 'Bring the light a bit closer, please.'

It's too dark; that's the problem. No need for me to worry. I breathe a little easier.

The doctor calls the nurse. 'Nurse, come and have a look.'

Oh, no, she's found a tumour so big she can't believe her eyes; she wants the nurse to confirm what she's seeing. Ohmigosh, it's probably inoperable, too late. What shall I tell the family? When shall I tell them? I'll keep it to myself, there's no point upsetting them. They'll find out soon enough. I wonder if they'll cry at my funeral. I wonder if anyone will come to my funeral.

The doctor looks up and speaks to me. 'Have you noticed anything coming away?'
'Coming away?'
'Yes, anything ... unusual?'
'No,' I squeak.
'Okay.'
She goes back inside.

I am just wondering if anyone will have anything nice to say at my funeral or whether they will simply list all the mistakes I made in my life - it was a short life but a stupid one - when she withdraws and switches off the light. She takes off her gloves and looks worried. She looks worried? I'm the one who should look anxious: how am I going to break the news to husband?

'I can't find it,' she says, after an age.
'You can't find it?'
'No, it seems to have disappeared.'
'Disappeared? (Panic always bring out the parrot in me.) But where could it go? I mean there's not exactly a lot of room for it to hide down there.'
'Well, it might have made its way somewhere.'
'Somewhere?! Do you mean I could be like a magician and produce it from behind my ear?'

The doctor tells me she will send me to the clinic for an ultrasound scan to see where it's got to , but, in the meantime, she suggests that I use an alternative form of contraception. It's my turn to look at her.
'And how long ago might I have lost it?'
She shrugs.
'And now you're suggesting I should use an alternative contraception?' Words like horse and stable-door spring to mind.

And I leave the surgery knowing that I really have lost more than just the plot.

P.S. I wasn't pregnant, as you probably worked out for yourself.