I had a cervical smear test the other day

And asked the nurse if I could insert the speculum myself.

A kind woman, she agreed with no hesitation, although it clearly wasn’t a standard request.

I’d put this exam off for years, harmed at the fingers of a holistic practitioner with benign incompetence.

Who’s session I’d left shattered, a breaking point back then.

The nurse awkwardly handed me the device and stayed put as I sought to enter it into my body.

I breathed but felt taut and asked her to duck behind the curtain, which she duly did.

Then with more privacy, my pelvis released and received the probe.

She took over, and it hurt as she contorted it into place, clicking the screws to widen the view.

My fists to help, I placed under my hips to tilt me upwards, as there was a dragging across my cervix.

In an ideal world, the test wouldn’t be so invasive, and a gentle relaxed pace and setting would be the norm. 

All women would be fluent in the language of embodied consent and insertion, in both giving and receiving.

This wasn’t that, it was a step closer though.

I’ll take the win, even the fact that I could feel each ministration instead of blocking it out with numbness.