My Darkest: Part 1

I made my way to my doctor’s office one hot July day. It was always hard finding parking in the city. I circled the same block several times, desperate to find a spot. My appointment was beginning in five minutes. I clenched my teeth, wondering if I would make it. Frustrated, I punched the gas, only to quickly hit the brakes as someone pulled out in front of me. I threw my hands up in the air, growing more annoyed. I hated city driving. It frustrated me having to stop every few blocks. Though I didn’t mind being able to get away with a bit more. Speeding. Coming to a complete stop. These were not on the radar of most officers. They had more pressing things to worry about. And most of us on the road knew it.

I continued driving, exasperated as I was now six blocks away. I considered just going home only to finally spot a place to park. I winced, pulling in the lot, noting a sign that read “ten-dollar parking”. That was certainly more than I was prepared to pay. But I had run out of options. I reluctantly grabbed a ticket, rolled my eyes and made my way down the street, determined to make it in time. I never liked to be late.

The air was heavy that day, and the sun beat down on me as I approached the large brick building. It was hard to take a deep breath in the scorching heat. I saw three kids playing in a rundown park across the street. I wondered how they tolerated it. It was as if the temperature didn’t affect their little bodies, shouting and running to and fro. I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead and upper lip as I made my way up the steps of the building. I then quickly put my hand under my hair to pat off the moisture from the back of my neck, wishing I hadn’t taken so much time that morning to do my now frizzing hair. As I entered the office I was immediately struck by waves of cool air, my reward for having made it after all. I quickly gave my name to a large woman behind a glass window and sat down in the waiting room filled with children’s toys and brochures on STDs and infertility. I glanced around, noting a pregnant girl sitting across from me quietly reading a magazine. A child, no older than two was playing with a toy car, seated on his mother’s lap three seats to my left. I wondered where all the single girls were. I had at times wondered if I was in fact the only one left. As I looked around, my stomach began to turn, knowing my office visit was not going to be like the others. I was not a mom.

Not even close.

I glanced at the children’s table to my right. I didn’t particularly like the sinking feeling I got, as if I somehow didn’t belong at my own doctor’s office.

Moments later my name was called by young girl with a bright smile and a long brown ponytail. I followed her past the exam rooms to my doctor’s office. She cheerfully told me I could have a seat on one of the brown cushioned chairs and that an exam was not needed today. I knew this was a follow up appointment. I knew I would be receiving results of my recent gynecological exam. But what was there to talk about?

Five minutes later my doctor entered with cracked smile, welcoming me. I had only met her one other time prior. Still, I could sense something was wrong. My heart began to race in seeing her take a deep breath. She sat down gracefully, tucking her curly hair behind her ears. She leaned in towards me, hands folded together on her desk. I braced myself, not knowing what was coming. She began to tell me I had contracted a virus. A virus called the human papilloma virus, or HPV. My eyes widened and my body froze. She went on to say “it was very common and that about eighty percent of the population had been exposed at one time or another”. My mind began to race as I further stiffened into my chair.

She was still speaking but I no longer heard her words. 

This was not happening.

Not to me.

No, she had to be wrong.

Panic stricken, it was all I could do not to shake. She went on to say that I would require regular checkups to ensure the virus did not progress. Most people were able to successfully clear the virus on their own. However, given my faulty immune system, I would not be one of them. Those that were not able to clear the virus were at risk for progression on to cervical cancer.  

Cancer?

I had sex once. And now I might have cancer.

How could this be happening? Humiliation and shame swept over me as I sunk deeper into my chair. I pictured myself running out of her office with great speed and never coming back. But my legs felt heavy against the chair. Didn’t she know that I had only been with one guy? One. That I had waited my whole life to find love?

What was I supposed to do now?

It felt like some kind of bad dream.

Didn’t she know this wasn’t me? No, I was the girl that had always played by the rules.

She went on to lecture me about safe sex practices, and I found myself getting annoyed.

Wasn’t it a bit late for that?

More, why wasn’t she telling me that I would be okay? That my life hadn’t just completely ended in that moment. That I wasn’t to be permanently deemed a leper in society as I now feared. But she didn’t say any of that. She just said her doctor words, and I was on my way.

I left her office, head spinning.

The full weight of her words didn’t truly hit me until I reached my car. As I opened the door, I realized I didn’t remember walking back to it. My mind was elsewhere, filled with racing thoughts of fear and guilt. Flushed in a panic, and now overheated, I wondered what my parents would think. I swallowed hard, as I felt I could sense their disapproval from twenty miles away. Would they now be ashamed of me?

For the first time in my life, I was ashamed of me.

Still, I knew I had to gather what little courage remained and tell my date about my recent discovery. I had to get it off my chest. I felt like I was going to implode. A small part of me was relieved in being truthful. I knew others may have kept quiet.

As I dreaded, he stopped calling.

He didn’t return any texts.

In an instant, he was gone.

And my worst nightmare had become my reality.

Devastated and alone again, I knew I now carried a secret. It was a secret I never wanted to carry. A secret I would try to hide, even from myself. But it was unrelenting. It hung over my head, tormenting me. Telling me I wasn’t good enough. It caused me to feel deformed in some unrepairable way. It whispered to me when I was alone, telling me I was unlovable.

And in all my heartache and shame,

I listened.