I wrote a blog for the mishfit website a little over two years ago in amongst the messy grief following Charles’ death. (You can read it HERE if you don’t know that whole story.) Reading it back now it feels very much like I was laying my grief out there for all to read and somehow hoping that in the process I would be able to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Once every 12-months (or so) I rock up to my gynaecologist to spend about 15 minutes of my life having my cervix scraped. And that day was today.
The reason that I go every year, as opposed to every two years like most other women in Australia is because I have a history of dodgy pre-cancerous cells in and around my cervix. And in the interests of public service I thought I’d share a little about what I’ve learned over the last nine years since my cells all started going a bit bonkers and I became increasingly phobic of having a speculum inserted in my vagina.
There have been a whole bunch of studies done on the power of writing out your thoughts. Try googling it.
But let me tell you about why I do it to see if that speaks to you. I dream like a mad-woman. I’m as busy in my dreams as I am in my day. And I remember pretty much every day what I’ve dreamt the night before. I can wake up in tears, shaking with fear, laughing or in shock. But I always dream. And because of the way dreams work it often triggers stuff that I need to work through. I write it down. And if I’ve had an argument with Andrew or I’m worried about the children or I’m exploring something for my business. I write them down too.