At the grand old age of twenty-two, I received my first phone call that I had to sit down for, just like in the movies. I figured my gynecologist was just returning my inquiry about my insurance, but like my current cellular makeup, this was an atypical phone call. “The pap smear results from your routine exam came back abnormal,” she said. “We need to schedule a colposcopy. You have HPV.”
The first response out of my mouth was the dreaded C word in response: Cancer? “I’m … gonna get cancer?” I sputtered. With the exception of the television ads for Gardasil (which ironically, I was on schedule to receive in the next couple of months) and condom fairs on my college campus, my knowledge about HPV was minimal, but negative. The voice on the other line tried to pacify my outcry, telling me to relax and that the virus was extremely common. Relax? This woman wants me to RELAX? She just told me I have an STD with who-knows-how-many life-altering side effects. Though she assured me I did not have cancer, I needed to come in for a more detailed diagnosis. I couldn’t ask enough questions, most of them ignorant, but at the end of the phone call, she assured me not to lose sleep over this. HA!
As someone who neurotically researched the biological intricacies of the menstrual cycle and memorized the entire birth control usage manual during my first sexually active months, it’s surprising that I knew next to nothing about HPV. Thankfully, my doctor referred me to a reliable online resource. Heaven forbid I encounter scary Googled pictures of genital warts and cancerous lesions. When it comes to mental strife, research is a reliable antidote. I learned that there are hundreds of strains of HPV. Some cause genital warts in both sexes—this is known as “low-risk HPV.” Other strains, which are known as “High-risk HPV” cause abnormal cellular changes in the cervix. If untreated, these can mutate into cancerous cells. Of course, there are benign strains as well. After my scheduled colposcopy, I wished I could call those lovely no-risk strains my own. Also, like a cold or any other virus, HPV has no cure. Even after treating symptoms, sketchy cells could turn up again and again. All this knowledge was not as comforting as I had hoped, but at least I wasn’t in the dark anymore.
Then, I learned that the virus can lay dormant in the body for months, even years. This was not a relief in the least: I had hoped I would able to pin down one of my exes as the culprit. Thankfully, my former partner list doesn’t fill up an entire memo pad. Like a detective on the case, I awkwardly called my suspects one by one, revealing the crime scene and praying they’d give me some concrete answers in return. I advised they tell their girlfriends and past partners to get tested and they wished me the best. But like any good crime show, there’s always a plot twist. High-risk HPV is asymptomatic in men; they are only carriers and there’s no reliable test to determine whether they have it or not. In the end, it is practically impossible to determine when or from whom HPV was caught. Could it have come from a one-night stand, a month-long spring fling, or my current long-term monogamous relationship? The case will forever remain unsolved.
When I went in for my colposcopy, the doctor said exactly what was said on the phone a few days prior: that I would be fine, that the virus is manageable, that millions of women live perfectly normal lives, sexual or otherwise. Fine, but that doesn’t excuse the pain I had to endure during the biopsy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise; having abnormal cells removed from the inside of cervix is no walk in the park. But he reassured me that this would likely not be a regular occurrence. I would, however, have to have pap smears every four months to keep my body in check. It’s an inconvenience, but it’s certainly better than risking cancer.
