"It’s three days before Christmas in 2016, and I’m lying with my legs splayed open on the examination table of my gynecologist’s office. The nurse pulls out a giant needle and says to me, “This might hurt a bit.” And it does hurt. A lot. That needle inserts into my cervix, the lower part of my uterus, to numb the area. I’m 30 years old and getting ready for a Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure (LEEP) to remove precancerous cells from my cervix.
turns out, you don't have to spend all of your free time cleaning
About four months prior to that moment, I began having unusual gynecological symptoms: abnormal spotting and burning pelvic pain that radiated down my legs. From the pain alone, I knew I needed to see a doctor. Unfortunately, I had quit my part-time job a few months prior and was without health insurance. Although I qualified for Medicaid, I hadn’t yet applied for it, and even when I did, I was told it could take weeks or even months to get seen by a gynecologist.
Because I needed immediate care, I decided to go to my local Planned Parenthood for a pap smear. Between trying to avoid becoming a teen mother and an effective high school sex-ed program, I was no stranger to their reproductive health care services. But while I had mainly gone for pregnancy and STI testing before, this was my first time going for a potentially serious health issue. Although I was between jobs and without health insurance, I was still able to make an appointment and get seen within a week. I even qualified for free care under Title X, a hotly debated federal program for family planning services that’s still being targeted by conservatives.
At my visit, I explained my symptoms, and the doctor did a pelvic exam and pap smear, where I was tested for STIs and cervical cancer. Upon asking how soon I’d get the results, the doctor informed me it could take one to two weeks but said, “If you don’t hear from us, it means your results are normal.” So I waited.
Getting my test results
I got a phone call from an unknown number in mid-September, and my mind immediately raced with what-ifs. What if it’s Planned Parenthood with my test results? What if something’s really wrong with me? Waiting was excruciating, as were the painful symptoms I was dealing with. I just wanted to be done with all of this.
Upon answering the phone, my heart sank to indeed hear a woman from Planned Parenthood on the line. “You have cervical dysplasia,” she said. “What exactly does that mean?” I asked. “It means you have precancerous cells on your cervix. You need to see a gynecologist ASAP to get treated so it doesn’t progress to cancer.” My heart nearly skipped a beat with the mention of the “C-word.” I couldn’t fathom having to deal with a serious medical diagnosis at such a young age. Although many of my family members have had cancer, no one was under the age of 30 when they were diagnosed.
To be quite frank, I was shook. Luckily, all I had to do for the rest of the day was sit on some bleachers and pretend to cheer for a wrestling match. (I was in the middle of a background acting gig for a Netflix show.) But I could barely even do that. I couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call. I must not have been cheering very convincingly because, after a while, one of the assistant directors moved me to the back of the bleachers. If only she knew (or cared) what I was going through. But we were all working 14-hour days, so my personal problems were probably the least of her worries.
“I was only 30, but suddenly I felt mortal.”
During the dinner break, I called my then-boyfriend, now husband, to tell him what happened. I could barely even get a few sentences out before I started bawling uncontrollably. “I’m so scared, Justin,” I told him through blubbery sobs. “What if I get cancer?” Ever the pragmatist, he reassured me, “Then we’ll figure it out together.” Somewhat calmed, I managed to clean myself up and get through the rest of the night relatively unscathed. But it was difficult to enjoy what I was doing. I was just going through the motions and counting down the minutes until I could go home and let the cares of the day fade into sleep.
The next morning, I was still in such a daze that I ended up calling out for the last day of the shoot—the first and only time I’ve ever done so. There is a lot of downtime on film and TV shoots, and I knew that most of that time would probably be filled with me crying in between takes and worrying incessantly. Instead, that day, I signed up for Medicaid and began my journey with a potentially life-changing medical diagnosis.
Living with a “Stage 0” diagnosis
It ended up taking over a month to finally get seen by a gynecologist, which was not that bad, all things considered, but tell that to my anxiety. I was a nervous wreck that month and a general menace to be around. My mood swings were getting the best of me. I was in pain. And I was crying randomly and snapping at friends and family more than usual.
I didn’t think things could get any worse, but then they kind of did at my first gynecologist appointment. After waiting almost an hour, the doctor proceeded to barge in and immediately started going on about cancer. “You have Stage 0 cervical cancer,” she told me. “Excuse me, what?” I asked. I was confused. “Don’t I just have precancerous cells, not actual cancer?” But the doctor barely heard me and talked a mile a minute about doing an outpatient surgery ASAP at the local hospital. I was stunned. Sure, I thought I would be getting treatment options, but not an invasive surgery under general anesthesia. Despite my best efforts to get the doctor to explain why she was recommending such an extreme solution, I couldn’t get a word in. So much for bedside manner.
“Waiting for that second opinion felt like walking around with a weight strapped to my chest, though. Everyday tasks—eating, working, even just scrolling on my phone—just felt like distractions I couldn’t fully engage with.”
Maybe it was stubbornness, but I wanted a second opinion after that. I didn’t feel heard, and the experience just didn’t sit right with me. So, I got a referral to see another doctor. With something so potentially life-altering, it seemed important to know what all my treatment options were. Information is power, after all.
Waiting for that second opinion felt like walking around with a weight strapped to my chest, though. Everyday tasks—eating, working, even just scrolling on my phone—just felt like distractions I couldn’t fully engage with. I started to dread getting out of bed. I was only 30, but suddenly I felt mortal. Luckily, my second experience with a new doctor was much less terrifying. She calmly explained my test results to me and what my treatment options were. I had both moderate and severe dysplasia, meaning the cells were just abnormal, not malignant.
“You mean I don’t have cancer?” I asked. “No, of course not,” the gynecologist replied. “Who told you that?” I recounted my previous experience with the other doctor, and she just shook her head. “Using the term ‘Stage 0’ is not really an accurate term since it’s a precancer.” I was relieved. “Oh, thank God,” I sighed. Despite the pain and anxiety I’d been going through, I was starting to feel something I hadn’t in months—hope.
Now that I found a gynecologist that wasn’t trying to scare the crap out of me, I could focus on getting the treatment I needed. Between Postmates and background acting gigs, I returned to the gynecologist for a series of procedures to examine, track, and treat the abnormalities first found on that Planned Parenthood pap smear.
I grew to hate that cold metallic duck of a speculum as it separated my vag. If you think having a pap smear is uncomfortable, imagine your doctor using a microscope-like device called a colposcope to look in there and then make small talk. But at least she was able to see the abnormal cells and take a few punch biopsies. While becoming a human hole punch, I cried out so loudly that I probably scared a few patients in the waiting room. But the biopsies confirmed the dysplasia had spread, and I needed a LEEP procedure.
While they do numb the area with the help of a giant needle, having an electrified wire loop cut away parts of your cervix isn’t exactly pleasant. The buzzing sound and smell of burning flesh were honestly a bit disturbing. But luckily, I was able to distract myself by watching cute baby animal videos on my phone and singing Björk songs in my head. I can also thank my years of being able to disassociate to prepare for that moment. Thanks, PTSD! (That’s a story for another time.)
Since my surgery was right around Christmas, it was difficult to enjoy the holidays that year. But thankfully, I got the best Christmas present of all: My results came back with clear margins, meaning they had removed all the abnormal cells from my cervix. I did NOT have cancer!
Going from patient to patient advocate
That entire experience was quite an ordeal, and one that I’m glad is long over. But having gone through such a difficult time, I felt compelled to take my mind off things and give back in some way. When Donald Trump was elected as President for the first time that year, and Planned Parenthood was becoming a target, I decided to become a volunteer. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while the very care that saved me was under threat. Access to reproductive health care isn’t just about abortions or birth control (although they’re important, too); sometimes, it’s about cancer prevention. I couldn’t change what I’d gone through, but I could use my voice to make sure someone else wouldn’t have to fight so hard to be heard—or get the care they needed.
Over the course of three years, I volunteered at multiple events throughout Los Angeles, representing Planned Parenthood. I marched in parades, manned information tables, and checked in guests at fundraising events. I also frequently shared my story for their promotional material, including in newsletters, audio clips, and even a video interview with Emily Ratajkowski, who is a huge Planned Parenthood supporter and feminist. But one of the things I’m most proud of is lobbying for Planned Parenthood as a Patient Storyteller at both the state and federal levels. I’ve told my story to both House and Congress members, urging them to support the vital services offered by Planned Parenthood and health clinics like theirs.
One of the most impactful meetings was with Congresswoman Maxine Waters in 2018. While it wasn’t my first time lobbying, it was my first time doing so in Washington, D.C. I was super nervous, despite being in a room full of women. But Congresswoman Waters put me at ease, smiling right at me and encouraging me to tell her my story.
“I couldn’t change what I’d gone through, but I could use my voice to make sure someone else wouldn’t have to fight so hard to be heard—or get the care they needed.”
As I recounted all the things I had gone through—the symptoms, the test results, the stage 0 fear-mongering, and the procedures—I began to sob. It was overwhelming. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed for crying, though. I didn’t want to look weak in front of a government official. It was silly, really. I’m sure I wasn’t the first or last person to cry in her office, but I didn’t want to let anyone down. However, when I was done and looked around the room, there wasn’t a dry eye in her office. Even the Congresswoman looked watery-eyed as she thanked me for sharing my story.
That moment made me realize that stories like mine were more than talking points—they were a reality lawmakers have to face. They need to hear from their constituents, especially when they’re potentially impacted by the policies these legislators are voting for.
No matter what side of the aisle you’re on, I think we can all agree that cancer screenings are important for everyone. So please, ladies, schedule those pap smears, especially if you’re having symptoms. I’m thankful I did, and that I was able to get seen so quickly in my hour of need.
Although I’m no longer volunteering with Planned Parenthood, I still rely on their services, including yearly pap tests. This routine test, which is easy to take for granted, became a turning point in my life. Without listening to my body and seeking out immediate care, my diagnosis might have come too late. I credit Planned Parenthood for saving me from a cancer diagnosis, and I’m forever grateful.
Liana Minassian, Contributing Entertainment Writer
Liana is an LA-based writer, editor, and photographer with over 12 years of experience in digital content creation. She specializes in entertainment and lifestyle content and especially loves it when the two subjects overlap. Aside from The EveryGirl, her work has been published with ScreenRant, TheThings, Thought Catalog, The Mary Sue, Food Revolution Network, Travel-Wise, and the Daily Meal, among others.
Featured graphic images credited to: Andreeew Hoang | Unsplash, JetCityImage | Adobe Stock, and Tactics Inc | Unsplash