Like many middle-class white ladies in their 20s, before this summer my knowledge of human papillomavirus came from that infamous HPV-freak-out episode of "Girls." You know, the one where Hannah freaks about getting HPV and her ultra-bohemian friend eases her woes by telling her "all adventurous women do."
The episode is full of less-than-truths, lots of confusion and a fair amount of anxiety that left me assuming HPV either was synonymous with a regrettable ankle tattoo or something that ultimately would kill me. And yet I felt fairly comfortable with my knowledge.
I study sex and have my fair share of sex-positive friends, so when I started bleeding after sex I knew something was wrong. After the usual battery of tests came back negative, my well-intentioned nurse practitioner suggested taking a break from sex, as if ignoring the problem would solve it. Instead, I convinced my primary doctor to perform a pap smear, which checks for irregular cells on the cervix.
A week later, the results came back abnormal and I freaked a bit.
Further tests were needed: a punch biopsy of my cervix, to be precise. Nobody likes the word "biopsy," but those of us with lady parts have zero desire to have anything with the word "punch" done to our precious cervixes. After scheduling the violent-sounding procedure, I quickly hung up and crumpled onto the floor.
I then proceeded to call every single woman I knew to tell them about my abnormal cervix and I was shocked by how many people had been through the same thing. I made all of them describe the procedure in gory detail. I Googled a lot. I called back my doctor and made her explain the process. By the third slightly teary call, I also was prescribed a Xanax to take before the procedure. I was a mess.
By the day of the biopsy, I was well-informed but still nervous-as a natural hypochondriac would be. If "Girls" got anything right, it is that all adventurous women do have this experience-not necessarily the punch-in-the-cervix moment, but one of walking into unknown, treacherous-appearing territory with possibly Xanaxed but strong hearts.
The biopsy itself is a little pinch from the cervix, and yes, it was uncomfortable. But later, after a glass of wine, a few Tylenol and some binge-watching of "Battlestar Galactica," I was almost embarrassed by how nervous I had been.
Then of course there was the waiting, waiting to find if the little irregular lesions on my cervix were cancer.
They weren't. They healed. Bleeding after sex stopped. I'm scheduled for yearly paps until the results come back normal but for the most part, I'm feeling like myself.
Luckily, throughout my panic, I had a pretty incredible partner who was all logical and comforting as I fell down the rabbit hole of WebMD and HPV message boards. I would drink bourbon and tell him about the crazy things I read online, and he would hold my hand and remind me that I was not HPVsurvivor49 and that I was going to be OK. Although there is no HPV test for men, having an honest conversation about STI risk can be an oddly bonding and intimate experience-especially over a bottle of Kentucky's finest.
Niki Fritz is a RedEye special contributor. For more information about HPV, visit cdc.gov/hpv. Do not consult your Magic 8 ball.