Thinking through

There was a little gold ring with an opal shaped heart in the middle and diamond flecks on each side.  This was to be worn on my left hand until the day i married, and given to me in a ceremony of sorts, in which I sat in our upstairs living room and my father put this on my finger.  or maybe I grabbed it out of the box instead.

My parents (mom?) wanted me to have a purity ring.  It was something espoused by abstinence based religious organizations, and was intended to symbolize a girl's bond with her father, and more importantly, her virginity, until such time as she was married to a nice Christian man and shared her virginity with him.  I think there might have been a special service about this at my church, or maybe some youth event with lots of prepubescent girls screaming allegiance, but i can't remember.

But I can remember seeing the ring in the window of the jewelry store, and wanting it.  My  mom explaining the purity thing to me, and basically telling me I would get the ring if I would make this commitment... to my family...to my church... to myself... to my future husband.  I don't know what my conception of "sex" or "virginity" or "love" was then -- I think I knew that I didn't know.  Mom told me it was magical.  I don't honestly know if I ever intended to stay a virgin until my marital bed, but I know that I intended to own and wear that ring, because it was pretty.

So, on my birthday (was it 13?) I received the ring.  I think we sat around the living room, and maybe my dad put it on my hand, maybe we prayed.  I don't recall being particularly stricken by the moment, other than being excited for the ring, and yes, excited for this prize that I held for my future husband, unsure yet just what that was.

Fast-forward through college and beyond.  The first boyfriend was special, the rest were not.  I struggled with guilt at trying to be "promiscuous" and being restrained by this ring (which had long since ceased to be worn).  I did still wear it sometimes to stave off potential suitors, and I can remember being asked in my freshmen college English class -- by someone on the football team -- what it meant...stumbling over it because I didn't know any more.

My first year of law school.  I have been sexually active on and off for about 4 years, no more partners than the number of years.  I've never spoken to my mother about this, and am horrified by thought of a gynecological exam.  I would never have one - anyway - because that must mean I was sexually active.  But my best friend is diagnosed with cervical cancer.  No matter -- I could never have a Pap, because it would show up on my parents' insurance and they would know I was having sex.  No way.  I wait.  I wake in the night terrified I could have cancer, or some crazy disease, but I've never been tested because I am too afraid my parents would find out.

finally, I can't wait any more.  I am just too afraid.  I owe this friend my life, or at least my fertility.  I go to the gyno for the first time, I am so completely horrified.  I receive a call a few weeks later,and the worst thing I suspected is true -- I have precancerous cells growing in my cervix.  I feel guilty, I feel shame, i feel dirty.  I have no idea who did this to me.  The doctor and nurses tell me something like 75% of the population has this disease, this HPV.  It doesn't matter -- I need some sort of gyno surgery -- something I know can't be hidden from my parents because of the costs and insurance issues involved.  Terror ensures.

The terror of telling my mother (I can remember being drunk, it was night, I was in a car, and trying to say it nonchalantly) was nothing compared to the terror of actually going to the surgery, completely alone.  Tears were streaming down my face during the otherwise routine procedure.  I had asked ahead of time to be giving relaxing drugs, but when I arrived, they told me I wouldn't need it -- it was routine.  No matter, i was as tense as a tight rope and crying the whole time.  The nurses cooed to me in Spanish.  They didn't have these problems.  The room was, of course, white and sterile.  I can remember all of the pregnant women in the lobby, and being able to see the ocean from the window as i lay straddled.  how nice, Miami Beach.  Afterward, they gave me some percosets and told me to watch for bleeding.  The pain i felt inside was much worse.  The lights in my apartment seemed extra bright, my bed not soft enough, the blankets not warm enough.

Since this experience, innumerable friends and acquaintances have told me they also had a Leep, the scientific name for this procedure.  However, none have experienced the agony that I went through.  When I try to figure out why, I blame the ring.