Our family had endured some problems during the year, not the least of which was my father-in-law's declining health. He was in his eighties, and a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. Once a lawyer and a devotee of British history, we slowly but surely watched him become little more than a shell of his former self. He had been placed in an extended care facility that specialized in Alzheimer's Disease and other memory disorders of the elderly. My husband went to visit him faithfully every two weeks, often taking him out for ice cream or even for lunch. I saw him less frequently, perhaps once a month. Of course, we both went to all the small celebrations for him - Halloween and Thanksgiving. Now it was coming up on Christmas.

My gynecologist, following six months of unsuccessful hormone therapy, suggested a second colposcopy. Somehow this didn't bother me much. I knew what to expect and felt sort of like an old pro. As we were arranging an appointment for the procedure, my husband had the brilliant idea of having it done the same day his father's home was having their Christmas party. Then we could go right from the hospital to the Christmas party, since the hospital was already on the way. I can see the logic in doing this, since we are in a pretty isolated area where a trip to the hospital or to the care home is a fairly major undertaking. Yet, I knew I would want to go home and sleep off the medication and curl up under my quilt and feel sorry for myself for a few hours.

The morning of my second colposcopy, I dressed for the Christmas party. I wore a green silk blouse, and had my hair done up with a big silver barrette with tiny bells on it. I felt a bit foolish going into the outpatient department looking like a sorry excuse for a Christmas tree, but this is the way it was to be.

I have to admit the second colposcopy was easy. I left feeling pretty well, and jingling every time I turned my head. I wasn't looking forward to the hour and a half drive to the home, nor to the party for the patients. All the way, I sat stiff and still, afraid to move. When I shifted position even a little, I could feel warm outpourings of blood surging from me. I tried so hard not to wiggle and to prop myself firmly against the door when we were going around corners.

When we arrived at the Christmas party, I grabbed my husband by the arm and said, "Come in the bathroom with me." I had to assess the damage and use the facilities, but honestly was afraid to be alone. He turned his back and faced the wall as I proceeded with damage control. The bleeding was very heavy. I flushed a toilet full of dark red blood and padded myself with five...yes five...maxi pads. Then, I guess we went jingling merrily on our way. Merry, scary Christmas!

I waited for the results to come back from pathology, with little question in my mind of what they were going to be. I wasn't surprised when "mild" hyperplasia and metaplasia had now become "moderate" and that adenoma now included squamous cell dysplasia and enlarged nucleii. Sorry cells, sorry me, sorry holiday.

My hormone therapy was doubled for six months in hopes of bringing about a positive result. I was now taking 10 milligrams of Provera daily, as well as a thyroid hormone and a mild oral chemo.