I’m going to be straight with you here from the get-go, reader: I put things off. Constantly.

My car insurance expires in about 30 hours and I haven’t asked the meercat what I’m supposed to do next, there’s a tax deadline on the horizon and I don’t know where half my receipts are and the doctor has been texting me to say I’m due for a routine smear test.

I’m not the only one due for the cervical screening. Throughout the West Midlands, more than 530,000 of us people with a cervix, aged between 25 and 64, have been putting off their screening.

Read more: I cosied up at Birmingham city centre cafe with a stunning Christmas view and laughably low prices

The number in Birmingham alone is 138,220 and, keen to remove myself from this statistic (but more importantly, to avoid being a cervical cancer statistic), I booked in with my local surgery to just get the thing over and done with.

I hate the idea of it, honestly. Past bad experiences make the idea of laying around vulnerable with a stranger feel a bit too much to handle, especially when I’ve got other things on.

But I know it’s rather this now than longer, more intensive experiences later – god forbid.

With that in mind, I thought perhaps I’d lay it all out with you ( don’t say it, cheeky ) and tell you what going for your smear test is really like; the bare truth ( don’t say it, cheeky ) that no one seems to talk about.

And so here’s an exact run-down of the entire experience, start to finish:

Preparing for my smear test

After logging on to the NHS app and booking an appointment, an evening slot that meant I wouldn’t disrupt my work schedule, I didn’t have to do much but wait. Easy peasy.

The app is really handy, and they text to remind me of my appointment time, which meant that I didn’t let it slide off my radar.

Thoughts that I now know are totally ridiculous entered my mind: Should I trim?! Shave my legs? What pants shall I wear? I reminded myself I wasn’t going on a fast-and-loose Tinder date just had a quick shower before.

All of that, reader, would transpire to be completely unnecessary noise – I don’t think the nurse looked at my shins once.

Pants off time

I’ve never been for a smear and had a man standing in front of me with a speculum, thank god. No offence, dudes, but I don’t want you there.

You can ring ahead and ask when you book if it settles your mind, and if you want someone to go with you so you feel safer, you can ask about that too.

I didn’t, I just went in and passed the time of day with the nurse as though I was popping in to pick up a prescription.

At my local surgery, there’s a bed, but it’s not a scary and super exposing set-up – no stirrups or frightening, chrome surgical equipment everywhere.

The nurse drew the curtain and I took my jeans and pants off but everything else stays on, so I cosied into my favourite oversized cuddly hoodie, lay down, and thought of England (specifically that time we beat Germany 5-1 in Munich in 2001).

On the bed, I covered myself over with what looks like a big napkin and lay down.

Then, feet together but knees apart, the nurse came in and barely touched me at all .

There was no awkward fumbling or super invasive touching. She just swooped in with the little tube, I felt a little bit of movement, and after seconds of sweeping for cells, it was done.

In my mind’s eye, I’d barely got to the minute that Carsten Jancker got one past goalie David Seaman in the sixth minute in Munich.

There was no pain, not really anything I’d call physical discomfort either. Sometimes people have a bit of spotting afterwards, but I had nothing of the sort and I never have.

From walking in the room to leaving, it must have been three minutes. And most of that was taken up by me trying to get my leg back into my pants.

The truth about smear tests in the West Midlands

The truth is, for the average cervix owner, a smear test is such an unremarkable, easily forgettable experience that takes just seconds.

I spent far longer thinking and worrying about it than the nurse did sweeping. All that worry was for nothing.

That’s what no one seems to talk about, I’ve found. Perhaps because it feels like you’re dismissing people’s feelings when they tell you they’re worried and you shrug it off as a non-issue.

That’s why I wanted to share every second of my sweep with you in this story: I hear you, I share you worries, but I promise, it’s nowhere near as uncomfortable as you might think.

This is your sign, if you needed it: Book your cervical screening right this minute and tell your sisters to, too.