Endometriosis and Cervical Biopsy: What I wish I knew

Prior to my first excision surgery, my doctor informed me that I would need a cervical biopsy. I wasn't happy about it since I had already gone through so many tests already but he reassured me that it would be a quick in office procedure and I would only feel a pinch. He then prescribed a pain pill to take an hour before the procedure to help minimize any discomfort. He also instructed me to arrange for someone to drive me home, as the medication would impair my ability to drive. I thought to myself if this is such a simple in office procedure why does it require pain pills and a driver.

The day of the procedure finally came. About an hour or so before the biopsy, I swallowed the prescribed pain pill with a glass of water, hoping it would take the edge off. As I sat in the passenger seat on the way to the appointment, I felt drowsy but not entirely out of it. Anxiety curled in my stomach, a deep unease creeping up my spine anticipating what was about to go down. I kept telling myself it would be quick and that the medication would dull whatever pain I might feel, hoping that repeating that to myself would help ease my anxiety but it didn't.

When I arrived at the office, the medical assistant led me to a small, sterile exam room. The air was cold, carrying that sharp scent of disinfectant that always made me uneasy. The walls were bare except for an anatomy poster, and a tray of metal instruments gleamed under the fluorescent lights. In the center of the room sat the exam chair, reclined almost flat with stirrups extended at the foot of it. I hesitated for a moment before climbing in, my hands clammy as I adjusted the thin paper drape over my lap.

Lying there, feet in stirrups, exposed and vulnerable, I felt my heart pound. The positioning itself was already uncomfortable—hips slightly lifted, back arched awkwardly, and my legs spread apart in a way that made every nerve in my body tense. The doctor entered, offering a polite smile as he explained the procedure once again. I nodded, trying to breathe deeply, trying to convince myself that it wouldn’t be as bad as I feared.

But the moment he started, a sharp, searing pain ripped through me. I screamed so loud the entire office could hear me. Instantly I felt like I was being burned from the inside, it was unbearable, and far worse than I could have ever imagined. It was as if my doctor flipped the switch and triggered a full on flare up. My abdomen and pelvis felt like I was being stabbed over and over again by multiple people at the same time. I gasped, gripping the bed so hard hoping for a sense of relief. 

The doctor assured me it would be over soon, but each second felt like an eternity. The scraping sensation sent shockwaves through my pelvis, each one more painful than the last. Tears streamed down my face as I tried—and failed—to hold back a cry. The pain medicine barely made a dent in the intensity of it.

Finally, after what felt like forever, it was over. As I lay there, trying to process what had just happened I felt traumatized, vulnerable and embarrassed at the same time.

The doctor spoke, but I barely registered his words. I was too focused on the lingering pain, the throbbing ache that had settled deep inside me.

I shakily got dressed, still disoriented, my hands trembling as I reached for my bag. Walking out of the office, I felt drained, physically and emotionally. I had been sore before, but this was different—an ache that settled in my core, making every step feel like a reminder of what I had just endured. The soreness lasted over a week, making even small movements painful. And the worst part? I hadn’t known that there had been another way.

Seeing how much pain I was in during the procedure, the doctor looked at me with genuine concern. As I wiped the tears from my face, he gently told me that if I ever needed another cervical biopsy in the future, I could opt to have it done under anesthesia. He explained that for some patients, especially those with conditions like endometriosis, the pain can be significantly worse, and being asleep for the procedure could make it much more bearable. It was the first time I realized that this agonizing experience didn’t have to be the default. I left that office shaken, but I also left with knowledge that I wished I had going into it—that there was another option.

Fast forward to preparing for my second excision surgery. I thought I had completed all the required tests, but my insurance decided they wanted another cervical biopsy before approving my procedure. Because, you know, insurance loves making things easy for us.

There was no way in hell I was going through that awake again. This time, I had a choice—I could do it under anesthesia, as part of my surgery prep. And I took it without hesitation.

The second time around, it wasn’t just a simple in-office procedure. It was treated like surgery.

The night before, I had to fast—no food or water after midnight. I also had to do a special pre-op surgical wash to reduce the risk of infection. The whole thing felt official. When I arrived at the surgery center, they took my vitals, ran blood work, and prepped me like they would for any other operation.

I was placed on a gurney and wheeled into pre-op, where the anesthesiologist came by to go over everything. The entire team treated me with the same level of care and attention as my first team, but this was a completely different experience. They explained what would happen, reassured me, and most importantly, made sure I wouldn’t feel a thing.

Once in the operating room, they placed an oxygen mask over my face, and within seconds, I was out. No panic, no pain, no trauma. When I woke up in recovery, the biopsy was done. I was groggy, but comfortable, and I hadn’t felt a single thing. I was taken to a quiet room to rest until the anesthesia wore off.

Yes, it was more involved. Yes, it required fasting, prep, and a recovery period. But you know what? It was worth it. Being asleep for the procedure made all the difference. Instead of feeling like I had survived a trauma, I woke up and it was simply over.

After the procedure, I had to have someone drive me home, as I was still groggy from the anesthesia. Though the immediate pain was significantly less than my first experience, I still dealt with cramping for over a week and a half. The discomfort felt similar to a bad endometriosis flare-up. I had also experienced this level of cramping after my first in-office biopsy, but this time, the difference was that I wasn’t reliving the trauma of the procedure itself. I could focus on managing the soreness without the lingering distress of having felt every second of it.