Anal Cancer


Angelique, a forty something year old Dominican American, enters the exam room. “Hi doctor.”

“How are you?”

“Not as good as you,” she says and then turns and sticks out her behind. “I got a problem with my bum. It’s bleeding, and I want you to check me for cancer. I saw the Farrah thing last night and I freaked out.” Then she walks right up to me and sticks her finger in my face. “And any woman who tells you she hasn’t been tapped down there is a liar.”

“Angelica you kill me,” I say.

“It’s not Angelica. It’s Angelique. My mother named me after a vampire on Dark Shadows. She’s such a crazy bitch. God I love her,” she says making a sign of the cross.

“Is she dead?”

“No, I was praying that day would come soon.”

I love Angelique. She is a complete character with exaggerated affectations that always make me laugh. “Well in order to check you out, I need to do a rectal exam and an anal pap,” I say.

“Do what you got to do,” she says hopping on the table face down with her pants undone. Then she shimmies them over her buttocks to reveal a black thong. “I wore it special for you even though I know it’s a waste.”

1.7 in 100,00 women contract anal cancer each year. Fortunately, Angelique was not one of them. Farrah Fawcett’s discolsure of cancer has shined a light on a disease state that many individuals would rather hide in the shadows then confront. I applaude Ms. Fawcett’s bravery and the women like Angelique, who confront their fears and talk to their doctor.

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