THERE are many things I’d prefer to be doing on a Tuesday morning than having the face of a total stranger inches away from my nether regions.

I could have been binge-watching Netflix or having a boozy lunch with my friends, but alas, it was time for my smear test.

Cervical screenings are offered to women over the age of 25 every three years and every five years for women aged 50 to 64. My screening was due in September. I blame Brexit and Boris Johnson for the fact that it took me so long to book my appointment.

Isn’t it astonishing what takes precedence above the things that – while undoubtedly devoid of any joy – could potentially save your life?

Still, smear tests aren’t my idea of fun. Not least because doctors’ surgeries favour that harsh fluorescent strip lighting. I understand that medical professionals need to be able to see what they are working with, but is it too much to ask that they soften the glare with a wee lamp or a few strategically placed candles?

READ MORE: ‘Shocking’ poll uncovers cervical cancer virus myths

During my appointment I asked the nurse, as I always do, whether things are getting any better. Are women still missing their screenings or are they queuing up to get the all-clear that everything is OK?

She told me that after the tragic death of Jade Goody from cervical cancer in 2009 at the age of just 27, there was a surge in women booking their screening tests. As the story drifted further from public consciousness, however, the numbers fell – most significantly among younger women.

I get it. There’s a sense of infallibility that comes with being young(ish). I won’t get my test results back for another few weeks but I’m youthfully certain that everything will be fine.

The procedure itself is the work of mere minutes. It takes longer to make a decent bacon sandwich than it does to get your smear test. Providing you have worn easy-to-remove clothing and not – as I did one year – turned up in skinny jeans and lace-up boots, you can be in and out in under 10 minutes and that’s you done for another three years.

You undress behind the curtain, as the nurse chats away about what she’s having for lunch, and then she asks you to relax and reminds you to BREATHE. Once the speculum is inside you, she swabs quickly and efficiently and then you are free to put your pants back on and congratulate yourself for being so proactive with your health.

She doesn’t care one jot if you have waxed your bikini line or shaved your legs – yours isn’t the first vulva she has laid eyes on that day and it won’t be the last.

It’s so important that we normalise the procedure and encourage women to take the time to attend their appointments. While a cervical smear test may not be high up on anybody’s bucket list, it should nevertheless be given prime position on your to-do list.

January is cervical cancer awareness month. It is the most common cancer in women aged

25-35 in Scotland. Cervical screening is our best protection against the disease and saves the lives of more than 5000 women per year. It checks for high-risk human papillomavirus (HPV) and cervical cell changes. The HPV vaccine, offered to girls, has meant that levels of cancer-causing HPV have dropped by nearly 90% in young women.

If you are somebody that phones the doctor the minute your smear reminder letter falls through your door, that’s fantastic.

If – like me – you often prioritise the day-to-day grind over your healthcare, it’s never too late. When I walked through the door of the doctor’s surgery, four months and four reminders after my first letter, there was no chastisement from the nurse. She didn’t berate me for the time it took for me to turn up, nor did she lecture me about what Greta Thunburg would have to say about the trees that had to be cut down to persuade me to attend.

In truth, the nurses know this procedure saves lives. They know that cervical cancer is preventable and curable, and they want as many women to prioritise their wellbeing as possible.

From speaking to friends, I know how daunting it can be to attend your first smear. You aren’t sure what to expect and you’ve heard horror stories about how painful it is. Frankly, you don’t want to get naked from the waist down in front of a stranger. If you are nervous about attending your screening, tell a friend and let them come with you to offer support if that would help. Speak to the nurse about your concerns and she will make accommodations to ensure that you are as comfortable as possible.

We’re dealing with a cruel – but largely preventable – disease. During this month of awareness and beyond I make a plea to women across Scotland: book your screening if it is due. Check in with your friends and family to see if they are up to date with their appointments.

Take 10 minutes to do something that could potentially save your life.