We need to do a better job of debunking HPV myths – women’s lives depend on it

Two thirds of women believed testing positive for HPV equated to an immediate cancer diagnosis, which doesn’t surprise me. I hadn’t heard of HPV until I was about 15

We often discuss the alarmingly prevalent stigma surrounding sexually transmitted infections in abstract terms. It’s bad, we say, things should have moved on by now.

But they haven’t. Because what often slips under the radar, are the far-reaching effects of treating those things as inherently shameful, when in reality it’s often just a matter of being more vigilant, and seeing healthcare professionals more regularly. In other words, treating it as calmly as we approach contracting chickenpox.

Unfortunately, it’s no different when it comes to the human papilloma virus, or HPV, as it’s commonly known. According to a survey of over 2,000 women by Jo’s Cervical Cancer Trust, a shocking number may delay getting checked out over the misguided belief that a positive diagnosis of HPV – which isn’t an STI, but can cause things like genital warts – would mean that their partner is cheating on them.

Instead of embracing cervical cancer screenings, which have been proven to prevent 75 per cent of cases of cervical cancer, 40 per cent of the women surveyed associated a potentially life-saving smear test with that negative connotation of an HPV diagnosis.

Two thirds of women also believed that testing positive for HPV equated to an immediate cancer diagnosis, which, unfortunately, doesn’t surprise me. I hadn’t heard of HPV until I was about 15, around the same time that reality star Jade Goody died from cervical cancer at the age of 27. It was about a year after the HPV vaccination programme for girls was first introduced in the UK. Before finding out otherwise, I thought HPV was a synonym for cervical cancer.

It wasn’t until my form tutor at the time shared her own story with us, and drove home the importance of making sure we were doing all we could to protect ourselves, that I realised the extent to which taking preventative measures could save lives.

I learned that HPV can lay dormant for long periods of time, that you can get it from non-penetrative, or skin-to-skin contact, that not all strains are life-threatening. I also learned, crucially, that while getting vaccinated would be helpful, it still wouldn’t provide the same protection that a screening would.

Because of the time that was taken to explain exactly what HPV was, and how you could or couldn’t get it, it hadn’t occurred to me that it should be seen as something to be ashamed of. Of course, not everyone will have had the same exposure to myth-busting lessons, or healthcare, that many of the teenagers in my school received.

If more of us knew how common it was – as many as eight in 10 women will contract a strain of HPV at some stage in their lifetime, again, many of which are harmless – perhaps things would be different.

There’s also a lot to be said for those who, for reasons ranging from embarrassment to surviving sexual trauma to having a learning disability, understandably find cervical cancer screenings difficult, or triggering. Rates of screenings might also increase if more nurses and doctors were aware of the easily enforced practices of adapting their language or behaviour to suit a patient’s needs.

We have a long way to go when it comes to affording women the support they need to be free of the shame and fear that often restricts them from seeking life-saving help, especially when sex or intimacy is a factor.

But one thing that could take us one step closer to that goal is debunking the myth that remaining ignorant about HPV is in any way a viable means of avoiding it.