I write this at just after two in the morning, glass of wine and fag in hand; not my usual system I freely admit, but some things won't wait for the dawn. This afternoon I went for a cervical smear test, my first in a decade. It is not an experience I ever intend to repeat.

Smear tests are unpleasant, full stop. There can't be many women who would disagree with that. But for those with mental health problems, learning disabilities and/or a history of sexual abuse, the procedure can be exceptionally traumatic.

This isn't a subject I would expect the average person to devote a great deal of thought to, but healthcare providers have a responsibility to think about the needs of a whole range of patients. That is their job.

Much of the physical healthcare provided for people with mental health problems is frankly a disgrace. On average, those with severe mental illness die 10 years earlier than the rest of the population due to physical health problems.

Regular screening programmes are an important way of detecting problems as early as possible and thus increasing life expectancy. Encouraging those with mental health problems to attend such screenings and supporting them when they do ought to be a priority.

I'm not sure I'd apply the word "encourage" to my own experience. A doctor I had not met previously, while handing me a prescription in a packed waiting room, loudly informed me that I was "overdue a smear". "I'll book one," I mumbled, head down, aiming blindly for the door. "It's important!" he called after me.

This, in my experience, is the problem with GPs. After years of cramming facts into their brains before spewing them back on to exam papers, they seem to imagine that all human problems stem from a lack of knowledge. Errant behaviour – be it smoking or drinking or eating too much, or not exercising, or serial avoidance of cervical smears – can be instantly cured by provision of the relevant fact.

How ironic then that it was the death of Jade Goody, a woman famed for her "ignorance", that prompted me, like thousands of others, to finally bite the bullet.

The nurse was a perfectly kind and decent woman. The doctor she went off, mid-process, to fetch was probably more or less human too – by that point my judgment was somewhat impaired – but neither appeared to have even the most basic comprehension of my position.

"Why are you so upset?" asked the doctor, laughing, presumably in some misguided attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Lying naked from the waist down on a couch with my legs in the air didn't strike me as the most appropriate time to discuss it. "None of us like it," she told me, smiling. "But it's not as bad as going to the dentist." By the time I left, I was in such a state I cannot even remember going home.

Smear tests are grim, there's no getting around it, but there surely are ways of making them less traumatic. Half a minute's conversation before I was told to undress would have helped, as would an opportunity to talk for a moment afterwards. Neither was offered.

Being told repeatedly to relax is not in itself relaxing. Some guidance as to how to do so might have been more helpful.

But the biggest problem seemed to be a shocking lack of awareness, a complete inability to comprehend why some of us might prefer a trip to the dentist.

• Clare Allan writes on mental health issues for SocietyGuardian