I went to a new doctor yesterday because the old doctor couldn't figure out what to write to the insurance company so that I could get back on my beloved celebrex and be able to walk without wishing for a speedy death. I called this doctor's office, told them my problem, and they said,"Oh, we do that all the time." I said, "Cool, then when can you see me?"

I liked him well enough except for his obvious conclusion that I'm fat. Wow. Really? I had no idea. I just thought that was baby fat. Geez! I mean, seriously. I've been working on my body all summer and you just realized I'm fat? In one visit? That's amazing!

OK, sarcasm aside, I did actually like him. But in the course of our interview, I realized in horror, that I hadn't had an annual exam in two years. I asked him for referrals, started calling and found one that could get me in today. I've been uncomfortable and thought I might have a bladder infection, but I think it was more horror, that only a couple years after a huge cone biopsy, that I'd blown off my annual for two freaking years.

I saw a nurse practitioner. Of course, in the process of things, she asked me when my last mammogram was.

For several years, I've been avoiding a mammogram. I kept telling myself that it was because I was afraid of the pain. If you know me, I have a pretty high threshold for pain, so when I reasoned that out, I realized that was kind of bullshit. I had time to reason it today because the midwife was in and out a lot. I kept trying to figure out what was such a big deal for me?

We started discussing when and how I would get a mammogram. I asked for a couple xanax and she smirked at me and said something condescending and I said I was very afraid of the pain. Holy crap, if I didn't I keep panicking. In the back of my head, I'm thinking, "Why is this making me so panicky?" My stomach was jumping like a cricket on crack and my boobs ached at the anticipation of being squished within an inch of their lives and I wanted to run out of the office like my butt was on fire -- Still no sense of the truth of the matter for me. She said rather snippily, "Well, you can always choose not to get one, though I'm not recommending that."

And I'm thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with me?!" It's a stupid test. Simultaneously, it is all I can do to stay in the stupid chair and not bolt streaker-esque down the hall.

Then I suddenly blurted out, "When I was in my 20s, I was pretty badly abused. I really need a couple xanax and my husband can drive." She stopped, her jaw dropped a little and she looked at me and simply said, "Thank you for telling me that." I started to bawl like a baby. My brain might not have known, but my spirit sure did.

I feel sad and frightened, but frankly, mostly angry. I'm angry that there's still some vestige of a victim in me and that despite being in jail in another state (Man, I sure could pick them back then), that bastard can still bring me to tears. It's been 25 years -- a whole life time ago and still these tears. I'm waiting like a crushing teenager to pick up Mike at 5 because I need a hug.

The nurse practitioner brought me the 'script and my first mammogram is Tuesday.