Okay, so it’s my own fault for finding a doctor after almost three decades without. Yes, I’m young still so it’s not as bad. But no one quite believes me.
Today I have spent four hours in transit and waiting for tests. Before that I couldn’t leave my apartment. It was my own doing, getting up and going, but it was Dorian’s voice at the back of my mind.
I know I haven’t talked about him much recently, but he still exists, I swear.
Actually, I could blame him for this. He found a letter sent to me asking about when I had been screened for cancer last. In my defense, this was the first such letter I had received.
Upon hearing about my situation, he demanded I find a doctor. I got pissed at him, every other sexual partner has only been interested in getting me on the pill.
Yes, I live dangerously. But the rate at which I could get pregnant is pretty low according to genetics.
Apparently it didn’t occur to him. He did mutter something about how that’d be nice. I could see the nasty, smutt filled thoughts running through his head.
He did it because of age and screening. I’ve never been screened before, that’s a problem. I understand that, complete understand.
But I haven’t done it before because of what almost happened this morning. When I almost missed my appointment because I was paralyzed by fear.
I’ve stood up to men two and three times my size. I’ve removed myself from bad and worse than bad situations. But try to get myself to a doctor’s appointment and I lose my freaking mind.
So while I was supposed to edit today, all I’ve been able to do is whine. Not even about the tests, but about how vulnerable I feel.
Whine, whine, whine.
Know what I’ll be whining about tomorrow?
How I didn’t get any work done because I was feeling vulnerable.
And there’ll be this voice at the back of my head whispering, “You’re weak and pathetic for being vulnerable.” And nothing will shut it up except a good working over.
Except Dorian won’t er… supply me with what I want until attached rhetoric tests are done. Stupid tease.