"I would have had a heart attack," my hairstylist gasped, when I told her about my appointment for a routine pap smear.
In his white coat, the doctor told me he couldn't perform the smear because I had a discharge.
Days later, a postcard from my insurance company arrived, stating I had been tested for gonorrhea and chlamydia.
WHAT? The doctor hadn't told me about these tests. My heart pounded. Who had I had sex with? And when?
I called the doctor's office. "Yes, you were tested," the receptionist said. "The results were negative."
I wiped sweat from my forehead.
In his white coat, the doctor told me he couldn't perform the smear because I had a discharge.
Days later, a postcard from my insurance company arrived, stating I had been tested for gonorrhea and chlamydia.
WHAT? The doctor hadn't told me about these tests. My heart pounded. Who had I had sex with? And when?
I called the doctor's office. "Yes, you were tested," the receptionist said. "The results were negative."
I wiped sweat from my forehead.
