The last time I spread my legs for a doctor (and no, I haven’t slept with anyone in scrubs), Lindsay Lohan was a law-abiding citizen. Somehow, I had managed to put off my visit to the friendly gyno longer than I cared to admit. A close friend’s recent alarming diagnosis post-gyno visit had fueled me into action. Oh, and my medical insurance suddenly had an expiration date. I’d just been laid off from a job I’d held down for the last six years, the lease on my New York City apartment was about to end, along with the dollars in my bank account. I was, in what you might call, a very large pickle. Keep reading »
