by Maggie Downs posted in Life

There?s the birth of my son as I wrote about it on my blog. Then there?s the rest of the story ?
the significant complications involved with my labor and delivery, an experience that was so distressing it took me a couple years to be more open about it. And then there are deeper wells of feelings and hurts, which I haven?t even begun to mine yet.
This is to say that the birth of my son was traumatic -- so much so that I haven?t gone to a doctor since my postpartum visit.
That?s not so bad, you might say.
Wrong.

My son is 3. That?s three well-woman exams I?ve missed. Three years of aches and minor illnesses and things I probably should?ve had checked out but didn't. And I?m old enough that I really should?ve had a mammogram by now. Maybe two. Instead, I sucked up the pain, and I ignored myself. I treated myself like the pile of laundry in the corner of the bedroom that should be put away, but it's easier if I pretend I don't see it.
That?s no way to care for a body. And that?s definitely not the model I want to establish for my son (who has been taken to the doctor on a regular basis, just to be clear).

Still, the thought of going into a doctor?s office makes me want to cry. It?s such a vulnerable place to be. I can't even think about it without my limbs going cold and my heart beating rapid-fire. The very last place I want to be in this world is on an exam table with a virtual stranger inspecting the source of so much trauma.
Compoundin...