I clutched the photo of my bare uterus and fiddled with my fingers. My eyes didn't dare meet the doctor's. "Can I keep it?" I asked, my fingers now grazing the glossy ultrasound. "Um... sure?" He laughed. I was eighteen, and this was my first visit to the gynecologist. I had only had sex, protected, twice. My neuroticism told me that it was time to get on birth control and get a pap smear.
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