We’ve all had x-rays taken a time or twenty-five. Almost eight years ago I had my last x-rays taken, because I had to have surgery on my left wrist for the second time. I hate that scar, because people who don’t know me always wonder whether or not I tried to slice my wrist open on purpose [definitely not, instead I broke it due to a slip and fall on black ice back in Wisconsin]. Therapists flat out ask – well they have to, I guess. In any event, it is not a preferred conversation starter.