VIII

4-7-2006

Ain't That Just an Uper-cut to the Boob

I've had it in my head the last couple days that I've come down with a touch of cancer. I won't go into the why of the situation. I will say that I kept myself up all the other night freaking out about it. Something weird happens to me at night. I sort of lose all sense. Whatever I'm feeling during the day, I feel deeper at night, and I abandon all perspective and logic. Then the sun comes up, and I become more rational and make fun of myself for being such a tool.
Here's how I imagined a doctor's appointment would go after I got out of bed the other morning and was no longer certain that I was dying:
"What about this lump, Doctor?"
"That's fat."
"Oh, well what about this mass in my stomach? My grandmother had a mass the size of a grapefruit in her stomach by the time they caught it. She dies six months later."
"Those are your abdominal muscles."
"I don't have abdominal muscles."
"Yes you do."
"No I don't. It's a tumor and I'm dying."
"Let me ask you. Can you get yourself from a reclined position to a seated one without the use of a crane or magic?"
"Yeah."
"Then it's not a tumor. It's your abs."
"Huh. Well what about that little bump? What did the biopsy show?"
"When we did the biopsy it burst."
"You mean when you cut it, it spread out and infected an even bigger area with the cancer?"
"No, I mean it was a zit."
"Oh."

I'm going to go home and watch the Gilmore Girls now. That should cheer me up.
Right then, good night, and good luck.