I strode into the office with my heart in my throat. I gently explained to the nurse that if I received any bad news, I would break down and collapse onto the floor. I was on the edge.
"Lie to me. Lie to me. Lie to me!!!"
The Dr. came in and examined me.
"Yes, I see the discoloration, the skin texture...I don't think it is anything you need to worry about."
"How long do I have, Doc? Days? Weeks? Hours?", I sobbed.
"Ah, you are fine. Don't worry."
"Biopsy? Punch biopsy? Needle aspiration?", I screeched. Hands wringing, teeth gnashing...
"Ah, No. No need. You'll be fine. I have diagnosed 6 people with this disease since Christmas. You don't have it. Trust me."
Looking at him sideways, I finally conceded that maybe he was right and I would live thru this after all. He then proceeded to spend 20 minutes reading me text messages from his daughter, who is a comedian/hypochondriac in California. He also said that I should consider stand-up, that I would be very effective on stage.
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