It's Hard to Be Happy

Today I had my twice-annual checkup with my dermatologist. He inspected every inch of my skin with a magnifying glass while I held my breath, fearing that any minute he would find something suspicious that would require cutting out, freezing off or, even worse -- watching. But today must be my lucky day because the doctor declared me totally fine. 

Ha! Totally fine on the outside maybe, but what about what lies within? How's my pancreas? Or my liver, or spleen or stomach or lungs and all the rest, don't even think about my breast or ovaries? And what about those two stents they stuck in an artery going into my heart four years ago -- are they still functioning? Are they getting rusty? Who knows?

Come to think of it, my vision isn't great these days. Might  I have a brain tumor? Could it be glaucoma? Or one of those diseases you see advertised all the time whenever you turn on your TV, like IBS or IBSC or Moderate to Severe Psoriasis with Rheumatoid Arthritis? Or god forbid a million times, mesothelioma? 

So big deal -- I don't have skin cancer. At least not today. Whoop-de-doo.