It's probably a little dramatic to say that I had some "health scares" this week, but given that I am 27 years old and that my doctor had to give me a bit of a wake up call regarding my physical health, I don't know that "health scare" is an unjustified statement.
There's a long narrative preceding the events of this week, but it can easily be summed up this way: I am a hypochondriac. I'm the guy who feels a tickle in his throat and, after two minutes on WebMD, I have diagnosed myself with a terminal illness when, in reality, I'm just the guy with a popcorn kernel stuck in my throat.
As a result, it shouldn't come as any surprise that I have had the same mole checked six times (not being dramatic) because I have convinced myself that it is melanoma. Now, in my defense, the mole is under a tattoo and it has always been slightly raised (a fact I choose to ignore), so I am adamant that the little heathen is plotting against me due to its disguise. Of course, every time, the doctor tells me, "It's nothing to worry about. Just keep an eye on it for any changes or irregularities."
This particular mole also happens to be particularly hairy - so hairy that it sometimes feels like I have a third pet (I'm gagging with you). Well, that changes last week when all the hair just kind of...fell off. Naturally, I panicked and made an appointment and began picking out headstones. I arrived very promptly to the doctor's office on Tuesday morning and, much to everyone's shock, it turns out that the mole is not cancerous.
By now, you're probably wondering why I wasted your time with that story and perhaps sent you into a panic over my mention of "health scares." Obviously, there's a reason.
