[Every once in a while, we have to go something that blows. Something we’re not prepared for. Something, that at least, makes a good story…]

I looked down at my shirt, suddenly wondering if it was too revealing for this slightly backwoods New England waiting room. The few other people also waiting for the doctor were mostly over 40, fans of crocs and t-shirts advertising farm stands, and all seemed to be looking at me over their glasses or magazines. I turned back to the wall and checked my watch; I really wanted to get out of here so I could swing by Marshalls before handing the car over to my parents. A week out of the city had its perks – and cheap clothing was one of them.

The doctor herself opened the door to the waiting room and looked at me, motioning with her hand that I should follow her. I got up, vaguely wondering why she had come out to get me herself. After all, I had just gone in for a simple x-ray; proof that a dislocated rib I acquired as a kid was still dislocated.

Instead of walking inside an examination room, we stepped into her office, and she pushed my x-rays up on a light board so I could see them. Something looked strange. I blinked.

“So, you can see, right there, you’ve got a tumor on your ninth rib.”

A what? Huh? I shook my head. I felt like she was speaking French. I couldn’t understand. Read More »