Wednesday, February 6, 2013


I had this roommate in college with a little thing for medical textbooks. She was a dance major, but she had more NCLEX and DSM titled tomes than any med or nursing student.

If I had a cough- she was there waiting to diagnose a rare fungal lung infection. If I had a rash- obviously something stemming from a rare autoimmune disease found primarily in Hasidic Jewish men.    Anxiety over a breakup- there was a diagnosis for that.

She obviously rubbed off on me. Twenty years later, and here I was yesterday...

"My. Ribs. Hurt."

"K. Sometimes things hurt."

"No. Not a good hurt. Like a HURT hurt."

"Ok. Sometimes things hurt hurt. Give it a day."

You don't understand. It HURT hurts in a weird place. In between the ribs. I think I have rib cancer."

"There is no such thing as... Never mind."

And today....

"Hey, guess what?!"


"My ribs don't hurt anymore. I don't think I have rib cancer."

"I told you that it was just a twenty-four hour rib cancer."

I love when people get me. Without questioning my fear of developing
micropsia or triskaidekaphobia.

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