Run Away! Run Away!

A Medical Report

What a way to celebrate Valentine's Day: go to the doctor for an annual scare session...I mean, 'physical'.

The doctor wanted to be sure I knew that "testicular cancer is a young man's disease." She went on to tell me that there's only a thirty day window for treating this particular cancer before I will DIE DIE DIE DIE.

But, of course, Lance Armstrong made it, and so can I.

The thing is, I probably don't have testicular cancer. I don't even have symptoms. I think she needed to describe this cancer because I said that the only form of exercise I get is bicycle riding.

I don't know what she would have said if the my preferred exercise was the breast stroke.

Anyway, all you guys out there are supposed to be doing self-examinations every month, because it needs to be treated within 30 days if you want to survive. My doctor assured me that if I found anything even slightly odd, they would make room for me right away, that day, and do an ultrasound.

I don't think I can get pregnant, but the ultrasound is important somehow.

She also was not impressed with my diet. Sure, I've lost 50 pounds in the last year, but cardboard really doesn't have much nutritional value. When I went in, I was proud to be only 16 pounds from my target weight, but the doctor wants me to eat more vegetables, take vitamin supplements, and eat more vegetables.

Don't even get her started on my lack of willingness to see a dentist.

Oh, and she stole my blood and gave me a tetanus shot. Ouch!

Good thing I only have to do this every thirty years or so...

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