Brush With Death

I know I haven't posted in a while which makes what I'm about to write even more lame as the most exciting blog-worthy thing that's happened to me recently. Last night at dinner I was just rubbing my leg a little (just in a normal way one rubs a body part here and there) and I felt a bump. It was a hard, discrete little bump. And I thought, well this is it. I finally got the cancer I've been so sure is coming my way all these years. I made everyone at the table feel the bump. They said, it's nothing, but maybe get it checked out anyway. When we left the restaurant, my thoughts naturally drifted to what kind of invasive treatments I'd endure before my body finally succumbed to the disease and who would sob hardest and loudest at my funeral. Then we arrived at a light street corner. I looked down to inspect the nodule only to find that it was a tiny mosquito bite. A great wave of relief washed over me. It was the most timely and conclusive resolution to a bout of disease related anxiety I've ever had. So despite how ridiculous it was to mistake a mosquito bite for stage 1, I felt comforted that my anxiety can be quelled in a matter of moments if I have sufficient evidence to discount cancer as a culprit.