For the first time in a long time I'm scared. It's silly really, a few tests sent off to pathology, two weeks before I get any results. The waiting is the hardest part.
I've always been a polka dotted little fella. It attracted a lot of ridicule while I was in grade school, who knew they could potentially kill me. I thought being picked on and called names was bad. Having spots that are the target of immature bullying were nothing compared to facing the reality that they are now the source of my greatest fear.
Therefore today...I'm having one of those "why" days. When all rationalizations fail and theology seems empty. When circumstances seem to be trying to crush the very life outta me and all that come out are tears. Life remains and I have to face it. The problem is, all I seem to be able to face is the ground beneath my feet or my shirt sleeve to hide the wetness falling down my face I so desperately want to raise up.
I know that this too shall pass but knowing that doesn't make it any easier right now. So I continue on about my daily grind, focusing on my work and drowning out my sorrows with mathematics. Nothing better for man than to enjoy his work under the sun, right? Well, tell that to the guy with the spots who suspects that too much time "under the sun" may have put him six feet closer to six feet under.
Hello, my name is Bobby. I'm not even 34 and my skin is in the mail for biopsy testing. Silly thing to be worried about.