Hypochondria

I've developed a mild skin discoloration right next to the surgery scar from my (surprising and most unwelcome) skin cancer site. It's about the size of a quarter. It doesn't look like melanoma or squamous cell carcinoma or anything else on the dermatology hand-outs about skin cancer, but -- all things considered -- it's been disconcerting.

So I scheduled an appointment with my Ear/Nose/Throat guy -- the doc that did the surgery. That appointment took place yesterday.

As usual, the doc started out by thoroughly examining the primary tumor site -- probing inside and outside my cheek and up and down my throat. He declared that there was no indication of that cancer reappearing. Checked my mouth visually ("Say ahhhh." "Lift your tongue.") and said the same thing again.

Then he looked at the site that had concerned me.

He asked, "Are you familiar with the Seinfeld comedy show?"

"Um, yeah, a bit."

"Did you ever watch it?"

"Very little." (I didn't like where this conversation was headed...)

"You know the one character on the show that was always agitated about something or other?"

"The chunky guy?"

"Yeah, the chunky guy. Now what was his name. Hmmm... oh yeah, George. George Costanza. Anyway, there was this one episode where Geroge found a white spot on his cheek, and kept showing it to other people. Thought it was cancer. Thought he was going to die. Turns out it was just a blob of toothpaste or something. He could have wiped it off with a towel."

"Hmmm." (Is he trying to tell me...?)

"What you probably have there are some capillaries up on the surface of your skin. Now that I look closely at your face, I see a lot of them."

(Yes, he is trying to tell me that I'm...)

Then he said, "You look great. See me again in six weeks."

The visit co-pay was $30. I beginning to think it was a good investment.

As in: "Randy, relax. Things are going extremely well for you. Enjoy every moment of it and don't sweat the small stuff."