Male Breast Cancer

I went for a visit to the dermatologist today. Pretty routine stuff. The face that is forever 15 and acne-prone, and now an old person dousing of eczema for my hands, upper arms, and back. (My body doesn't know if it is young or aging.)

Anyhow, the little old lady nurse was asking me some questions from a list she had. It was pretty routine stuff, such as, "Do you smoke?" "Only for my glaucoma." "How about drink?" "Yes, I'd like a cup of coffee with a shot of Knob Creek in it, please. Thank you." And so on. She then shattered my world by asking me when I had my last breast exam. First of all, I was visibly taken aback by this question. You know, I've been mistaken for a woman in many regards, but never in looks. (In other words, my boobs aren't that big, or so I had thought up to this moment.)

I used my arms and hands to unconsciously cover my upper chest as I sort of laughed it off. She said it turns out that six men had discovered they had breast cancer, since they started asking that question. Yes, I know that men can develop breast cancer, but I had never really thought about it in terms of myself. The really disturbing part was when she began to demonstrate how to do it on herself. If I wasn't emotionally scarred enough before, I am now. She went further to tell me the doctor would perform one on me. (By the way, I thought this was the dermatologist!) In the end, the exam did not take place. I got off into a sob story about my poor blotchy skin and how no one can ever love me because of it.

I dashed out!

Her words, however, did not fall on deaf ears. My personal nature is to be paranoid, which is to act on every compulsively obsessive neurotic thought that crosses my brain. I added a new thought: breast cancer. Yes, I felt myself. Thankfully, I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Even though, my lymph nodes did feel a little sensitive. What's that all about?