“I’m just here for a checkup, so there’s no need for you to find anything.”

Got a phone call from my doctor today.

“I should put you on speed dial,” she said.

“We talk more than most couples,” I said. “Would you be offended if I asked for some space? We’re getting too close too soon and maybe should try seeing other people. I don’t want your high-maintenance patients getting jealous.”

She tried not to laugh.

I get that a lot.

“I have your mammogram results here,” she said. “We need a better picture of what’s going on with your right breast so I’m going to schedule an ultrasound mammogram.”

“We’re definitely breaking up, Doc. You never call with good news.”

Sigh.

First low patelets, then an abnormal pap smear and colposcopy, followed by, for shits and giggles, a cyst on my thyroid that’s too small to biopsy.

(Still seeking other opinions on that one.)

Now I’ve got to worry about my right breast. Which, let’s face it, doesn’t come as a surprise.

I always knew she was more trouble. A typical right-winger…she’s moody and hangs a little to the left when no one’s looking, especially when I’m on my back. I always have to coax her into those slinky summertime dresses because she pops out unexpectedly – always looking for attention.

And now she’s ready for her close-up.

It’s nice to know that regular exercise and a healthy diet is working for me.

UPDATE: Turns out, a new government panel says not only are mammograms in your forties unnecessary, but playing with yourself every month while looking for lumps is a useless waste of time.

I think I speak for women everywhere when I say, “Fuck the government panel. I’m still going to play with myself.”