three beautiful words

I felt it upon waking one morning not too long ago. I peeked underneath my boxers and was surprised to find a strange red bump staring at me in the face.

"Uh oh."

My heart sank slowly into my chest. What IS that? How could this have happened?

Immediately, I felt compelled to lie to myself,

"No, it's not possible! I'm not that kind of guy."

But there it was. Ominous and foreboding, that bump was a tell-tale sign, wasn't it? A scarlet letter... a mark of shame. Maybe I am!

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That could have been "end of story" right there, had it not been for the fact that everyone and their mothers scheduled doctor's appointments for the month of August:

Generic Co-Worker: "The client has pushed back the meeting to Friday, buuuuuuut I won't be able to make it."

Me: "Oh yeah? What's going on?"

Generic Co-Worker (loftily): "Well...I have a doctor's appointment."

Me: "I wish I had a doctor's appointment..."

I hadn't seen a doctor in many years, so a check-up sounded like a good idea. But I hesitated. I had a million other things going on, and I didn't want to deal with that. I could feel the shame and skank of my life's misdeeds well up inside me, rancid and nasty like expired milk. What if it is what I think it is? What am I gonna do?

Over the course of the week, I admitted to myself that the bump could be genital herpes. The thought alone made my stomach turn. Who, I wondered, was the one that gave this to me? I did a little research online for some answers. I found that most people have one form of herpes or another (80%), and that it could be transmitted through saliva alone. That meant it could have been anybody; there would be no way to tell. In all mathematical likelihood, I did have it so I might as well get on with my life like everyone else.

But I needed to know for sure.

---------------------------------

I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Grey. Over the phone, the receptionist told me that since it had been so long since my last check-up, I would have to undergo a full physical. I knew implicitly what he meant.

I showed up at Dr. Grey's office on a Friday afternoon. After checking in and filling out paperwork, I waited patiently until they called my name. A nurse took my height and weight measurements and then handed me a gown. I changed and waited anxiously for the doctor to see me.

A few minutes passed before Dr. Grey came in. Her presence made me feel inexplicably out of place and nervous. After taking my pulse and listening to my heart, she asked me some basic questions about my health.

"Do you eat fast food?"

A few moments passed. "Yes, I do on occasion."

"What kind of fast food do you eat? Burgers? Fries?"

"Well...not recently. But, I do eat quite of a lot of tacos."

Why did I just say that?!

After a few more questions, she asked me if there was anything else I was worried about. I was tempted to pass on Mount Fuji, but I knew better.

"Actually, there is something that I wanted you to check out."

She listened intently while I described the bump and how I had found it. She furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought. She asked me about questionable partners or risky behaviors that I may have engaged in ("None!"), which didn't shed any light on the situation. Something wasn't adding up for her. Finally, she asked me if she could see it for herself. I showed her.

"Well. That looks... to me... like an infected hair follicle."

"A what?"

"Yeah, that's an infected hair follicle. Go home and put a warm compress on it. It'll go away on its own in a few days."

I felt numb and stupid with joy. After she left, I found myself muttering those words back to myself, "Infected. Hair. Follicle." The three most beautiful words in the English language.