"Lauren, Mayo Clinic is where you should go." "But I just wanted someone to take a look. . ." "If you have a problem, you should go to Mayo..." "But... can't you?..." She would not even schedule an appointment. I had been mildly concerned about myself; now I was in a state of mental pandemonium. I hung up the phone as tears singed my eyes and the lump in my throat multiplied to twice its original size. The nurse's staunch refusal to see me was like receiving an impromptu death sentence, and implied that mine was most certainly a problem too great for a family doctor to handle. I had not prepared for such resistance and blunt pessimism, but perhaps tact and sympathy were only smoke screens when one's prospects were assumed to be dim. The two emotionally soothing elements surely did nothing to right a physical wrong; maybe she honestly felt that she was doing me a favor. My thoughts, nevertheless, went on the rampage after the startling conversation, and in no shape to make further calls, I gladly accepted my Dad's offer to call Mayo Clinic for me. He immediately phoned to schedule some tests and a consultation with my former oncologist; only then did my frustration wane. Unconfirmed suspicions were bad enough without the additional terror of being denied a chance to search for the truth. My new plans for the coming weekend made various cancellations a necessity. Apart from school, I had accepted an in-store promotional for cosmetics through the modeling agency and also intended to visit a friend at college, where Halloween festivities were reportedly quite arresting. Re-routing my plans was a disappointment, but I had to ease my tormented mind; excitement seemed to be raining down on me in buckets, and added a different aspect to the expression "when it rains, it pours." The sense of urgency which had initially wrought such havoc upon me was squelched by the upcoming clinic appointments, and the week progressed without further turmoil on my behalf. When Thursday arrived Dad and I packed ourselves into my car and rolled out of the driveway toward the unknown answers that we sought to find. For the first time, Dad and I were traveling to Rochester on our own. Because I was having a routine set of tests for a symptom that, as yet, possessed no form or definition, Mom was going to remain at home and teach her kindergarten classes. I had no objection to this, since the entire trip was based solely on the paranoia which sprouted after my questionable discovery, and frankly I was beginning to feel rather foolish for even mentioning it, let alone pursuing my suspicions. It could be anything. . . or nothing at all. "It's not stupid if it puts your mind at ease," Dad consoled. I felt better when he said that. The last thing I wanted to be was a hypochondriac.