When they had seen, or in my case, felt enough, the doctors filed out of the room to "gossip" about me beyond earshot. Eventually the first doctor reappeared and began to divulge the conclusions rendered through the tests and consultation. It was clear that I had a large abdominal mass in the vicinity of my stomach, yet its composition was uncertain, and he would therefore offer no statement either way as to it being cancerous or benign. The bone marrow was unaffected and healthy, my blood count was good, and the chest X-ray showed no signs of abnormalcy. Aside from the mass, I had every reason to believe in my health as a matter of fact. The mass would have to be removed; that, also, was a matter of fact. An operation was inevitable. Since it was the beginning of the weekend, however, I would not be admitted into the hospital until Sunday evening. Monday morning I would undergo an arteriogram to chart my veins in preparation for surgery, and the following day I would find myself in the operating room. Relieved that I had two days of freedom before having to exist in the confines of a hospital, I found the arrangement as agreeable as the situation allowed, and my parents and I determined to make the most of it! The only hindrance I was obliged to endure was the weekend urine sample, which stated that the bounty of each trip to the bathroom had to be collected, rather than flushed away. I was given a large plastic canister, a small cup and a handy-dandy green tote bag in which to stow the former for reasons of discretion. I was embarrassed at the prospect of hauling the green tote everywhere throughout the weekend, but my dear mom volunteered without a single flicker of disgust, and shouldered the responsibility just as easily as she would have taken the smallest piece of cake or the burnt piece of toast. I really need not have worried, however, for I was not alone in my strange occupation. Dotted here and there, as we traveled about the parks and shopping malls, were similar green tote bags borne by smug faced patients, or conversely, those who would recognize the kinship and smile knowingly. I soon discovered that, actually, I might have carried the tote myself, for everyone who was familiar with its purpose seemed to know that it truly belonged to me; teenage self-consciousness is alien to no one, and remembered by all.