QUICK! I NEED A GURNEY!

        “You have gout. Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly,” the triage nurse barks upon my appearance at her window to check into the E.R.

       “Oh my God! I have what?”cradling my elbow to console it.

       My boyfriend, Ben, grabs me by my good elbow and leads me to the waiting area. Oh my God. I'm old. I'm old! I have gout. My mind is swirling in disbelief. My eighty-three year-old boss was just diagnosed with gout of the foot. All the afflicted actors in the new blockbuster ad campaign for the disease are like sixty plus years old, AT LEAST! It's the new “it” old people disease. My boss gave it to me! Is gout contagious? I never touched his foot. I never even saw his foot come to think of it. At no point while in his employment am I aware of my elbow touching his foot. Okay. I'm good on that front. I still have so much debt. Rent is due in three weeks. Will this keep me out from work for three weeks? Will I ever be able to work again? We'll be homeless. We won't be able to eat out anymore. Is amputation a possibility? What will my nub look like if it is a possibility? Will it be one of those nice smooth nubs, or one of those rough bumpy ones people try not to notice but they can't help it because it just looks so hideous that they have to look at it, but they don't want to, but they have to? Oh my God!

       “Stop it,” Ben says knowingly.

       “What?” I say with dazed look, having just deduced the inevitable outcome of my doomed rough, bumpy nub of an arm-less existence in a span of five seconds.

       “I know you. Stop thinking. I can see it in your face. The nurse was on a cell phone and looked at your elbow for two seconds and touched it for approximately zero point five seconds. I'd hardly call that a definitive diagnosis. Calm down.” he says while shaking his head at me and looking for an early morning caffeine fix. “I'm going to go grab a coffee from the stand over there. You want one?” I half-heartedly nod yes, still occupied by my thoughts. He leaves to get the coffees.

       You know what? He's right. It could be something completely different. The nurse looked at my elbow for two seconds. You can't make a complete diagnosis in only two seconds. And she isn't even the doctor. The doctor has to check it and see what is wrong. A nurse can't do that. Ben is totally right. He's always the more grounded one, whereas I'm the one immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario. He is absolutely right. It might not be gout. It could be anything. There are tons of things it could be -- literally tons of different things.

       “Here's your coffee, darlin," happy to finally have his fix. I reach for the coffee.

       “Ben, what if it's cancer?”