Can I please get a tumor?

                My doctor runs his eyes through my file, pupils widening as they near the bottom of the page, then sprint back up for a double-check. He lifts his head to ask a question charged with such bewilderment he would never have heard the answer: “How do you even do anything?” My mom, standing behind me — I’m sitting, exhausted — lets out a sigh filled with horror and regret. “See?”, I think, “I knew it”.

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