Neurosis

The next day I sat next to Julie in group. While other group members were talking, she picked up my left hand and studied my fingertips. I looked directly at her and arched my eyebrows.
"Something I can do for you?" I whispered, wondering what was going on.

"Get a blood test. These ridges on your thumbnail could be amyloidosis. Maybe arsenic poisoning, or a zinc deficiency."

"They look normal to me," I said.

"Everything looks normal early on. By the time you know you're sick, it's too late," she said solemnly.

"I just had a physical three months ago," I said. "I'm fine."

With a deep sigh, Julie let go of my hand. "You might have liver disease, or diabetes. Have you been around a meat processing plant, or handled industrial chemicals lately? Were you exposed to spent uranium in the military?"

For just a second I worried about what might be causing the ridges on my thumbnail. Then I remembered, there were no ridges, I hadn't been anywhere near a meat processing plant, I'd never served in the military, and my liver and blood sugar tests had been normal at my last physical.

"I'm fine," I said. Julie couldn't let it go.

"Does your wife have any reason to poison you?" she asked. I could think of a half dozen reasons off the top of my head. I doubted any jury of her peers would convict her.

"She has no reason to poison me," I said. "Pay attention to group."

Today I will not let other people worry me with their neuroses.

AArdvarks (c) 2013 by Ken Montrose