February 6: Magazine Article, Lousy Hormones, Devotions

...But this damn article I started reading made me feel almost worse.  It was all about hormones.  It described how you should look, your face and eyes and all, if your hormones were in good shape, and I didn't look that way at all.  I looked exactly like the guy in the article with lousy hormones.  So I started getting worried about my hormones.  Then I read this other article about how you can tell if you have cancer or not.  It said if you had any sores in your mouth that didn't heal pretty quickly, it was a sign that you probably had cancer.  I'd had this sore on the inside of my lip for about two weeks.  So figured I was getting cancer.  That magazine was some little cheerer upper.  I finally quit reading it and went outside for a walk.  I figured I'd be dead in a couple of months because I had cancer.  I really did.  I was even positive I would be.  It certainly didn't make me feel gorgeous.

Funny, Holden is a little bit of a hypochondriac.  He reads about an illness and then has the illness.  Of course, it doesn't help that he's clinically depressed and slowly creeping toward a nervous breakdown.  All the drinking, all the thoughts about illness and death.  Holden is a mess, and he's about 15 pages away from being hospitalized for his mental illness.

You don't have to be clinically depressed to worry about things like sores in your mouth and bad hormones.  When I was a teenager, about Holden's age, I actually convinced myself that I had testicular cancer.  For two or so months, I walked around with this incredible secret.  My days were numbered.  I hugged people longer.  Enjoyed my Rice Krispies with raisins a little more.  Watched some sunsets.  It was bad.  Eventually, I went to see a doctor about it, and I was given the grim news:  I wasn't going to die.

Worry is a self-fulfilling thing, though.  If you worry that you have terminal testicular cancer, your balls are going to hurt, even if nothing is wrong.  Today, however, I have a big worry that has nothing to do with my nether regions.

I'm organizing the writing of a Lenten Devotional for church.  I got 47 people to volunteer to write devotions for me.  That's doesn't mean that all 47 people will follow through with their promises.  At this point, the Devotional is supposed to be printed tomorrow, and we are about 17 or 18 readings short.  Now is the time when I start phoning and e-mailing people, begging them to finish their devotions.  It's not testicular cancer, but it's still not fun.

By tomorrow morning, around 9 a.m., come hell or lumps on my testes, I will have 47 devotions.  That's definite.

Even if Saint Marty has to stay up all night writing them himself.

Don't forget the self exam, guys