Abracadabra, alakazam!

Today is a story about being a doctor.

People go to the doctor for lots of things. Sometimes it's "stabbing chest pain with shortness of breath." This is bad. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go directly to the cath lab.

Sometimes it's "I hurt all over" or "My lupus test is positive." But that's old news.

Sometimes it's "I have a rash." Disgruntled sigh. Looking at people's unusual rashes is one of the least pleasant aspects of my job. But part of my job it is, so I look at rashes. Red rashes, raised rashes, itchy rashes, even butterfly rashes. It's enough to make you break out in hives. Hee, hee. Pun intended.

But sometimes, people point to their cheeks or backs or ankles or whatever, and I see... nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I'm not talking about the it-used-to-be-there-but-went-away-before-my-appointment kind of rash. That happens. But sometimes people just keep pointing and gesturing and saying, "Look! Look! Do you see that?!"

No, frankly, I do not. This leaves me in the awkward predicament of trying to gently suggest that there is, in fact, no rash.

Or maybe I have a healing gaze. Just by looking at your skin, I make your rash disappear.