Your mother was waiting for you in the car and nervously wringing her hands together.

"We can't afford cancer. All those bills, all those medical bills."

You got in without looking at her more than once.

She changed her tone of voice considerably and spoke again, "Well, it turns out that they had an open appointment at the doctor today after all, so we're going."

They have an empty spot because she scared them into it, you thought.

At the doctor, you waited for approximately three minutes, or more accurately, the time it took the receptionist to realize who your mother was.

Then there was a minute or two of flurried whispering and a phone call.

A doctor rushed out and and motioned to you two to step inside his office.

He examined your head and poked and prodded a bit, then prescribed a cream and said that you had some weird disease called Alopecia and that you should eat more fiber and vegetables.

Your mother stared at you with a grimace on her face and incessantly assaulted the doctor with questions about whether or not she would have to pay for that appointment.

Your fingers tip-toed up your spine and yanked out your hair.