I was at my desk in Denver — working, not doing anything interesting — when I felt it. Couldn't tell you what it was. Probably a boxelder bug. Those flat, red-striped freeloaders are everywhere in Colorado, and while they're not exactly known for biting, I wasn't about to rule it out. Whatever it was, I swatted at it, went back to my screen, and forgot about it.
Then a lump showed up.
Slow at first. Just a firmness under the skin, behind my right ear, tucked along the jaw. Easy to ignore. I ignored it for months.
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Late January, we were in Scottsdale for the annual golf trip — eight guys, a rented house, three or four rounds depending on how the liver held up, card games, and dick jokes. The format hadn't changed in years. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Travis spotted the lump on the second day.
"What's that thing on your neck?"
Apparently more visible than I thought. It just happened that two guys in our group — Kelby and Mike — were GPs. Eight years of golf trips, and I'd never once thought to consult them professionally. Between drinks, I asked. Both of them looked it over, poked around a little, exchanged a glance.
Fatty mass. Lipoma. Benign. Common. Nothing to worry about.
Good enough for me. Hand me another beer.
This became a chapter in 9 Lives & Counting — out December 2026.
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