Susan went to the dermatologist for a full body scan. She's a prime candidate for skin cancer, already bearing a few scars, and was overdue for her check up.

How does a person who just lost her husband to melanoma let herself be overdue for a scan?
Don't expect an answer, that was a rhetorical question.

She sat in the exam room, stripped down to her drawers and covered by a paper gown. Susan let her mind travel back to a similar room in which she sat with her husband sixteen months ago. She tormented herself with that recollection until she was ready to cry then decided to knock it off. Instead she eyeballed the unshaven condition of her legs and completely bare toe nails. She was groomed like a pioneer lady.

The doctor arrived and immediately engaged Susan in conversation, he had a nice manner and what color are his eyes?
He started with her scalp then employed a shotglass sized scanner with a very bright light to go over every square inch of her face. The doctor chatted with Susan as he worked, investigating each freckle and dark little corner of her middle aged body with his bright light and gentle manner. They shared stories of their recent losses to cancer; Susan's husband within two months, and the doctor's father in law over a year and a half including a very painful end.
The doctor told Susan about an essay he read entitled How Doctors Die, which are not in hospitals, but at home without unnecessary treatment.

Susan's doctor told her that she was in fine shape, no suspicious moles or marks, and sent her on her way with instructions to wear a broad spectrum 30 sunscreen and enjoy the nice weather.

Susan thought about their conversation the rest of the day. She *GTS-ed the short essay & after reading it realized she would have to start forming her brave attitude now about choosing quality of life at her end. It kind of made her feel relieved.

*GTS = Google That Sh*t.