It was early in February 1976, and I was trying to adjust to the demands of senior schooling. My nervous habit of unconsciously twirling my hair was in full swing, as I was engrossed in study.
On this normal morning, in the School Library, my probing fingers discovered two unusual lumps in the back of my neck. It was at this moment that I first feared a terminal illness, although my diagnosis was incorrect.
I felt the lumps in all possible ways. My mind was racing.
The possibility of these lumps being glands never entered my mind. The more I felt them, the more I became convinced that I had two massive blood clots, swimming upstream to my brain. I was certain that I could feel them moving. I was incredibly scared.

What were my options?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of a straightforward, logical explanation. And I was too terrified to sit in silence.
I would make a run for it.
I waited for the librarian to be distracted by another student and then bolted through the open door. I hurried home.
My mother pointed out that the lumps were lymph glands, and while she pondered possible causes, I felt enormous relief.
What could it be? A forty-eight hour viral or bacterial infection. These possibilities were not too scary to me, especially because I had thought that these lumps were about to invade and destroy my brain.
At last I had a symptom major enough to warrant a more thorough search for the real cause of the problem. The swelling of my leg had all but disappeared, leaving a circular scar which still persists today. I was only aware, at that time, of the swollen glands throughout my body, and a general listlessness.
Glandular fever was thrown into the mix, so a blood test was ordered. This did not seem to be too bad. We had all known people who had Glandular Fever including my sister Linda. It would set back my work though.

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