I just read in People magazine about Muriel Hemingway's husband. He had a mole on the top of his head that turned out to be cancer. The article then went on to describe the most horrible sounding treatments you could imagine. I'm giving serious thought to cancelling my mole appointment. I probably won't, but I am going on record here if this thing is cancer - which I seriously doubt - there will be no horrible treatments. Not going to happen. I'll take whatever time I have left, make sure it will all be comfortable, get a carton of cigarettes and enjoy every single minute.