bugger melanoma

I was sitting in the desert in Arizona, feeling particularily holy when, in the midst of counting breaths, I noticed that there was a strange dark place on the back of one hand. I knew, instinctively and immediately, that it was melanoma. For years I had ridden horses outdoors with no sunscreen on the back of my hands. For years I had fished in swamps, rivers and the ocean without sunscreen on my face or arms or backs of hands. My mother died of cancer. Panicked I planned my funeral, wrote my will, debated on going to a doctor. Then I looked closely. It was a bugger.
Monkey mind.