Yesterday I visited a skin cancer specialist to have some spots looked at. The doctor looked at the one that worried me -- ie the one that ws bleeding -- and went "Hmm. I need a closer look." He then pulled out a magnifying thing, attached it to his iPhone, pressed the lens against the spot and took a photo. He examined the spot on the iPhone screen, zooming in and panning about. "Hmm..."
I told him I was worried about it because it bled when I scratched it. He said it was nothing to worry about. "And stop scratching it."
He examined all the other spots that concerned me. One was frozen with liquid nitrogen -- "It's not cancer, but..." -- and I am scheduled to have a mole removed next Thursday. "It's not cancer either, but..." I told him about the "Buts" when I had my manboobs off. He said he'd rather treat a thousand possible-but-probably-not cancers than not treat them and miss one.
About half way through the examination he paused, looked at his records, and said "Wait, you were born in 1961?"
"I turned *mumble* yesterday."
"But... I thought you were only 35! 40 at most!"
Skin Cancer. There's an app for that.