Chris Jericho is in an examining room sitting on one of those beds. He sits on it and kicks the chair next to it gently with the toe of his foot out of boredom. He's wearing one of those paper gowns over his street clothes, willing to take off his shirt for an arena full of fans, but not for a doctor. He's giving information to the nurse that led him into the room, but the superstar is drawing her onto the fine line between brusqueness and disapproval, but Chris just wants to get on the nurse's good side.

"Name?"

"Chris Jericho."

"Date of birth?

He smiles, "I'm 33."

"Date of birth?"

"Uh." Figuring it out in his head. "Nineteen seventy...." He smiles, sure. "November 9th."

"Place of birth?

Proudly, "New York."

Specific, "What part of New York, Mr. Chris?"

"Long Island. Hey, sorry I forgot to fill out my forms, a couple of coworkers and I started talking, and.... can I get an 'incomplete'?"

"No problem, do you have insurance?

Sarcastic, "I just started a new job, it hasn't kicked in yet. Yes I have insurance."

"Do you smoke?"

Digs in his pocket, "Want one?"

"Any drugs?"

Dryly, "Not on me."

The nurse gives him a look, then continues writing, "Any operations, surgical procedures?"

"No." He laughs and the nurse is starting to like him less and less.

Trying to follow, "What kind of problems have you been experiencing?"

"Oh, the usual. I've had a sore throat four times in the past three months, I've been feeling sick to my stomach lately, and I got a fever during my match the other night and I nearly passed out during a promo. It was pretty high and even though I'm taking aspirin it's not going away."

Struggling to write it all down, "Anything else?"

Chris catches himself, "It's been making me dizzy and tired, you know, fever related stuff."

"The doctor will be right with you." The nurse leaves.

Chris smirks at himself, realizing that he may have ruffled a few of the poor nurse's feathers. Dr. Tom enters, rolling in the chair he's already sitting in, he has his nose in his chart, "Oh, fine. Uh hu. Very good."

Chris watches him curiously, "Uhm, hello?"

"Oh!" The doctor greets his patient in a stereotypical cheery doctor manner, "Good morning."

"Absolutely."

He reads the chart, "Well, let's see what we have here, hm?" He stands up. "Sit up please. You really don't need to wear that gown."

"Oh, ok." Chris blushes, relieved yet humiliated, and takes it off as Dr. Tom washes his hands.

He approaches Chris, "Just relax now and keep this in your mouth." Chris allows Dr. Tom to insert the thermometer. "That's fine." He feels his forehead and compares it to the temperature of his own. He then takes it out, "Good." He opens a drawer and starts to rummage through some instruments, "And let's see now..."

"Dr. Prichard, Triple H, line one." A voice on the intercom.

"Excuse me." He picks up the phone. "Hello? That's perfectly normal, Hunter... it's perfectly, no it's normal. Call me if it bleeds. Good by." He hangs up and turns back to Chris, picking up where he left off. He turns on a light and grabs a stick from his lab coat pocket. Chris is used to the routine and automatically opens his mouth, "Mmm hm, alright." He examines him for a few moments. "Fine, you can relax now." He goes back to his chair and discards the stick as he picks up the chart. Chris clears his throat. "That's it, you can relax now." Chris straitens himself up into a comfortable position. Dr. Tom begins to read the chart and write things down, Chris clears his throat again, Dr. Tom looks up, "Oh. Have you noticed any change in your condition? You haven't mentioned experiencing any pain."

"Only when I use my voice."

"When you...?"

"You know, when I deliver a promo on the mic, or am performing with my band, when I'm making an appearance on TV, you know, talking loud for a long time. I've been losing my voice lately but I think that's on another non-related matter, I get laryngitis a lot."

"No, no, it's quite alright."

"Well, what do you think?"

Dr. Tom looks up, "About what?"

Chris pauses, confused, "I dunno."

"Chris." Dr. Tom smiles and stands up. "The WMD...."

"WMD?"

"Wrestling Medical Department." Dr. Tom continues, "The WMD believes there's not enough evidence to justify having their tonsils removed if the patient is not having the symptoms...."

"Good."

"Unfortunately, there's no way to confirm...."

"Well what would you advise your son?"

"Pardon?"

"Or brother. You know, somebody close to you."

"Chris, all of you are close to me."

"Then what would you advise?"

"Well, I'd speak with them, like I am doing with you now. Any cancer in your family?"

"Uh...?" Chris gives him a strange confused look, like a young child learning a hard new word. "What does that have to do..."

"Just answer the question, Chris." He's getting kinda tired of this little charade.

Chris makes a thinking face, he squints his eyes and pouts his lips, "I dunno."

"That's alright, it's not that typical to know if no signs have been made present."

"Does it matter anyway? It's not like I have cancer or anything."

"Well, we don't know that for sure."

Chris stops, "Whoa, whoa wait, excuse me?"

"Chris, you are a smoker, are you not?"

Chris looks at the carton of cigarettes he pulled out earlier, "Occasionally, it's a new habit I can easily give up in an instant. Alcohol though, heh, that's another story."

"Ever been to an ear-nose-throat pavilion?"

"A what?"

"I recommend you see one."

Chris sighs like a disappointed little kid who just lost an argument, "Ok...."

"Good." Dr. Tom rises. "I'll have my nurse phone your nurse and then we can compare."

Noticing the opening for a punch line, "Nurses?"

"I'm sorry?"

Chris is silent and shakes his head as if to say, never mind. Dr. Tom clears his throat out of slight frustration as he gets back into his chair and wheels out the door. Chris just smirks at himself.