The doctors pass the test

Now me Grandpa Joe had this friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who suffered from pancreatitis most of his life. I don't know how he dealt with it but he did. I'm not sure all that much could have been done for the man sixty years ago anyway.

Cloyce lived in Detroit for most of his life, but moved to another state, I believe Minnesota for what that's worth, at some point. And there he began feeling the symptoms of his disease quite acutely. He developed pain in his abdomen, and nausea. It became strong enough that he went to the hospital, where the doctors began performing a series of tests.

One after another they came back negative, confounding the doctors. A few days passed and the medicos still couldn't figure out the problem. On about the fifth day, a doctor came into Cloyce's room and said somberly, "Cloyce, I'm afraid you've got pancreatitis."

"Yeah, I know that," Cloyce responded.

Incredulous, the physician dropped his clipboard on the bed. He asked, more demanded, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Cloyce explained simply, "I wanted to see if you knew what you were doing."

Good old Cloyce.