So, obviously, the husband starts freaking out. Follows a [loose] paraphrase:
husband: "OMG! Are you dying?"
me: "Nah, they're just messing with me."
husband: "Your doctor *messes* with you? Seriously? Maybe it's a brain tumor and you're insane AND dying. Here, you listen."
[I listen to voicemail.]
me: "That was a pretty good poker voice, but I'm still pretty sure they're just messing with me."
husband: "What kind of doctor *messes* with you?!"
me: "The AWESOME kind." (Duh.)
The voicemail was left on Friday, so I couldn't call back 'till today.
Turns out it WAS urgent. VERY, VERY URGENT.
See, the deadline was about to run out for this contest and their whole office had decided that I seriously had a chance of winning. (I totally agree, by the way.)
Alas, the deadline was Friday.
Next year, man. Next year.