Just for the record, I’ve never really “gotten” the impulse that people seem to have to share the details of their medical tests and procedures. In the past couple of weeks, three of the bloggers I read regularly have found the need to tell the world about two colonoscopies and an extended bout of MRI.
I’m not going to make a big deal out of this, but the idea behind it leaves me cold. If you went to the doctor, all I need to know is if I (a.) should rejoice, or (b.) go cross a shaman’s palm with silver. If I need technical details about your hemorrhoidectomy, I’ll google it.
The same thing goes for your incarceration, or laying-in, or whatever it’s called. “I had a pain in my foot; Jim took me to the ER; Turned out to be a nail through my shoe; Tetanus shot; Limping for a week” covers the whole thing. I don’t need to know the size or provenance of the nail, what the doctor wore, how long you waited, what was wrong with the other people in the waiting room, or how hard it was to get your shoe off. Just the facts. And it’s wonderful that you were awake during the removal of your brain tumor, and yes the CyberKnife is really great. I’ll buy the first copy of your book and read all about it.
Oh, yes. Please don’t be offended if I fail to ask questions. I still love you; it’s simply that I know all I feel I need to know. Let’s talk about something interesting now — like my trip to the dermatologist yesterday. He has the cutest medical assistant…
