Skip to main content

How My Short, Happy Career in Medicine Came to an End

My conscience is prodding me to admit
that I did not, after all, find  a cure for bone cancer.
I am referring to an earlier post in which I described
having been attacked by needles down my legs.

As it turned out, I contracted shingles.
"But, but . . . !" I sputtered to the doctor,
"Last year I had a very expensive shingles shot!"
"Oh, yes," he said, "that should make it less severe."

"Less severe" isn't.

It began with a nasty rash.
I did not go to the doctor soon enough for the medicine to be effective,
so I daubed something on whatever appeared,
while my nervous system fired shots at the enemy so effectively
that my nervous system became the enemy.
At the end of each day, I felt that someone,
softening me up for a knockout punch somewhat later,
had beaten my midsection to submission.

People who call themselves my friends
tell me that they have had shingles, too,
and that in two or three months I will be OK.
My least appreciated friend says that his shingles
comes back every year, just like clockwork.

Shingles!
I looked up the origin of the name.
It comes from Latin and French (I should have known!),
and it means "belt", an allusion to the fact that the virus
often breaks out in a belt around the midsection.
Mine is not a belt around the midsection.
In fact, I shall not describe for you where shingles belted me,
but I will admit that from time-to-time I jump to attention
and try not to grab what hurts most.

I am telling you all of this
so that you will not write to me
for the recipe that cures bone cancer.
I was wrong about that.
Not willfully.  Just mistaken.
And I have no cure for shingles, either,
other than suggesting that, as a child,
you should not have contracted chickenpox,
and that, as an adult, you should get a very expensive shot
to make your shingles less severe when you get them.

You see, after you have chickenpox,
the virus stays in your body,
and sometimes, after age fifty or so,
belts you.  More or less.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

The Sea is Rising

Let us just step back:  two hundred and fifty years ago, or so, the ships of England and Spain had drifted onto a whole new continent, as they saw it, from far north to a savagely cold south; pole to pole, as if there were such things. Millions of people already lived here, some of them still hunters and gatherers; some of them very wealthy, indeed!  Gold and silver stolen from the southern Americas funded Spanish and English dreams. There was land, lots of land, under starry skies above, rich land, and oil and coal and iron ore.  The whole western world learned how to build industries not on simple muscle power, but on steam and oil.  We farmed, too, of course.  All we needed was cheap labor--slave labor from Africa, mostly, so the ships came with slave labor.  Chinese labor built railroad beds where there had been rock cliffs. Europeans, long used to killing each other for good, religious reasons, brought their religious savagery with them. ...

That's all we want: fairness! Not more guns and more war! Fairness!

The five police officers who were killed in Dallas are certainly not the officers who killed innocent citizens. There is more than enough tragedy to go around. "What is happening to our country?", Mari asked this morning. I had no answer.  We do have an answer.  We do not want to say it. There are lots of answers, all of them pertinent. We are a racist society, like most human societies. We are a society in the midst of enormous changes-- social, political, economic--and we do not know what to do about it. We are divided unsustainably into absurdly rich, and an enormous number of crumbling middle class families, and poor. We have guns everywhere; military guns, guns just for killing people, cheap guns, heroes carrying guns into churches and supermarkets, idiots who think guns ought to be allowed in bars and schools and ball games and beauty parlors and political rallies. Our political process is almost useless. There are good people in Congress, but there...