Wednesday 14 July 2010
Tuesday 13 July 2010
Oh no! Oh yes!
The result of the x-ray said "lesion on the lung" and so the BOF looked it up...
There can only be one conclusion when looking up an ailment on the Internet: you're going to die. So, for several days before judgement, he was preparing himself for the cancer announcement. 45 years of smoking made it inevitable.
One doctor said to him: "...but you knew there was something, didn't you?" Put like that, the answer has to be yes, even if you didn't previously know you knew.
More waiting, more tests, more time to engage the internal drama queen.
Enter the loquacious Irish expert. His statement early on in the meeting that "only the good die young" had the BOF scratching his head. Was this a nugget of wisdom mined from experience, or was it a resentful swipe at smokers who should already be dead dragging their arrears-ridden bodies into his rooms? Probably both, as Dr O'Lungs seemed to be working a version of hope for the best, expect the worst.
The machinery in modern hospitals is as reassuring as a doctor with a good bedside manner. There's a sense that something as complicated and expensive as that can't possibly be wrong. Lights flash, powerful hums throb in the background, hoops of metal and plastic traverse the body, peering inside at the engine. At the end, instead of a sealed envelope to be given to to the doctor, a CD is presented, almost as if this were the same as a trip to HMV.
Dr O'Lungs teased out the process, pausing to examine his screen like a witchdoctor consulting entrails, stopping at every possible point to meander off on another observation on the body and lifestyle. The BOF sat further forward on his chair, resisting the urge to blurt out: "Well? Is it or isn't it?"
Eventually, he got there.
"Now: it should be cancer, but it isn't."
Sweet words. Life is not a rehearsal, but it does contain many opportunities to rehearse. Given that death is the final act of every performance, the BOF thinks it useful to have had a peek at the script.
There can only be one conclusion when looking up an ailment on the Internet: you're going to die. So, for several days before judgement, he was preparing himself for the cancer announcement. 45 years of smoking made it inevitable.
One doctor said to him: "...but you knew there was something, didn't you?" Put like that, the answer has to be yes, even if you didn't previously know you knew.
More waiting, more tests, more time to engage the internal drama queen.
Enter the loquacious Irish expert. His statement early on in the meeting that "only the good die young" had the BOF scratching his head. Was this a nugget of wisdom mined from experience, or was it a resentful swipe at smokers who should already be dead dragging their arrears-ridden bodies into his rooms? Probably both, as Dr O'Lungs seemed to be working a version of hope for the best, expect the worst.
The machinery in modern hospitals is as reassuring as a doctor with a good bedside manner. There's a sense that something as complicated and expensive as that can't possibly be wrong. Lights flash, powerful hums throb in the background, hoops of metal and plastic traverse the body, peering inside at the engine. At the end, instead of a sealed envelope to be given to to the doctor, a CD is presented, almost as if this were the same as a trip to HMV.
Dr O'Lungs teased out the process, pausing to examine his screen like a witchdoctor consulting entrails, stopping at every possible point to meander off on another observation on the body and lifestyle. The BOF sat further forward on his chair, resisting the urge to blurt out: "Well? Is it or isn't it?"
Eventually, he got there.
"Now: it should be cancer, but it isn't."
Sweet words. Life is not a rehearsal, but it does contain many opportunities to rehearse. Given that death is the final act of every performance, the BOF thinks it useful to have had a peek at the script.
Thursday 8 July 2010
Sepptic Jack
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