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Driver's Seat
The case of fluctuating uvula
By BOB DRIVER, columnist
Article published on Wednesday, April 11, 2007 |
Aggie was the rarest person I ever knew. One day, when I described in detail a puzzling physical ailment I was experiencing, Aggie listened to all my symptoms. When I finished, she replied, “I have no idea what might be wrong with you.”
She was the only person I’ve ever met who said that. Everyone else I’ve known has had a medical opinion to offer. Toss 10 stones into a crowd and you will hit 10 amateur physicians.
If you’re ever among complete strangers at a wedding reception, don’t try to break the ice with comments such as, “Isn’t the bride beautiful?” That will only get you a smile or a nod. To really get the conversational ball rolling, blurt out a medical comment.
“My uvula fluctuates when I drink Scotch.” Suddenly you’ll have diagnoses coming at you from every corner of the room. “I had the same thing, dahling, and my chiropractor traced it to my starboard fistula.” “You’re crazy, lady. A fluctuating uvula is always caused by hypobaric pepsin.” And so on. Pretty soon you’ve got six new friends holding their own medical conference.
To be fair, some people don’t really want to diagnose your ailments. They just want to talk. If you say, “My toenails are turning deep purple,” that’s the only opening these talkers need. “I had a purplish toenail once. I have six grandchildren. I dislike my landlord. He repairs rickshaws ...”
Since I was 6, I have diagnosed every symptom I’ve had in exactly the same way: my affliction is terminal. A mole appears. “Skin cancer – I’m gonna die!” My pulse skips a beat. “Cardiac arrest! I’m gonna die!” So far all my fatal self-diagnoses have been wrong. I hope I can maintain my .000 batting average.
In contrast, my friend Greg the Mystic always dismissed his symptoms. Sometimes he was right, sometimes wrong. His approach was invariably, “Divine spirit Harma Karma will heal me.” One day his radiologist told him, “Greg, the shadows on your latest X-rays really worry me.” Greg replied, “Harma Karma will deal with it.” Six weeks later old Karma had done Greg terminal harma.
The drug companies want us all to become our own physicians. A typical TV commercial goes like this: “Does your abdomen sometimes sound like Rush Limbaugh gargling anti-freeze? Are you flatulent? Eructile? Then what you need is Rumble-Gut. It’s guaranteed to end all intestinal noise for six hours or more. Ask your doctor. No, better yet – TELL him/her about Rumble-Gut. Insist that he prescribe it. If he refuses, he’s a quack. Take charge of your health, you docile fools.”
What should we do when people ask us to diagnose their symptoms? Just listen. Nod and say, “I see. That’s interesting.” Or “Gracious, how strange.” At the end, give this verdict: “Whatever ails you, I think you’re handling things awfully well.”
In an extreme case, suggest castor oil. That will end the consultation in a hurry.
Send Bob Driver an e-mail at tralee71@comcast.net.
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Article published on Wednesday, April 11, 2007
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