I have had many generally uneventful healthy years on this earth- with only several “slight cases” of pregnancy (resulting in a beautiful boy and girl), and a side detour for cancer. But now I can truly be revealed as the good-for-nothing stoner that I really am- or at least what certain portions of my anatomy are. You see, my recent annual physical and blood test revealed troubling high liver and iron levels that set my doctor’s stethoscope spinning. More tests and an ultrasound later, I have learned that it is a boy. No, I have learned that my gallbladder (just a small part of me) is the good-for-nothing stoner. Two stones to be exact. Such news is not particularly welcome. It ushers in multiple trips to Medical-land- a place of sterile waiting rooms and intense specialists muttering a strange language known as Medicalese.
Like most people, Medical-land is someplace I’d rather not visit. The things they do to you in Medical-land are euphemistically called “procedures.” Additionally those mysterious imaging methods and processes practiced in Medical-land are usually done to you while you’re wearing what they refer to as a “gown.” This medical fashion statement has a slit down its center and reveals more skin than I’m guessing would be seen in an X-rated film. Such a breezy “gown” should have a much more realistic name… peek-a-boo toga? …reverse cape? …backless wonder (thoughtfully designed for those who want extra ventilation and no privacy at all?)
Anyway my “procedures”continued, and much paperwork and a scan were transferred inter-office between various medical persons. It was ultimately determined that other than finding the gall stones, they could not figure out why my blood test levels had spiked as they did. Eventually the liver doctor said there had likely been some virus or other unknown that had caused the blood level reactions, since all the blood tests now had returned to normal. The newly-revealed calcified gall stones were not the culprits as I had assumed. The doctor thinks I’ve probably had those for many years. There is nothing medical to do if I’m having no problems- which is certainly fine by me. At least I think that is everything that he said- I am not very fluent in Medicalese. By the way, the technician commented that I have an “unremarkable spleen.” I would be insulted, as I am certain that my spleen is pretty special. But she said it like an unremarkable spleen is a good thing, so I stayed quiet. (Who can figure out these medical folk?)
In the times of heraldry people had coats of arms with their family mottos and symbols on them. I have no idea what my own family crest looks like, but I can fully visualize the distinctive heraldic shield if my pet cat had a coat of arms. Her shield would have a standing silver cat on a field of red, in full profile, teeth bared and paws extended. On her shield would be the motto “Noli tangere felem” -Touch not the cat.
That shield is the one I would like to use myself for my next medical visit, except I could modify the motto to “Noli tangere felem aut mulierem” -Touch not the cat or the woman (my pets and I stick together). My shiny blade and red shield with the fierce silver cat and motto on it would flash out warning. Using this combat armor and sword, I would protect myself from that peek-a-boo toga, the lady in the blue scrubs with the needles, and the countless other personnel muttering in Medicalese. All the assorted members of Medical-land would learn about the fight they’d get as I protect both my good-for-nothing stoner of a gallbladder and my unremarkable spleen from medical intrusion.
That’s my daydream. Instead I meekly follow whatever my doctors or technicians instruct me to do. Bah.