Breaking the silence.

It’s been a very long time since I have blogged. The “return” seems incredibly daunting. As of late, my contact with the outside world has been limited at best. And it’s difficult to know, what sort of statements should be made or offered. Should I start with – I’m still around? Or perhaps more appropriate, I'm sorry I have ignored all your calls and emails? I’m not sure what should be said, and I’m pretty sure whatever comes out will be insufficient. Or perhaps, more accurately, whatever comes out will likely teeter on excess, probably in all the wrong ways. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

I’ve spent a little bit of time at the doctor's office recently. The more time I spend there, the more I begin to question it all. Science. Doctors. The legitimacy of it. It is comforting to think that science is fact, and that doctors, the masters of science, know all. Surely if anyone has the answers, it is them. I know historically, that I for one have dogmatically adhered to this idea.

Let me paint you a picture. I was lying in my hospital bed, in my ridiculously revealing patient cloth, strapped to a heart monitor when I noticed two doctors collected just beyond earshot of most of the patients. Because I was a potential gynecology case, I had an actual room with walls (not just a thin sheet of floral curtain fabric separating me from the guy beside me like the vast majority of emerge cases). I don't know that I agree that pap smears should make the cut to be done beyond fabric dividers. Only a few beds down (don't think they didn't leave my door open), exposed for all for see, was an elderly women, whose gound was undone at the back; her legs were covered in bedsores, and when she sat up (painfully I might add) I could even see sores on top her pale head, where her white hair was flattened. She looked tattered and sad. That is hardly how I would like to go, I couldn't help but think. Reduced to a patient, on a bed, alone. Sore, undone, and exposed for all to see. She should have my room, I thought. At least if she died, than she'd have some freaken privacy. So what if Joe Blow hears about my Va-ja ja. At the end of the day, isn't death just as personal?

Anyways, as I was saying, just beyond earshot of most of the patients (but not me) I saw two doctors standing together. The one doctor (the elder) was explaining a case to another. Back and forth they chatted. “I don’t know what it is… do you think I should run this?” or “Should I try one of these?” The uncertainty in both their voices was incredibly distressing. They should know what’s wrong, shouldn’t they? I didn't want to hear them, but I couldn't help but listen. It was then that it really hit me, upside the head in fact. Doctors are merely humans. Humans that aren’t really sure, and for the most part, aren’t necessarily any more protected from the same fate we all are. And perhaps even more alarming, is that they make mistakes (as all humans do).

I share because my recent hospital adventures, leave me searching for more. Hoping, perhaps naively, that there is more to life than science (which as of late, appears to fall just a bit short). I'm left hoping that somewhere, there are answers. That it doesn’t all stop here, with human decision, and human error. Surely this isn’t it. Because I gotta say, if it is, than the truth is just a wee bit too lugubrious for me.

(Lugubrious was my GRE word of the day)

I told you it'd be insufficent and excessive all at once.