Monday, October 4, 2010

Not the doctor

By first grade, I had my future completely mapped out. Unlike most kids that wanted to be ballerina/teachers or firemen/cowboys-  I was going to be a doctor, more specifically a pediatric orthopedist. This seems like a lofty goal for a girl who was dreaming of setting fractures while rolling faux boogers out of dried rubber cement. However by the age of 7, I knew my high gross-out tolerance and superior medical knowledge (which I believed I had under my belt after one surgery) was going to serve my future career well. 

However, like most children, my reach far exceeded my grasp because precision in sciences is not a strong suit of mine. I went on to make a strong C- in high school chemistry. I only passed because I wrote a poem about phosphorus as my final big element project. [Tangent: Sadly, I still remember it, at least the beginning. "A scientist named Henig Brand had some urine in his hand. He brought it down to a boil. A glowing substance came from his toil. He named the light-bearer phosphorus. Atomic number 14 to all of us. Some kinds of phosphorus is white. You'd surely die if you took a bite. Some kind of phosphorus is red. Its in coca-cola and match heads."] Basically my powers of bullshittery allowed me to pass honors chemistry with dying colors... yes, your guess is good as mine why I took honors sciences.

It occurred to me that medicine may not be the most practical career path to travel down, given I couldn't reach the sinks to do the pre-surgical scrub up. Additionally, although I do look fetching in scrubs, I require a more diverse wardrobe and my powers of bullshittery would not be appreciated.  For these reasons,  I just play pretend doctor with the info I uncover on the Internet. Wikipedia and WebMD, as well as online medical journals,  are saving me lots of money in copays. This "webnosis-ing" has become a huge past time of mine since being released from the hospital [Tangent: Having an inordinate amount of free time makes this banal hobby a little more understandable.]. Every single question I have regarding my health, I promptly google. Maybe I watch too many episodes of "Mystery Diagnosis" or perhaps I am a it what you will.

The biggest issue I have had since getting out of the hospital is losing my sense of taste...or rather having all food I ingest taste like it has been coated in burnt plastic. I have googled the hell out of this matter, and have deduced that it has something to do with being intubated for 3 weeks and having all those tubes compress some kind of sensory nerve that had previously allowed me to taste things properly.  DRAG. 
*This came up when I google image searched tongue anatomy. 
I found it disturbing on a number of levels.

This loss of taste, albeit hopefully temporary, is increasingly traumatic; I daresay more traumatic than the whole experience in itself. You see, I am a fatty in a skinny body. I LOVE FOOD.  If my stomach could yield a higher capacity, I would have a TLC special devoted to my obesity. I fiend for it. Its not unusual for be to give you locations and dates of the best dishes I have ever put in my mouth. [Answer- Cabana has lobster brie mac and cheese, I still fantasize about it, even though it will be 2 years ago in January since I have had it...mostly because I am not hip enough to frequent that place.] 

Damn the nerve damage for it has ruined the things I once loved. I went into a Starbucks the other day and the scent of coffee made me cringe. Starbucks was now a paralell universe where every pleasant smell/taste had morphed into the odor of a GI Joe in the microwave. Bright side- this new asociation will save me a lot of money on impulse coffee purchases.

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