91 and FOS aka 'Full Of Shit',
literally and absolutely.
That was me last week. Having aortic stenosis
and forcing a bowl movement is, in my view, an invitation to a heart
attack. That may be true even without having stenosis.
Pushing
and shoving a hard rock out my ass was plenty fucking time consuming
and uncomfortable. (Pain is for wimps and sissies. Uncomfortable is a
word, more better.)
Trying
to function with the hard rock in me was damn near impossible. I felt
like I was plucking at a daisy or dandelion. Now the great event would
happen, now it wouldn't. Breathing hard was the order of the day. Traipsing to the john to grunt and groan for 18 hours was what I would have wished on Hitler.
Though I live in 800 square feet so I didn't have to traipse very far. And without a wife to whine to.
Google has created a whole new class of Real and Borderline Hypochondriacs. A genre that I left after one Google too many. If
you have an ache, pain or feel uncomfortable, Google it.
Google
'constipation'. You will, I believe, be amazed at the number of web sites
devoted to descriptions and cures of constipation. I was brought up on
'castor oil' which cured everything. A little nausea or the need to vomit
came along with the 'castor oil' but no fucking overload of
information. Prunes and/or a fresh fruit smoothie loaded with blackberries are the current 'cures'.
In Korea, right after WWII, riding in a jeep became an exercise in sharp
jabs in my lungs every time the fucking jeep went over bumps. It was
really annoying. Not having Google to tell me what was wrong with me, I
went out on sick call.
The
very bored Army doctor did the stethoscope routine, tapped me on the
back and said "You have pleurisy." "Will it go away?", I asked. He
said,"In a few days."
No intellectual curiosity here. I was 21 and
didn't care about what pleurisy was. The pleurisy leaving was all that
counted. It did go away, came back a few times and then
disappeared for good. Later learned that pleurisy is an inflammation of
the lining of the lungs and I lived many years without that overload of
information.
How did the expression 'boobs'
evolve from 'lungs'?
When we were kids in the Bronx, well endowed girls
had 'big lungs'. Now they have 'big boobs'. But then in those really
Golden, Olden Days, we also played stickball, stoop ball and pitched
pennies against a wall, when we had the pennies to pitch. We were too
relaxed to wonder why we had an ache or pain. Complaining was for wimps
and sissies.
Google, schmoogle, a bie gahzint.
~
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