Saturday, February 21, 2004
My favorite fantasy, of course...
...fantasy come true that is, would be for one or all of the mainstream physicians I've been dealing with in connection with Mom, her back, her anemia and her diabetes to say, "Cinnamon, huh? Terrific. Well, let's keep her under observation, keep a tight record of how much you're administering and when, how you're cutting back on the meds and let me know if she starts to slip below blah, blah, blah or above blah, blah, blah for more than a few days in a row."
That would be grand. This is exactly the fantasy (although not always with cinnamon) I've envisioned each time I meet a new mainstream physician. I even got overly excited once with one of the newest ones when at the first appointment the PCP said maybe she could learn something from me. I immediately felt, although left unsaid, that with that attitude I knew I'd be able to learn from her in concert rather than in defense.
But that was not to be.
Now, sometimes, just to relieve the frustration, I invent 'psychological rape' fantasies in which I exit unscathed and the doctors exit volitionally violated. I don't really want those to happen. I feel a bit guilty having these fantasies, as I contend that fantasy, in all forms, is a very powerful activity, although not quite as simple as "from thought to deed".
It's a pickle. Medicine is a pickle of the type I don't like: Say, sweet gherkins; you have to get through the sugar haze to appreciate the nutritional value.
That would be grand. This is exactly the fantasy (although not always with cinnamon) I've envisioned each time I meet a new mainstream physician. I even got overly excited once with one of the newest ones when at the first appointment the PCP said maybe she could learn something from me. I immediately felt, although left unsaid, that with that attitude I knew I'd be able to learn from her in concert rather than in defense.
But that was not to be.
Now, sometimes, just to relieve the frustration, I invent 'psychological rape' fantasies in which I exit unscathed and the doctors exit volitionally violated. I don't really want those to happen. I feel a bit guilty having these fantasies, as I contend that fantasy, in all forms, is a very powerful activity, although not quite as simple as "from thought to deed".
It's a pickle. Medicine is a pickle of the type I don't like: Say, sweet gherkins; you have to get through the sugar haze to appreciate the nutritional value.
