Details, Details ...Medical Details

My appreciation for medical details is deficient -- unless, of course, I must face the same thing at around the same time.  Otherwise my willingness to hear such things is, like, really really low, and it reminds me of how, as a kid, in the movie theaters, whenever there was even the slightest suggestion of a horror scene coming up, I would duck my head down behind the seats and keep it there.   

Is this the result of "disorder and early sorrow?"  (And is that a title that a writer of novels or short stories would deeply wish the fates had saved for him to come up with first?   That being so, who is the author of long bygone times who is to be thus envied?   One of those chroniclers of the doomed South -- William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Flannery O'Connor, or the like.  But which one?   My memory lags.  Still, Truman Capote?)

Early yesterday my wife informed me that her yoga mentor, S., a woman of almost exactly my age, was having a hip operation at 10:30 that morning.

I let that go without comment.  But two hours later I thought I would at least ask where S. was having her operation.

After telling me, now that I shown more interest my wife warmed to the subject and decided to give me details about what the operation would require the surgeon to do.

"First they have to take her leg out of its socket--"

 

"That's okay," I said instantly.   "Stop right there!   That's enough!"

It's amazing how many things there are in the world that I could never have been, and it's a miracle that I've made it this far in spite of  that.