Doodle Diagnostic

Wednesday, October 11, 2006 | comments (0)
"It's really bad when I sit. Pain here," I jabbed fingers just above my right buttock, "and in my foot. Underneath, not the top." I lifted my foot and pointed to the ball and then ran my finger along the center line down to the heel. "Sometimes some numbness here, too," I added.

Dr. Smith* nodded and scribbled something on the back of a piece of paper that was in my file. He held the pen like you might hold a paint brush and made a sort of circular drawing on the page. Then he looked back up at me expectantly.

I described some more symptoms, and occasionally Dr. Smith would jot down more indecipherable marks on the back of the piece of paper. What could they mean, these strange symbols? Being a writer of English prose, I know that people who speak Latin-based languages normally scribe from top to bottom, left to right. Also, and this is perhaps more important, they tend to write words, consisting of distinct letters, normally taken from the alphabet.

Dr. Smith's notes radically resisted this tradition. He would scribble some symbols here on the left of the page, some over here on the right, some in the middle. Sometimes the symbols went diagonally across a portion of the page. He jotted things down the way you might write a phone number left on your voicemail, which you then go back and stare at, hoping you will somehow be able to discern what you've written. There was no obvious order; the symbol placement seemed arbitrary. I use the term "symbol" because the things he wrote couldn't really be described as "words." I suppose "hieroglyphs" might be a better label, but even that would imply some degree of semiotic structure. These might best be described as "doodles." Dr. Smith was doodling while he listened to me present!

At least that's the way it appeared to me, a mere mortal. As you may or may not know, surgeons have special powers of written expression which to the untrained eye manifest themselves as simple doodling. Perhaps they learn to write this way because writing the normal way puts undo stress on their fingers, which are, after all, the tools of their livelihood. Whatever the reason, this is truly a higher form of composition, with many rich layers of meaning. What's so impressive about surgeon doodles is that meaning seems to be conveyed not only through the shape of the drawing and the context of the drawing within the page, but from the weight of the marks on the paper. Heavier markings have different meanings than lighter ones. It's strange, impressive stuff, the scribblings of surgeons, and some day I hope to learn this higher form of expression, though I expect doing so would mean I'd also have to learn how to slice open the human body, which doesn't seem likely, or appealing.

After hearing me out, looking at my MRI films, and doing a brief physical exam which required that I do various things with my legs, Dr. Smith confirmed I had a disc bulge and that it was indeed the cause of my recent pain. He didn't think the disc was "ruptured," which is good. This is where the inner fluid actually breaks out of the hard outer shell. That isn't fun. Moreover, he advised me against surgery, at least at this point. While on one level, this was a relief, I was also a bit chagrined. But why? you protest. That's great news! Right, right. I know. But not exactly. There are two reasons I feel this way. One is this: I've been through all this before. It was at a different vertebrae level, but the same issue. I tried everything - for many years - because I hated the idea of surgery. (I was chicken). But finally I had no choice because of muscle weakness. It was a good success, and that issue got resolved. "Fixed." And it sort of changed my mind about the whole surgery thing. Maybe I shouldn't have resisted it so long. So, part of what's still making me feel anxious is that I think I know where this thing will ultimately end, whether it's now or in five years. And it sort of seems better to get it out of the way than to have that hanging over me.

The second reason I'm troubled over Dr. Smith's assessment has to do with football, specifically the quarterback situation in Denver. But I'll get to that tomorrow . . .

(* not his actual name)

link to this | comments (0) | File: 

« Ants Marching
Big-D is Getting Bigger »




Comments

Comments: Rss Icon




Yes 
No

  

Related Posts

In Health . . .

03.21.2008
And so I responded as any self-respecting person would: by drinking too much and watching a great movie--twice--before passing out on the floor of our basement. Escapism through film and unconsciousness through alcohol are great American pastimes. And Tuesday I was a Patriot.

02.19.2008
There's a new physical "feature" on my body. And I've been noticing it lately whenever I happen to be completely naked and looking down at myself or in a full-length mirror.

11.15.2007
It's pretty much universally accepted that knowledge is power. But I'm here to tell you that's not always true. Knowledge can also leave you a quivering mass of gelatin, on the hardwood of your dining room.

11.14.2007
More heart later. First there is this: Ankylosing Spondylitis.

11.13.2007
But the real question I was asking myself, right, was how did I end up being this person having a cardiac stress test?

05.18.2007
Okay, call me over-reactionary, but I'm throwing away my Centrum as I write this.

01.23.2007
You might hear me make some unpleasant gurgling sounds. You might think I'm choking. But don't let that stop you. Please.

11.07.2006
The data is a little out of date, but it looks like if you're from LA, you might start investing in a new lung now . . .

10.12.2006
So . . . how about them Broncos Monday night! It was so great to watch them play at home at Invesco field in that cold rain. Football always seems to be more fun to watch when it's played in the cold . . . or the rain. And it's even better in the snow.

10.05.2006
The man didn't reply. He walked over to a counter and came back with something in his hand. I began flipping through a mental rolodex of what he might be about to give me. Some kind of injection? A pill . . .