Wes and I are now knee-deep in the fourth season of House, MD and loving it. There’s something about his absolute disregard for the compassion and dignity of others that is utterly delicious. I suspect this is due in large part to the fact that we get to watch and laugh as opposed to endure and work with it.
The funny thing about watching this show, though, is its effect on everyday life. Every episode starts with watching the patient go about their lives right before their bizarre medical affliction makes them pass out/bleed/seize/hear colors. The effect of this continual exposure to things going horribly wrong is that it turns your everyday life into a continual prelude to tragedy.
I was driving home from work today when I was absolutely sure I was going to pass out, rear-end the car in front of me, and then be rushed to the hospital only to be diagnosed with a roving kidney. Every time I find a bump on my shin or see a weird spot on my skin I automatically assume it’s something arcane and deadly.
I’ll rush over to Wes and immediately pepper him with questions, such as:
- Do you think this bump is a parasite that’s feasting on my blood and will slowly start shutting down all my organs until the day it pops through my skin?
- My leg feels funny, do you think I have a nerve disorder that will eventually find a way to stop my breathing?
- There’s a spot on my arm. I bet it’s lupus.
He will usually spend about a minute taking me seriously before telling me I’m being silly and resolutely ignoring me until I find something new to obsess about.
I can’t be the only person in the world who finds themselves with medical “white car syndrome” (where, after you get a white car, you suddenly start seeing white cars every freaking where.) It makes sense that, after saturating your brain with the images and sounds of medical emergencies, your brain would start seeing them everywhere.
Speaking of medical maladies, Doc Holliday has an appointment with his vet tomorrow morning. Wish us luck and hope for the best, will you?