Today I’d like to take a detour into a subject that’s fascinated me for years: medicine. I love the nitty-gritty, the gross, the bizarre, the historical. Although most of my studies and reading are stuck in what I call the Long Eighteenth Century (mid 1600s to about 1830), I’ll read any book that appeals to my obsession with grossness. At the same time, I’ll read both fiction and nonfiction, but I prefer nonfiction.
I especially enjoy reading accounts from history, as in Frances Burney’s mastectomy letter to her sister, Esther, which details her gory surgery. The victims of these early mastectomies could do this, of course, because they were wide awake throughout the entire procedure. For heaven’s sake, Burney could feel the knife hit her breastbone! Can you imagine? The description is enough to set my teeth on edge. I’m dutifully thankful she wrote it down for posterity. A fictional tale that begins with a horrific mastectomy, much like Burney’s, is Nicola Morgan’s Flesh Market. The book is a fine piece of historical YA fiction with a medical theme, if you don’t faint during the initial surgery description, and can get past Morgan’s writing style, which is engaging, but fraught with fragmented sentences.
I’ve read so many great pieces of historical medical advice involving rabbits, some great spoofs on doctors, and journals such as Samuel Pepys’–which detail the plague year–alongside fictional accounts–Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year, for example. A modern novel, not worth much in my opinion, is Geraldine Brooks’ Year of Wonders. I also enjoy compendiums of information such as Theories For Everything and Disease: The Extraordinary Stories Behind History’s Deadliest Killers.
But what is most fascinating to me is the way in which medical science hasn’t changed all that much over the years. Doctors steeped in today’s practices mock new ideas; alternative doctors still espouse outlandish ones. Despite anesthesiology, modern doctors seem to find new ways to torture their hapless sick subjects, and sometimes their torture works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Throughout medical history, this has always been the case. Study the above image of early mastectomy tools. The seventeenth-century writer Mary Astell suffered through a mastectomy and died two months afterward. Almost a hundred years later, Burney’s mastectomy was no more advanced in its methods, but Burney lived for almost thirty years after the event.
A while back, I stopped reading daily articles on modern medical topics, especially on alternative therapies. I stopped this practice because I felt overwhelmed by the onslaught of information. I grew tired of it, and especially tired of the arguments between alternative ideas and mainstream ones. Recently, however, a friend lent me a book called Earthing which is about the great! wonderful! cure of walking barefoot and sleeping “grounded” in order to access the negatively-charged electrons from the earth. I like the idea of it and consider it a no-brainer that walking barefoot in nature is good for health. However, the book barely scratches the research surface before devolving into personal anecdotes of how this method helped even the sickest RA or MS patients. I don’t disbelieve these anecdotes, nor do I believe them. Keeping an open, yet skeptical mind is fundamental to who I am as a person, and when it comes to human suffering, I hope for the best.
But you can guess what mainstream medicine thinks of earthing. They hate it. They mock it. By the way mainstream doctors conduct critiques, you’d think ad hominem arguments spring from the hardest, most fundamental core of science. And the way they completely ignore valid double-blind studies if they’re published in the wrong journals or espouse the wrong/not accepted conclusions is just sickening, to be honest [I’m not sure what the cure for science disgust is. Maybe more ad hominem arguments?].
What I’m left with after all this is wanting to create my own monster from the wreckage of hundreds of years of medicine–be my own Frankenstein, as it were. Why not? The very idea that electricity can give new life to sick people is so galvanistic that I’m simply galvanized to write about it. I can imagine it now: I, Dr. Jillenstein, will force a mainstream doctor to walk barefoot through the grass! She will then transform, beyond my wildest nightmares, into an earth-muffin, Sedona-dwelling acupuncturist who wears a hood to hide her bee-raper bag. She will call me God and herself Eve, and I will have to run, flee from her until I can run no more and am forced to come face to face with the horrific visage I’ve created. And will I have the nerve to drive a crystal through her merciless heart? Stay tuned for the exciting denouement.