Bitterroot Bugle

Challenge accepted. Yesterday I had an angry red blotch surrounding a scabbed-over wound, source of injury unknown. I biff and bang my skin in my everyday world without giving it much thought. This infection is not significantly different from hundreds of others I have had, and certainly of no concern. In the olden days with my blind faith in the anointed medical practitioners, I would hustle to one of their temples to get shot for the dreaded tetanus that none of us had ever known to exist outside a mythology of the diploma-bearing medicine man world. They then would have poured some toxic mixture out of a brown bottle onto the wound, applied a fifty-dollar band-aid and sent me packing. […]

every job looks like a nail. The old lady with dementia scratches head to toe, too often until she bleeds. The dermatologist tries every tool in his kit without success to stop the itching. Fidgeting fingers and inability to sit still are known effects of dementia. The cause may be in her head, but dermatologists don’t work inside heads. We will give the psychiatrist a shot. I am reminded of AMA doctors. Modern MD training focuses on drugs and interactions thereof. Diet, behavior … nada … Skewz me. They matter, probably more than your lovely pharmaceuticals do. “You have gout. Have this prescription filled.” I fill the prescription, but look it up on the Internet before taking the drug. SMOKES!!! […]