Beginning the psychology of illness in the Cyber-age

I have been away for a few days. I have a chronic illness, and occasionally the local hospital enjoys keeping me overnight—sometimes several nights—for “observation”. I’m not sure what they “observe”, but it’s apparently interesting, at least to them. I feel like a lab rat. My GP is also a deacon in my church, so perhaps I shouldn't refer to him as a "croaker". He does look in on me once a day, even if he's leading a gaggle of young croakers and teaching them bedside manners.

Life in a small community has its ups and downs. I’m not sure which term applies, but when the local hospital staff wants to “observe” me, they won’t let me near a computer. They know my propensities all too well. Perhaps it raises my blood pressure, or something, if I go a-blogging. Hence, my blog has been without refreshment for some time.

A web log, i.e. “blog” is defined as a daily diary of the more mundane aspects of life. I was recently characterized as “boring” by a troll on another web site. The irony is that this troll was intimately familiar with the subjects of my mutterings. He/she/it said I would be a lot more interesting if I transcended my sarcasm and commented on things other than cigarettes and rock and roll. In search of a real life, this sweaty little demon reads what I write, despite protestations to the contrary.

If one gives up drugs and booze, what is left besides cigarettes and rock in the realm of defiance? Smokes will kill ya, and hard rock will make you deaf. We grow up to be our parents, if we get the chance to live that long.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m listening to rock & roll as I write this: Roy Harper—“The Game” from the “HQ” album. That 13+ minutes of perfect rock has rung inside my empty head since its 1978 release. Cigarettes are a personal choice, but they’re a bitch to quit once you start.

Illness, and the premature end to my Biblically allocated days, makes me slightly philosophical. I am not trolling for sympathy or commiserations; “it” with an “sh” happens. I have read all the essential books by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross on death and dying; I am not terminal, but I like to do my homework. I ignored my assignments and faked it for Kindergarten—Master’s [Poli-Sci], but I know now why people my age read The Bible so much: we’re cramming for the final exam.

I hope I pass. As Ricky said to Lucy, I gots a lotsa ‘splainin’ to do.

I had an original vision of a blog site as a place to make jokes. Then it became a legacy for my daughters. There are things about their old man they’ll never know otherwise. Now I have a place on the net, and what’s left of my mind has gone blank.

I speak above of being philosophical, but that is one of the universe’s jokes. A true philosopher adds to the reality of human experience. I have always been a follower; not someone who will buy the shiniest idea ever offered, but one who embraces a common-sense ideal. I have nothing original to add, so I can never be a real philosopher. Therefore, I am a Libertarian, in the true Ayn Rand sense of that term of definition. I may follow the herd, but don’t tell me what to do. I am what old-time sheep- and cattle-herders would call “an outrider”.

God doesn’t grade us on political ideology. Looking at the harsh reality of being closer to the end than the beginning, I hope I have done [mostly] the right things. I think [hope] that's what the curve is based upon.

While being “observed”, I had my own observations about the psychological effects of being a patient, and surviving a chronic illness. These will congeal into various boring mutterings if/when I live long enough to figure them out and find the words. Irony abounds, but I won't spell it out.

[It’s the “C” word, so don’t ask again, please. I wrote obits for a major daily paper, and we always used the euphemism “long illness”.]

From time to time, this blog will contain certain reminiscences that are aimed at my family, specifically my daughters. These little mutterings may have some resonance with others who lived through the turbulent times we shared as kids in the '70s. They may have no interest to anyone; that’s a risk that bloggers run.

I’m a mess, and if you think this is boring, sign out and read no further. I will re-explain “Those People” in a moment. Stay tuned if we’re having fun.

This is Part I. I don't know where this may go, but the pathology of illness has its own direction. I'll try to stick to the psychological, like an "Oprah" segment.

Like she and Van Susteren care. Can you say "ratings"?

Sure, you can.

[Fred Rogers, R.I.P.]

If this is not what you expected, go surf some porn.