|
|
The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
Oh My God, the RSS Feed Actually Works!
Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
Praise for Daily Blah:
"It is fun to watch the author's navel-gazing joy." - Sunday Times (UK)
"It's really funny and informative." - Dave Eggers, author
"The Blah is becoming a daily destination for me." - Richard Marsh, Playwright
"I like it, and I don't." - Fiona Hogg, Teacher
"Better than Xanax." - Lessley Andersen, journalist
"Dude, lay off the crack pipe." - Souris Hong-Porretta, gamesmith
Friends, Bloggers, Countrymen ... lend your ears to these people. I come not to bury them, but praise them.
Arik
Bill
Dan
Cole
Emily B
Emily G
Helena
Jee
Jewelz
Kaila
Kathryn
Mac
Robin
Slim
Souris
Mr. West
My TIME articles
All magazine articles (subscription required for older stories)
Online column index
|
|
|
|
|
Daily Blah for... Tuesday, October 15, 2002
The Culture of Sickness
This time I have a pretty good excuse for my absence. I spent much of last week in St. Francis Memorial Hospital (ah, and how funny it is to watch the merest mention of the word "hospital" cause looks of stern and attentive concern to cross the faces of even my most cynical friends). Happily, my presence there was due to one of the least serious things a person can possibly be hospitalized for: a case of cellulitis, a bacterial infection in the skin of my left calf, most likely caused by some impertinent little 'skeeter. Oral antibiotics weren't doing the trick, my fever spiked to 103, my girlfriend insisted I take a trip to the ER (left to my own devices, I most likely would have waited until the leg turned purple and dropped off), and before I knew anything I was hooked up to an IV and experiencing morphine for the first time. (Mmmm ... morphine ...)
And that should have been the whole story. IV antibiotics were doing their job; I should have been left alone to do mine, which was to grab as many Zs as possible. But this is modern American health care, and patients aren't allowed to rest. They must suffer a constant stream of interruptions from complete strangers -- that is, whatever assistants the nurse on duty has delegated her entire roster of tasks to -- who barge into the patient's room (doesn't anyone knock anymore?) bearing a variety of machines that go "ping!" [cf. Monty Python's Meaning of Life] and proceed to either draw his blood or measure how much his blood pressure/temperature/pulse rate has changed since the last time it was checked five minutes ago. Being complete strangers, of course, they also have to wake the patient up and ask what his symptoms are. How much of the increase in blood pressure is due to the interruptions, strangely, is not measured.
What western medicine needs is a good dose of eastern medicine. By which I don't mean acupuncture or aromatherapy; I mean the concept that the wellness of your body just might have something to do with the wellness of your mind. If you sacrifice a few measurements or a little delegation here and there to make sure a patient is calm, relaxed and --dare I use such a Californian term -- centered, they just might get better faster. As it was, I felt I would have done a lot better if my IV drip and I had taken a stroll (okay, a hop) across the street to the Nob Hill Grille and sat there for five days. Hell, it's where I got all my meals from; I would have saved on takeout bags. I shunned the hospital food because a) it was hospital food, and b) I just couldn't get used to the old person's mealtime schedule of 7am, 12pm and 5pm. What was this, a retirement home?
Well, yes. Kinda. And that's half the problem with hospitals. No matter what you've got, you're treated like a helpless nursing home inmate. They will take care of you, but on their schedule, not yours. You will be inculcated into the culture of sickness, and the initiation ceremony will take place every five minutes. The Kafka-esque result: a patient who starts off not very sick can be made to feel worse. No wonder I felt like stringing sheets together and abseiling out of the window.
|
|
|
|
