UM…THANKS FOR SHARING

Have you noticed that people are very willing to discuss personal medical procedures in great detail? Sometimes a person will strike up a conversation with a total stranger and describe exactly where the surgeon made the incision during a hernia operation. When he starts to unbuckle his belt to give a closer look, that’s when it’s time to run.

I’d say it’s about time we all became a little more modest and a little less graphic when it comes to discussing our medical experiences. (Oh sure, this from a guy who devoted a recent column to describing the adventures of getting a colonoscopy. Must be a graduate of Larry Craig’s Do-As-I-Say-Not-As-I-Do school—not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

Recently I heard about a fellow who was recovering from foot surgery. At a restaurant during lunch he removed his shoe and sock and, to better explain to his dining companions that some of the stitches were getting infected, he plunked his bare foot onto the table next to the basket of bread. I understand the other people at the table have been unable to eat anything for weeks. (Hmm, that gives me an idea: the new Gross Foot Diet—guaranteed to lose weight or double your money back!) I also understand that in raising his foot onto the table, the man gave himself a hernia, which is fine because now he’ll have something new for show-and-tell the next time he goes out to lunch—assuming he can round up a few unsuspecting people who don’t realize that they are about to lose some weight.

This is not, by the way, a recent phenomena. In 1965, while recovering from gall bladder surgery, President Lyndon Johnson startled reporters by yanking his shirt up and displaying the 12-inch incision under his ribcage. When the press made a big deal of the president’s action, portraying him as boorish hick, Johnson said, “I didn't mean to be crude when I showed my incision the other day.” He explained that he was merely trying to illustrate what a heroic job the doctors had done. Then to prove he had no intentions of being crude, the president added, “Those fellas had to go through 34 feet of intestine!”

In researching LBJ’s exact quotation, I ran across a pretty funny comment. After Johnson suffered a serious heart attack, an aide asked him if they should cancel an order for two new suits, a brown suit and a blue suit. Johnson replied, “Let them go ahead with the blue one. I can use that no matter what happens.”

We certainly don’t hesitate to show off our surgical scars. I have to admit I’ve rolled up my right pant leg more than once to reveal the zipper-like scar on my knee, while explaining that the torn ligaments ruined my chances of playing in the NFL—along with a lack of speed, strength, and talent.

Maybe the reason we show off our scars is because deep down we are amazed that cutting a hole into our bodies can actually be helpful. Instinctively we all try to avoid getting sliced open. When our primitive caveman ancestors were impaled on a spear, they did not say, “Oh good, my gall stone problem is fixed.” No, they said, “Uh oh, at least at the funeral I’ll look good in my new blue suit.”

When we display surgical scars, we are really saying, “Look! I got carved open, but it made me healthier! Isn’t that amazing?!” So I don’t think people will refrain from these displays anytime soon. But I do have one request: keep your feet off the table.