Shadow of a Doubt — Real Life

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If I had been able to take myself to the Emergency Department, I would have; instead I felt the absolute injustice of my lack of agency as I stared at the ceiling and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in.
There is, perhaps, little more unsettling than being told that something is over, even as one continues to feel its ongoing effects. In the Northern Hemisphere, the promise of a “hot vax summer” quickly devolved into a recognition that “vibes are off.” More precisely, the vibes are uncertain. People are dancing and wearing cute outfits, but Miss Corona still lurks.
Belling argues that patients are increasingly expected to be active participants in their own health. They must know enough to know when to call the doctor, and surrender this knowledge the moment they are through the door. For the hypochondriac, the doctor’s diagnosis is read alongside — in relation to — a panoply of other texts, both the information gleaned from internet sources and the story of their own body, sending them new information in the form of symptoms they forgot to mention. In the face of all this intertextuality, the closure offered by the doctor proves ever more difficult to accept.

rw-book-cover

If I had been able to take myself to the Emergency Department, I would have; instead I felt the absolute injustice of my lack of agency as I stared at the ceiling and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in.
There is, perhaps, little more unsettling than being told that something is over, even as one continues to feel its ongoing effects. In the Northern Hemisphere, the promise of a “hot vax summer” quickly devolved into a recognition that “vibes are off.” More precisely, the vibes are uncertain. People are dancing and wearing cute outfits, but Miss Corona still lurks.
Belling argues that patients are increasingly expected to be active participants in their own health. They must know enough to know when to call the doctor, and surrender this knowledge the moment they are through the door. For the hypochondriac, the doctor’s diagnosis is read alongside — in relation to — a panoply of other texts, both the information gleaned from internet sources and the story of their own body, sending them new information in the form of symptoms they forgot to mention. In the face of all this intertextuality, the closure offered by the doctor proves ever more difficult to accept.

rw-book-cover

If I had been able to take myself to the Emergency Department, I would have; instead I felt the absolute injustice of my lack of agency as I stared at the ceiling and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in.
There is, perhaps, little more unsettling than being told that something is over, even as one continues to feel its ongoing effects. In the Northern Hemisphere, the promise of a “hot vax summer” quickly devolved into a recognition that “vibes are off.” More precisely, the vibes are uncertain. People are dancing and wearing cute outfits, but Miss Corona still lurks.
Belling argues that patients are increasingly expected to be active participants in their own health. They must know enough to know when to call the doctor, and surrender this knowledge the moment they are through the door. For the hypochondriac, the doctor’s diagnosis is read alongside — in relation to — a panoply of other texts, both the information gleaned from internet sources and the story of their own body, sending them new information in the form of symptoms they forgot to mention. In the face of all this intertextuality, the closure offered by the doctor proves ever more difficult to accept.