I’ve already admitted my hopeless addiction to med blogs. I read them for many reasons – filling my basic Peeping Tom needs, to have a great laugh, to hear about the ever-changing and politicizing of medical care, and to learn.
Their technical information has no rival, and I depend on this to keep my own characters real. Face it, watching Grey’s Anatomy for medical authenticity would be as big a disservice to my writing as my giving up eating Twinkies would be to the Hostess’ bottom line. I depend on these good docs’ stories to prevent me from looking like an idiot – a feat I can accomplish with my eyes closed.
When I sit down to write, my med blog buddies are little angels on my shoulder. Sid is the doc to go to when you need to know how to do an operation or what it feels like to hold an organ in your hand. From the laying of knife on skin to the poetry of a surgeon’s thoughts when opening up a patient – Sid’s your man. In fact, I have a folder in my writing folder labeled “Sid’s Tomes,” and it consists of bits and pieces of his blog I don’t want to forget when I’m writing.
Panda…a very intelligent man and a wonderful writer. I’ve told him that should the doc thing fail to work out for him he’d better become a writer. He’s an interesting mix. His anti-integrative medicine position is of particular value in helping me validate one of my main characters, but his refusal to open his mind a squidge frustrates me as well. Such is life, right? I admire him nonetheless. Panda’s a straight-shooter and his insights to the ever-growing political arena of medicine are of great value to my plot development.
Fingers is a wonderful angel whose stories of the ED at
I found M.D.O.D. fairly recently, and they’re fast becoming a major angel on my shoulder as well. They’re great for writing about the inane and amazing.
Medblog Addict. Okay, she offers zippo to my writing. She simply makes me laugh my fool head off. This helps a great deal when I have a tough scene to write. I’d love to have a pitcher of margaritas with her. She’s as crazy as I am.
They and others sit on my shoulder and whisper gently in my ear when I’m writing a scene. “No,