I work very hard at insuring my writing is clever and realistic and understand there are some things that medicine simply cannot do – like a complete brain transplant. I leave the brain transplants to my science fiction writer friends. But every now and then reality dares to slam up against stuff that makes one roll their eyes and say, “Uh huh, yeah. Sure. Do I look like an idiot?”
Case in point: I was reading M.D.O.D.’s medblog today and he has this post about a benign ovarian tumor the size of a small car. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but not by much. What impressed me is that the woman had no idea this extra passenger was on board. I mean, come on, I can tell when I’ve eaten one too many Twinkies, so how does one miss a 65 pound tumor? It’s one of those nagging questions that haunt me at 2 am.
I’m not a doc, so I have the luxury of grossing out at the thought of massive amounts of blood and flotsam surrounding me. But I will admit to being damned intrigued as to how surgeons remove a behemoth like that. Do they use cherry pickers? I can see it now:
Dr. Cutsalot: “Okay, Bart, y’all back up that thar cherry picker…come on, boy, don’t be shy, it ain’t gonna jump out and beg to marry your next ‘o kin.”
I’m in awe of the human body’s tolerance levels that can allow such an invasion of something that clearly has no business being there. I’m equally in awe of docs who can remove it. But, boyo, I’d give my stash of Twinkies to hear their conversation.