Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Decades from now, when a particularly virulent strain of Martian flu crash lands in New Mexico by way of meteor, triggering an epidemic of startling proportions, you will likely find me in a fortified attic, tin foil hat securely fastened to my skull, with a multipurpose shotgun walking stick in one hand and a plate of nachos in the other. Oh, the newscreens shall herald a vaccine, no doubt, developed just in time to ward off this space-age sickness, but I will not partake of it. I will instead take to homespun remedies, throwing myself wholeheartedly into my noble work as I combine flax seeds, moss, and oregano into smokeable form.

That’s where my current trajectory is headed, at least. I tend to avoid doctors. Sure, I’ll grab some contact lenses from the optometrist, even visit the dentist every six months, but it’s been years since my last general checkup. It simply feels like I’d be looking for trouble, you know? And let’s not get started on the customs seemingly designed to confound: the long wait times, admonishments, uncertainty of what exactly is covered by insurance, and the privilege of booking a future visit.

The main objection to it all, I realized, is actually closer to our discussion about academia in that healthcare, like the ivory tower, is an institution that’s just not incented to answer the questions it seeks to solve. Certainly I understand the Hippocratic Oath, or the modern variant thereof, and I believe doctors themselves have the best intentions. But what if there were a breakthrough vaccine that inoculated you against, say, 50 strains of flu rather than just three? I can’t imagine the makers of cough syrups, lozenges, and decongestants would be too pleased. Or what if a mad scientist blended fluoride with nanomachines for the ultimate in dental care, leading to a precipitous drop in toothpaste used, floss purchased, and cavities filled? Would the ADA stamp that shit?

Ever since high school, I’ve tried to steer away from this grid, and luckily I’ve met wise individuals every step of the way, oracles who suggest alternatives to popping pills from the word go. I’ve refrained from flu shots for two years now, spurred by secret intel from Earth Chick about the diabolical additives mixed into every batch, and I feel great. I’ve got to be honest, though. The recent coverage on vaccination shortages, along with the storm of coughing that covers approximately everywhere, has made me consider hunting down a dose a few times now. But then I come to my senses and vow to stick to the basics: washing my hands, breathing through my nose as much as possible, getting ample sleep, and, most importantly, continuing to bite my nails. It’s a habit I developed in second grade, and I’m convinced it’s beneficial to my health. It’s like having my immune system party with a whole mess of petri dishes.