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A matter of semantics Ben Levy 4, September

My father is a doctor. He’s actually an anesthesiologist (and I am actually able to spell that right on the firs try-EPIC WIN). Specifically, he’s a cardiac anesthesiologist. This means he works on people whose hearts keep trying to give out on them. What I’m saying is, the man has seen some shit.

I once had a tiny cut on my forearm that became infected. Overnight, a lump grew that became the size of a baseball. When my arm doubled in size in an hour, I brought it to my father’s attention. He looked at it and said: “I’m a little concerned.”

Later, my family physician said: “It’s a very serious infection. If it gets worse, you’ll be calling me from the ER, because that’s where you should go if the antibiotics don’t work.”

In other words, he too was “concerned”.

What does all this have to do with my shingles? When I called my father the morning before I was diagnosed, the conversation went like this:

“So they think it might be shingles. I think it’s ridiculous, but the rash is actually making my eyelid swollen, so I’m going to the dermatologist today.”

“Go to the ophthalmologist.”

“I’ve got an appointment with the-”

“Go to the ophthalmologist today. I would prefer you go there before the dermatologist. If it is shingles and it’s near your eye, that’s very serious. Do you understand?”

And in my head I’m going: ‘that’s very serious’…oh FUCK.

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