Selective Amnesia There was a point to this. But I forgot.

Susruta, Hippokrates, you’ve got a lot to answer for.

So, am at home, well and truly stuck indoors. I must have missed the memo that kindly informed me I would give over most my earnings and my family’s savings to the medical profession. In March, I began a much-delayed course of treatment for my arthritis, in April I had an enlarged salivary gland removed, in May/June I suffered from a persistent flu, as well as a case of the hiccups, just a day before the 40th Chennai PhotoWalk. The hiccup-from-hell lasted well through the evening and the night, causing doctor visits and “hospitalisation for observation”.

So anyway. This month, July-August, it’s a hernia that needed removal. So I am home. Recuperating, convalescing. Sitting on my ass. Which, believe it or not, is the perfect segue to the res-gestae.

I wonder why, in over 200 years of evolution, modern medicine still hasn’t managed to find an alternative to those really short, open-in-the-back hospital gowns? You know the ones which, no matter what the patient is in for, always has his/her butt hanging naked.
And will always ride up to one’s chest while sleeping.
On the other hand, those gowns do keep one, well, well-aired.