Peasant

There are many bits of medical wisdom that I am loathe to follow, mostly because they sound like old wives tales or bizarre medieval superstitions – Do Not Eat an Uncooked Chicken, for it is Unclean, moans the abbot – and I set myself to abusing these doctrines, and in turn, abusing myself, so I can say, with the puff of the amateur empiricist, that I don’t eat uncooked chickens because I did once, and became ill, and I say other, similar things, about well-known medical ideas, to where I can sound like some half-wit peasant to the moderns around me.

The one field of exceptions, are the doctrines of death from small causes, minor behaviors that over-heave a whole human life in one accident or ignorance, toward these I am deferential, even to the most absurd-sounding, notions like “Blood Poisoning”, where one taints one’s own life’s-blood if even the head of a pin is unclean, perhaps another doctor will explain to me, again and again unconvincing, why I am washed with off-yellow elixirs, and how the needles are clean, because they have been kept in a tank and shrouded in blue light, ultraviolet marian, but I follow for the same reason that half-wit peasants have always followed, the fear of Hell and Death, behind the smallest mis-step.

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