Jan 19

Many of my patients are soft in the head.  And understandably so: a good chunk of them are infants, the bony plates of their skulls as yet unfused.

Adults don’t have that anatomic excuse; yet soft-headed grown-ups are everywhere.

Consider, for instance, this headline in last Wednesday’s Daily Mail: “Britain's first pregnant man, 21, who stopped transitioning to start a family, reveals emotional trauma of giving birth in the wrong gender.”

Hayden Cross, born Paige, sounded off to the Mail on “the realities of being pregnant as a transgender man, saying giving birth brought up 'a lot of emotions and a lot of feelings' and he didn't feel well supported.

No sh--, Sherlock.  It’s tough to be supportive of blithering idiocy.

A better example of fake news would be difficult to find.  Cross is not the first man to be pregnant, because she’s not a man - she’s a woman pretending to be a man.  And she didn’t give birth in the “wrong gender”: she gave birth as a woman, using the uterus and ovaries she was born with to carry and maintain her pregnancy to fruition. Read the rest of this entry »

Jan 19

“History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes,” Mark Twain is supposed to have said.

He was right, but he wasn’t saying anything new, as anyone familiar with the Bible can attest.

In Ecclesiastes you will find, as ancient precursor to Twain’s observation, this axiom from King Solomon:

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.

It was Solomon’s words that surfaced in my mind on New Year's Eve as the last hours of 2018 bled away.  I stared glumly into the bathroom mirror at yet another volcanic eruption studding my 51-year-old mug, echoes of my pimply-faced adolescence ping-ponging in my brain.  Zits don’t ordinarily occupy the same territory as hard-won wrinkles - nor should one ever need reading glasses to properly inspect them.

I have my oncologist to thank for this acned absurdity.  One year ago, as 2018 rose unsteadily from the ashes of 2017, the stubborn beast of a cancer in my head reincarnated itself alongside the new year, thumbing its nose at all previous efforts to slay it.  I wasn’t keen to risk another craniotomy after four mighty kicks at that can; I’m all for being “open-minded”, but preferably not surgically.  So, after lengthy discussion with my cancer specialist, I took a flyer on a novel drug, armed with lotions and potions to keep the inevitable side effects at bay. Read the rest of this entry »