Female Complaints
Jan 28 2023
Whatever happened
to ague, the grippe, the vapours?
Dropsy
barrel fever
breakbone?
There was even Disease of the Learned,
which I can't be sure of
but could be existential angst.
Or perhaps myopia,
from squinting at scholarly manuscripts
by flickering candlelight.
There is power in naming.
A solid name
conveys authority;
concealing ignorance
by sounding masterful.
It's descriptive
but also inscrutable,
the sort of incomprehensible jargon
the anointed
jealously guard for themselves
while excluding the hoi polloi.
Colourful, not technocratic.
Ad hoc, not systematic.
And memorable
in its horrible specificity;
mortification
Black Death
apoplectic,
consumption
and Bloody Sweat.
Pronounce a name,
then treat
with monkey glands
and hair of the dog,
physic
blood-let
naturopathy.
Or even hysterectomy.
Ideal
for hysteria
and other female complaints.
Held down and gagged,
no anaesthetic
antisepsis
washing of hands.
Just laudanum for pain.
Thoughts and prayers.
The mercy of God.
In the Oct 2015 edition of the Atlantic, Alison Gopnik wrote this about the 18th century philosopher David Hume:
As a teenager, he’d thought he had glimpsed a new way of thinking and living, and ever since, he’d been trying to work it out and convey it to others in a great book. The effort was literally driving him mad. His heart raced and his stomach churned. He couldn’t concentrate. Most of all, he just couldn’t get himself to write his book. His doctors diagnosed vapors, weak spirits, and “the Disease of the Learned.” Today, with different terminology but no more insight, we would say he was suffering from anxiety and depression. The doctors told him not to read so much and prescribed antihysteric pills, horseback riding, and claret—the Prozac, yoga, and meditation of their day.
I couldn't resist “vapors, weak spirits, and “Disease of the Learned”!
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