Contes de fées/ Fairy Tales

Give it a break. (You're head we mean)


Will not be following for two days. Good luck with controlling viral spread from your laptop. has strongly urged readers to keep computers and TTD apps closed for two days a week, and simply rely on their brains like in the past.


Quite a challenge of course. We'll see how that works out.

Abstinence is hardest at the start.


Deep fatigue is now universally present. It just takes a little while to become aware of it.


So leave this page now, and go rest a bit. TV and cellphone off. (Imagine!)


Then get up, look around, and do the first thing that you can do. Without planning the next.



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(or just quit here)




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For those old enough to remember the day


Only Bob Dylan would be the right choice, for bringing closure to a certain period of history.




Where were you, November 22, 1963?




Then again, perhaps this was more your style ...





Briefly married in the early 1980s, Carpenter suffered from anorexia nervosa, which was little-known at the time. Her death from heart failure at age 32, related to complications of her illness, led to increased visibility and awareness of eating disorders. Her work continues to attract praise, including being listed among Rolling Stone's 100 greatest singers of all time.


Or this one since she had such a beautiful voice. What a shame.


Karen Carpenter - White House - August 1972


Karen Carpenter

White House

August, 1972





There were of course others. Others who should never have gone away. God only knows why.








Be that as it may, there are still some very nice voices to be heard today.


Here's Bruno Mars, for instance.





Our today still, Tracy Chapman ...





But where are we off to now? Are we hiding from SARS-CoV-2, or hiding from ourselves?




But don't forget: The children.

"Show them all, the beauty they possess inside."


Watch what they do, when someone they love comes home. Moments of power where only one thing is present. Love.


That will be stronger than any virus.








<<<<<<<<<<<<<<   Take Me Home, Country Roads



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Rocks and Hard Places

"Will you write my last poem?
Check off my undone Things-To-Do?
As I lie being breathed by this machine
Being breathed to my death by a machine.
Each blow one breath closer,
One step closer like a slow march in snow.
And having done, God knows what,
To be in the wrong 50% group.
My fingers search across cold plastic
Feeling for a hand now far away.
Perhaps I die because 
You could not find me in you.
But more likely because I was too busy
To call you with a simple word - together.
Even if I did all I could, one is rarely enough.
But finally now, wordless honesty.
With each breath."


  • a patient in Intensive Care


F :  Que je traduis ...


"Voulez-vous écrire mon dernier poème?
Cochez mes choses à faire inachevées?
Couché, je respire par cette machine
Être soufflé jusqu'à ma mort par une machine.
Chaque souffle un souffle plus près,
Un pas de plus comme une lente marche dans la neige.
Et après avoir fait, Dieu sait quoi,
Être dans le mauvais groupe à 50% je suppose.
Mes doigts parcourent le plastique froid
Ils cherchent une main maintenant lointaine.
Peut-être que je meurs parce que
Tu ne pouvais pas me trouver en toi.
Mais plus probablement parce que j'étais trop occupé
Pour vous appeler avec un mot simple - ensemble.
Même si j'ai fait tout ce que j'ai pu,

Une personne seule suffit rarement.
Mais enfin maintenant, une honnêteté sans paroles.
A chaque respiration".


  • un patient en Soins Intensifs





COVID- 19 en Belgique le 16 mai >>>>>>>>



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Bob Dylan - writing on hope




"Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" is a poem written by American singer-songwriter Bob Dylan, and recited live during his April 12, 1963 performance at New York City's Town Hall. He was 22 years old.


Dylan's performance at the Town Hall on April 12 was used to debut several new compositions, such as "Tomorrow Is a Long Time", "Dusty Old Fairgrounds", "Ramblin' Down Thru the World", and "Bob Dylan's New Orleans Rag". However, at the end of the concert, Dylan returned to the stage to recite one of his poems in public, "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie", which he has never done since.


In his introduction, Dylan explained that he had written the piece after being asked to "write something about Woody...what does Woody Guthrie mean to you in twenty-five words" in the impending release of a book about Guthrie. He then explained that he "couldn't do it – I wrote out five pages and... I have it here...Have it here by accident, actually."


The poem is essentially an analysis of hope. Dylan sets the scene by describing the stressors of everyday life and the myriad of challenging choices we have to make. These stimuli can, essentially, cause us to feel alone, lost and without hope. Dylan then explains the function of hope and how we need something to give our lives meaning. He then finishes the poem by suggesting that Woody Guthrie is as much a source of hope and beauty in the world as God, or religion.







"There's this book comin' out, an' they asked me to write something about Woody...
Sort of like "What does Woody Guthrie mean to you?" in twenty-five words...

And I couldn't do it -- I wrote out five pages and... I have it here, it's...
Have it here by accident, actually... but I'd like to say this out loud...
So... if you can sort of roll along with this thing here, this is called
"Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie."


When your head gets twisted and your mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When you're laggin' behind an' losin' your pace
In the slow-motion crawl or life's busy race
No matter whatcha doin' if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of your cup
If the wind got you sideways it's one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slippin' and the feelin' is gone
And your train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but you're lazy to fetch it
And your sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know that it's wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from your pony are slippin'
And your rope is a-slidin' 'cause your hands are a-drippin'
And your sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And your sky cries water and your drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashin' and the thunder's a-crashin'
The windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops are shakin'
And your whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And your minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
An' to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born?"

And you start gettin' chills and you're jumpin' from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And you're knee-deep in dark water with your hands in the air
And the whole world's watchin' with a window peek stare
And your good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flyin'
And your heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And your jackhammer falls from your hands to your feet
But you need it badly an' it lays on the street
And your bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think your ears mighta been hurt
Your eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterday's rush
When you were faked out an' fooled while facin' a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
It's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on your mind that you wanna be sayin'
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on your tongue, sealed in your head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And you're scared to your soul you just might forget it
And your eyes get swimmy from the tears in your head
An' your pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and you're starin' at his teeth
And his jaws start closin' with you underneath
And you're flat on your belly with your hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
You say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hangin'
On this pathway I'm strollin', this space I'm taking
And this air I'm inhaling?
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailing
On this mandolin I'm strumming, in the song I'm singing,
In the tune I'm humming, in the words that I'm thinking
In the words I'm writing
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinking
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking?
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make your heart pound
But then again you know when they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
'Cause sometimes you hear 'em when the night time come creeping
And you fear they might catch you sleeping
And you jump from your bed, from the last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of your thinkin'
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that's somethin' special you're needin'
And you know there's no drug that'll do for the healing
And no liquor in the land to stop your brain from bleeding

You need somethin' special
You need somethin' special, all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows your troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at your looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rolling long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that you're standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many times you might get kicked
You need something special, all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said, maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And your trouble is you know it too good
'Cause you look an' you start gettin' the chills
'Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dim-lit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Rantin' and ravin' and takin' your money
And you thinks it's funny
No, you can't find it neither in no night club, no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
No matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on your ticket stub
No, it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in a cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hairdo or cotton candy clothes
Ain't in the dime store dummies an' bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knocking and tapping in Christmas wrapping
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute, look at my skin,
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow,
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry,
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No, you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made of paper maché
And inside of the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn you in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind your back, my friend,
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all the rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're fooling you
The ones that jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down your hat
Saying, "Christ, do I gotta be like that?
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty, that stuff ain't real":

No, but that ain't your game, it ain't your race
You can't hear your name, you can't see your face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that you're seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You find God in the church of your choice
You find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In Grand Canyon








1963 - Blowin' In The Wind


"You don't count the dead, when God's on your side."


  • And now, a moment of silence in the quiet of your home, to be with all those who have died around the world. Of all ages, men women and children, of all colors and creeds, of all political persuations.
  • They were each so sure that they would one day get their Things-To-Do list, done.



SItuation in Belgium this day (in French, but lots of graphs) >>>>>>>>>


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At the Mayo

F: La version française plus bas sur cette page ...


E:  "Tell us a Story Grandpa !"


"Oh, OK. Here's one."

During my medical education, I had a professor who's initials were KLB. A wonderful man who, later as a Surgical Resident, I had also done research with.

Now during his training, he had been formed as a Physician and Researcher at the prestigious Mayo Clinic. 

And while he was studying "at the Mayo," (sounds a bit like "pass me the mayo, please") he had an acquaintance who had elected Pathology as his field of study.

And once done with his Residency, he did a Fellowship "at the Mayo" and this time in Infectious Disease Medicine.

At some point in that Fellowship, people began to notice a new habit that he had developed.


And the people who had time to notice, would chuckle a bit. They had understood that our Fellow "at the Mayo" was beginning to see bugs everywhere. He wrote well-respected, peer-reviewed articles on nosocomial infections. Those are hospital acquired infections. They were well received. (The articles, not the infections).

As he approached any door in the hospital "at the Mayo" he would do this.

He'd reach into the right pocket of his white labcoat, and would pull out a latex rubber glove. (They were all latex then). He would put it on his left hand. Then he would open the door with his gloved hand (door handles if one, otherwise just pushing it open) and carefully passing through without contact. While holding his breath.

On the other side, he would use his right hand to peel off the glove, shooting it into the corner near where the door met the wall. He'd move down the hall, taking his next breath.

He had experimented with sterile gloves in folded paper wrappers.


These were less convenient than the non-sterile. Each package had to be opened individually before filling the right pocket of his white labcoat with them. These also came with a light dusting of talc to make it easier to slip them on. He didn't know about that talc. He had some reservations, but preferred not to have it come in contact with his skin. He also thought that some talc particles might get into the air while donning a glove, and be inhaled. He stayed with the non-sterile, non-powdered gloves.

One could notice him donning a glove in this manner at each door he passed through.

Some of the people who noticed, worked for housekeeping "at the Mayo."
One day, having surmounted the protective barrier that surrounded those who were Physicians "at the Mayo," a member of Mayo Clinic Housekeeping took a moment to chew out our Fellow in Infectious Disease Medicine.

I wasn't there to hear the conversation, but it must have included that someone else had to pick up his used inverted gloves collecting in the corners of the hallways "at the Mayo." And could he please stop doing that? (Something like that. I don't know, perhaps more).

So he modified his technique.

As you may have already learned, techniques to separate a human from invisible potential pathogens that just might kill you, require thought, some type of non-human material selected as a shield, followed by practice with the selected material. To get it right. Lots of fumbling at first. This should be overcome before getting into an actual, at risk situation.

Now his technique had been upgraded.


He would approach a door. He'd reach into the right pocket of his labcoat and pull out a latex rubber glove, which he donned on his left hand. Just like before. Then he would push open the door, and walk through. In so doing he would always try to contact the door at a slight distance from where other humans had contacted it with their ungloved hands.

On the other side, reaching across with his non-gloved right hand, he would open a small paper bag now kept in the left pocket of his white labcoat. He would open it enough so that the peeled-off glove could now be deposited in the paper bag. Then he would move on to his destination, take that next breath, and of course, move through other doors "at the Mayo."
At the end of the day, or sooner if full, the paper bag would get deposited in his lab, in a special trashcan for contaminated items.

He kept a stash of paper bags in the top drawer on the left side of his desk in the Path Lab "at the Mayo."

He used paper bags and not plastic, because he also had a thing about touching plastic. Also aluminum. He would wrap his sandwiches at home each morning (Fellows "at the Mayo" got to go home instead of being Interned with the Surgical trolls of course). Anyway, he would wrap his sandwich in waxed paper, and not aluminum foil. Aluminum has well-studied effects on the human brain. Much like fluoride. The two contacted together are even worse.

So over time, he also expanded the indication for using his technique, to opening any drawer or footlocker "at the Mayo."

And one day, towards the end of his training, in one of the bathrooms "at the Mayo," he was found hanging by a rope.


Can't seem to remember the name of that Fellow. Probably the fluoride in my toothpaste.

Maybe you remember. Were you "at the Mayo" back then in the '70's?



So at this time of new and different techniques that you are learning, don't start seeing bugs everywhere.


While learning Medicine, someone who has that vocation, or thinks so, comes in contact with lots of scary, even life-threatening realities. Yup. Life-threatening, and life-taking. These change one. You might leave your field of interest for another, because the scary hits came just a bit too frequently. You might make such a career change several times. In my first year, classmates started having nightmares the day they met their cadaver in Anatomy Lab. For some, those never ended. Most adjusted.


And of course, and more important here, people who didn't chose and stick with that vocation, just don't need to hear about all that scary stuff.


A little, is what is now referred to as "informed consent." But you don't need to hear about, and live through, all of it. It drove many who I knew, out of Medicine. (So did Managed Care).


Our world has enough going on that's scary, to not add 'bugs' to its other sources of anxiety.


But of course, the bugs are there.

They're on your skin. They're in your nose.

Most are not harmful to humans.
And for the one's that are? Well, get your technique down, do it, then forget about it.

Go pick some flowers in the woods or your neighbor's garden.

And if you find yourself wondering about where you put that nice strong coiled rope you bought a few years ago, or just how cold river water must actually be, talk to someone.




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F : "Racontez-nous une histoire grand-papa!"


"Bien sûr, mes p'tits. En voici une belle."


Pendant ma formation médicale, j'ai eu un professeur dont les initiales étaient KLB. Un homme merveilleux avec qui, plus tard, en tant qu' Assistant en chirurgie, j'avais également fait des recherches.

Maintenant pendant sa formation, il avait été formé en tant que médecin et chercheur à la prestigieuse clinique Mayo à Rochester, dans l'état du Minnesota.

Et pendant qu'il étudiait «au Mayo» (cela ressemble un peu en anglais à «passe-moi la mayonnaise, s'il te plaît»), il avait une connaissance qui avait choisi la pathologie comme domaine d'études.

Et une fois son temps d'Assistant terminé, il a fait plus d'études "au Mayo" et cette fois en médecine des maladies infectieuses.

À un moment donné de cette formation, les gens ont commencé à remarquer une nouvelle habitude qu'il avait développée.

Et les gens qui avaient eu le temps de le remarquer rigolaient un peu. Ils avaient compris que notre camarade "au Mayo" commençait à voir des bestiôles partout. Il a écrit des articles évalués par des pairs très respectés sur les infections nosocomiales. Ce sont des infections qu'un patient attrape pendant son séjour à lhôpital pour une autre maladie. Ses écrits ont toujours été bien reçus.

Alors qu'il s'approchait de n'importe quelle porte de l'hôpital "au Mayo", il faisait ceci ....


Il mettrait sa main droite dans la poche droite de sa blouse blanche et sortirait un gant en latex de caoutchouc. (Ils étaient tous en latex à l'époque). Il le mettrait sur sa main gauche. Puis il ouvrait la porte avec sa main gantée (poignées de porte s'il y en a une, sinon juste en l'ouvrant) et en passant avec précaution sans contact. Tout en retenant son souffle.

De l'autre côté, il utilisait sa main droite pour décoller le gant, le tirant comme un élastique dans le coin près de l'endroit où la porte rencontrait le mur. Il avançait dans le couloir et reprenait son souffle.

Il avait expérimenté avec des gants stériles dans des emballages en papier plié.

Celles-ci étaient moins pratiques que les non stériles. Chaque paquet devait être ouvert individuellement avant d'en remplir la poche droite de sa blouse blanche. Ceux-ci étaient également livrés avec un léger saupoudrage de talc pour faciliter leur enfilage. Il ne connaissait pas bien ce talc. Il ne l'avait pas encore complètement étudié. Il avait quelques réserves, mais préférait ne pas le mettre en contact avec sa peau. Il pensait également que certaines particules de talc pourraient pénétrer dans l'air en enfilant un gant et être inhalées. Il est resté avec les gants non stériles et non poudrés.

On pouvait le voir enfiler un gant de cette manière à chaque porte qu'il traversait.

Certaines des personnes qui l'ont remarqué, travaillaient pour le ménage "au Mayo".
Un jour, après avoir franchi la barrière protectrice qui entourait ceux qui étaient Médecins "au Mayo", un membre de la Mayo Clinic Housekeeping a pris un moment pour un peu mâcher notre Fellow en médecine des maladies infectieuses.

Je n'étais pas là pour entendre la conversation, mais cela devait comprendre que quelqu'un d'autre devait ramasser ses gants inversés usagés dans les coins des couloirs «au Mayo». Et pourrait-il s'il vous plaît arrêter de faire ça? (Quelque chose comme ça. Je ne sais pas, peut-être plus).

Il a donc modifié sa technique.

Comme vous l'avez peut-être déjà appris, les techniques pour séparer un humain des agents pathogènes potentiels invisibles qui pourraient simplement vous tuer, nécessitent de la réflexion, un certain type de matériel non humain sélectionné comme bouclier, suivi d'une pratique avec le matériel sélectionné. Pour bien faire les choses. Beaucoup de tâtonnements au début. Ce problème doit être surmonté avant d'entrer dans une situation réelle à risque, face au bestiôles.

Maintenant, sa technique avait été améliorée.


Il s'approchait d'une porte. Il mettait la main droite dans la poche droite de sa blouse de laboratoire et sortait un gant en caoutchouc de latex, qu'il enfila sur sa main gauche. Juste comme avant. Puis il poussait la porte et traversait. Ce faisant, il essayait toujours de contacter la porte à une légère distance de l'endroit où d'autres humains l'avaient contactée avec leurs mains non gantées.

De l'autre côté, tendant la main droite non gantée, il ouvrait un petit sac en papier maintenant conservé dans la poche gauche de sa blouse blanche. Il l'ouvrirait suffisamment pour que le gant pelé et inversé puisse maintenant être déposé dans le sac en papier. Puis il continuait vers sa destination, prennait ce prochain souffle, et bien sûr, franchirait d'autres portes "au Mayo" de la même façon.

À la fin de la journée, ou plus tôt si la poche gauche était pleine, il déposait le sac dans son laboratoire, dans une poubelle spéciale pour les articles contaminés.

Il gardait une bonne réserve de sacs en papier dans le tiroir supérieur sur le côté gauche de son bureau dans le Laboratoire de Pathologie "au Mayo". Il les achetait une fois par semaine pour en avoir toujours assez.

Il a utilisé des sacs en papier et non du plastique, car il avait aussi quelques idées sur les riques dus au  plastique. Aussi l'aluminium. Il emballait ses sandwichs à la maison chaque matin (les Fellows "au Mayo" pouvaient rentrer chez eux au lieu d'être internés avec les trolls chirurgicaux bien sûr). Quoi qu'il en soit, il emballait son sandwich dans du papier ciré et non dans du papier d'aluminium. L'aluminium a des effets bien étudiés sur le cerveau humain. Tout comme le fluorure. Les deux ensemble sont encore pires.

Ainsi, au fil du temps, il a également élargi l'indication de l'utilisation de sa technique, pour ouvrir n'importe quel tiroir ou coffret "au Mayo".

Et un jour, vers la fin de sa formation, dans l'une des salles de bain "du Mayo", il a été retrouvé suspendu par une corde.

Je n'arrive pas à me souvenir du nom de ce Fellow. Probablement le fluorure dans mon dentifrice.

Vous vous en souvenez peut-être. Étiez-vous "au Mayo" à l'époque dans les années 70?




Donc, à cette époque de techniques nouvelles et différentes que vous apprenez, ne commencez pas à voir des bestiôles, des virus, des 'bugs' partout.


Tout en apprenant la médecine, quelqu'un qui a cette vocation, ou le pense, entre en contact avec beaucoup de réalités effrayantes, voire mortelles. Oui. Danger de mort et des décès. La juste devant vous. Ceux-ci changent une personne. Vous pourriez laisser votre champ d'intérêt pour un autre, si les coups effrayants sont venus un peu trop souvent. Vous pourriez faire un tel changement de carrière plusieurs fois. Au cours de ma première année, mes camarades de classe ont commencé à faire des cauchemars le jour où ils ont rencontré leur cadavre au laboratoire d'anatomie. Pour certains, cela n'a jamais pris fin. La plupart ont ajusté.


Et bien sûr, et plus important ici, les gens qui n'ont pas choisi et poursuivi cette vocation, n'ont tout simplement pas besoin d'entendre parler de toutes ces choses effrayantes. Ni de les toucher.


Une petite dose, c'est ce qu'on appelle maintenant le «consentement éclairé». Mais vous n'avez pas besoin d'en entendre parler plus, et de vivre tout cela. Cela a chassé beaucoup de gens que je connaissais de la médecine. (Tout comme les sociétés d'assurance santé).


Notre monde a assez de choses qui font peur, pour ne pas ajouter des «bugs» à ses autres sources d'anxiété.


Mais bien sûr, les bestiôles sont là.

Ils sont sur ta peau. Ils sont dans ton nez.

La plupart ne sont pas nocifs pour l'homme.
Et pour ceux qui le sont? Eh bien, formez bien votre technique, faites-le, puis oubliez-le.


Allez cueillir des fleurs dans les bois ou dans le jardin de votre voisine.


Et si vous vous demandez où vous avez mis cette belle corde enroulée solide que vous avez achetée il y a quelques années, ou à quel point l'eau de la rivière doit être froide, parlez-en à quelqu'un.





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