The Confusing Art of Randomness: 101

One afternoon recently, I was deep into another self-imposed, "Five Gajillion Things To Do List," when I got a phone call from a nurse asking me some questions about an upcoming surgery. Aside from standard information like my name and birth date, (which is pretty important), previous surgical history and allergies, I was also quizzed about my history of "tattoos, metal plates, surgical clips, radiation exposure," and other things. OK.

Then, out of the Random Trivia and Information Abyss comes this little gem:

"Have you ever been pierced and/or impaled with anything?"

I paused, and was thinking to myself, "Such as...?" Example, please. My delay was obvious. I wasn't sure I heard that right. Nurse: "Did you forget?! Or, you don't know?!" In a split second, my "smart-mouthiness" took over: (in my mind, ok? I am a work in progress) Dilemma! Whatever shall I do? Should I tell her about all of the sword fights I have been in? What about the alien probes that were implanted during my abduction fugues? And, who could ever forget about those grueling battles in 15th century Wallachia?!
I boldly propose...no one would ever forget that brand of personal history. I am quite confident that if I were not being treated currently for an "acute impaling," it might leave behind other signs and symptoms. That would leave a mark.

I can say that is the first time in my life that I had actually been asked verbatim if I had been "impaled." Being a history lover, my mind did indeed jump to those visions of 15th century Wallachia and Vlad the Impaler. Guilty of Nerdery as charged, Your Honor.

That really got me thinking, though. I wondered how much information we volunteer because we either are a) submitting to authority; or, b) assume it is critical to whatever needs to be done. Even if mildly wary, most people think, "They must need that...they are the experts! They are the professionals!"

I wondered, too, how much one could get away with. My mind was racing with all kinds of strange possibilities. I have noticed that even signing up for various programs and services occasionally elicit some disjointed queries. I have actually been asked some bizarre unrelated questions when I am at cash registers, too. Not wanting to disclose my email address to a clerk at an unnamed wrinkly, popular clothing store halted my transaction until the manager came over and "approved the decline." In front of wild-eyed and seemingly confused young clerk, she had to key into the computer a super secret code of some kind, and perhaps even activate the Bat Signal. What on earth? The 27,000 people in line behind me were not thrilled. At that moment, however, I found myself getting slightly miffed about giving out my email, and was not concerned about that. Sorry.

So, yeah..."Ummm...What does my opinion on the change in economic structure of eastern Europe have to do with getting my (fill in the blank) yanked out? Is there something I am missing here?"

"Do I absolutely have to disclose my zip code and the name of my seventh grade Science teacher to have the tech hook up the satellite dish?"

"Is knowing my political party affiliation crucial to selecting a 'Scent of the Month?' " But, wait...how?

In this particular exchange with the surgical intake nurse, I was also asked three separate times if I had a "sulfa allergy." I'm not sure if she did not hear me the first two times, or she was evaluating my verb conjugation skills. Perhaps the O.R. will be a virtual Sulfanomide Fest..."Free antibiotics for the first 100 patients on the table today!" Bargain. I am sure my insurance company will like that.

I was half-expecting requests to disclose credit card numbers, repressed and horrifying secret fears, or maybe my favorite pizza topping(s). I am struggling to envision a scenario where I am being wheeled, post-op and groggy as all get-out, to my private room, where a Domino's mushroom, paper-thin crust pizza awaits my direction.

"It's time for a foot rub with your Deep Aqua and/or Orange Sapphire scented lotion...We all know what your 7th Grade green-leaning-party Science teacher would say about that! Now...see?" they will say triumphantly, "We need to ask these things!"

But, of course you do... You are the professional! What was I thinking?!