Modern medicine tends to make some diagnosis and treatments tenuous.

A friend recently commented that she had taken her pre-teen son to the doctor because of a cyst on his wrist. She went into detail on the doctor’s suggestion of X-ray, blood samples, the possibility of minor surgery, recovery, insurance coverage, etc.

It seem to me that cysts were more common when I was a pre-teen in the 1940s. If not, certainly the diagnosis by our family physician was more elementary.

The majority of cysts are benign, but some may produce symptoms due to their size and/or location.

My cyst was on my right wrist. It caused no problems. There was no pain — just an abnormal bump that neither grew or diminished.

Mom felt it needed attention, however, hence our doctor’s visit. As a family doctor, he also was the attending medic at my birth.

The day of the visit to his office, mom and I sat across from the doctor’s desk as she discussed my situation. He felt my arm, moved the cyst around with his fingers. Then he turned in his chair to a library of books behind his desk.

I saw the titles — diseases, big names I could not pronounce but all of which conjured serious consequences to me. He pulled one book, replaced it, chose another, a heavier one. He pulled my arm across the desk and asked me to turn my head. When I did, he swung the book and it slammed down on my wrist.

I was startled, mom was startled. The doctor then said, “There, it is fixed.” He had smashed the bump!

Sure enough, the cyst was gone. When mom and I recovered our composure, the doctor asked if there were any other problems. Mom said no.

The doctor said, “No charge.”

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