Tuesday, 12 March 2013

I had an enlarged spleen when I was a child. Not sure what that meant but mum was worried enough to take me to the local GP where two nurses wrestled my flailing limbs into submission while the doctor tried to find a vein from which to extract a blood sample.

Seems I recovered, but the spleen has always held a morbid fascination for me. The word has a Shakespearean quality. A medieval tone.

I’m told you can vent it.

And, like the appendix, apparently humans can live without this dubious non-vital organ. It’s like the Allen key or set of screws you find in the Ikea packaging after you’ve already assembled the Flintorp. May have been useful but not essential.

A bit like this blog.  

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