Expectation’s Punk Brother – The Power Of Suggestion

Expectation’s Punk Brother – The Power Of Suggestion


A couple of weeks ago, my husband went into the lab one night for a sleep study.

It’s not the snoring so much as the ceasing to breathe (apnea). He gasps for breath like a fish out of water, and when it wakes me up — well that shit has got to stop, I can’t afford to sacrifice one moment of my beauty rest.

Seriously, it can cause a whole myriad of health issues — including death — which is the ultimate side effect, so he packed up his pillow and jammies and spent the night.

“You’re one of the worst cases this lab has ever studied” his doctor couldn’t hide her surprise as she read the report. “You wake up on average, thirty-seven times an hour! You get absolutely NO rest.

She promptly wrote a prescription for one of those sexy CPAP machines, assuring him that it will “change his life.”

I know she’s right — I see a change in his sex life coming real soon.

That night when he got home he couldn’t stop yawning.
“I’m sooooo tired. You know; I get absolutely NO rest” he said, shooting me a zombie-eyed look as he stifled another yawn.

Two hours later, after yawning and complaining his way through dinner, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Damn, you sure are suggestible” I said, laughing, “You felt fine until she told you weren’t getting any sleep, now look at you.”

He grinned sheepishly, “I know, right?”

I may know a thing or two about suggestibility.

I am NOT allowed to read the side effects that come with a prescription drug, because I cannot be trusted from that moment on to feel anything legitimate.

If it says may cause constipation –– I won’t poop for a week.

May cause drowsiness –– I lapse into a coma.

If it lists depression or psychotic episodes –– I start hearing voices.

The same goes for Web MD.
No one without a medical degree should be allowed to log onto that site.

That same husband met me one morning in the kitchen a few years ago, doubled over, holding his side and wincing in pain. Seems he was up all night self diagnosing his affliction with the help of the internet, and by morning they’d both agreed –– he had all the symptoms of appendicitis.

Keeping my wife-of-the-year status in good standing –– I called bullshit.

“Oh sure you do. Come on, it’s just gas. Buck up and take an Alka Seltzer and quit being such a baby.”

In this case I was wrong. He had to have an emergency appendectomy later on that night.

But my argument still stands!

Don’t read that shit, especially late at night or your headache will morph into a brain tumor in a matter of hours.

Trust me on this.

She felt amazing…until they told her she was sick.

I’m a firm believer that doctors should forget about their malpractice insurance for a minute and neglect to tell a patient the down side, the side effects, and the survival rate.

Most people are just too damn suggestible, and that information goes in their ears, bangs around in their brains, and then sets up shop and becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy.

My father was given an eighteen month life expectancy, and by God he kept that appointment with death. Shit dad; it was an educated guess, not a directive from the main office.
Studies have shown men are the worst. They will obediently mark it on their psychic calendars

How about if we all agree to attach our hopes to only the positive suggestions; otherwise known as The Placebo Effect.

They are more difficult to come by, and the quantity is scarce, but they’re around, that I can assure you.

They feel more like a heart flutter than a gut-punch.

This isn’t going to hurt a bit.

You should sing more often, you’re really good at that.

It isn’t only diet and exercise that keep you healthy, it’s a positive state of mind.

This bug only lasts three days, you’ll feel better by the morning.

I bet if you told them you were interested in the position, they would be thrilled.

I know she’s interested in you, why don’t you just give her a call?

Red wine keeps cancer at bay…

Blonds have more fun.

Those are the yummy suggestions that we should let set up shop in our brains and become a prophesy fulfilled –– not the drama and dreck the fear hands us.


Carry On,


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