Medical explanatory models are our social and cultural beliefs around illness and health. While this can have interesting (and questionable) applications. Like your grandmother telling you, you’ll catch a cold if you don’t wear a hat in the winter. Explanatory models have become an important aspect of Arthur Kleinman’s theory on illness narratives. Which includes asking questions that get to the heart of what the patient’s belief is about their disorder or illness. This essay explores medical explanatory models from my childhood. It was a fun bit of nostalgia. And something I’ve seen on a few TikToks lately, so I know I’m not the only one.
Spring Semester, 2022
(5 minute read)
When I was growing up, sick days meant having the house to myself (practically heaven in a family of five with one bathroom), camping out on the sofa in the living room watching talk shows all day (because there were only two channels and I had to walk over to the television in order to change it), making Campbell’s chicken soup in a mug in the microwave (because I wasn’t supposed to use the stove when I was sick) and drinking flat (left on the counter overnight) Canada Dry ginger ale because the bubbles were said to cause nausea. If I was congested, my mother would give me medicated ointment in a small round metal container that looked like a prop out of a western movie. I would rub the contents on my chest and under my nose and it seemed to work better than any bitter tasting pill.
This was the prescription no matter the ailment: flu, cold, period pain, wisdom tooth removal, if someone was sick, they got full use of the couch to spread germs all over the living room, until bedtime. And then the whole operation moved to the bedroom. My mom would set up a brown plastic humidifier that looked like a Fisher-Price toy to spritz water on us all night. The whole experience was wrapped in rest and relaxation. And I still move to the couch when I’m not feeling well.
The comfort in this ritual was so important that I would fake being sick just to have a little self-care every couple of months. Often when mom was out of town and I could say my period pain was horrible. Dad would ask zero questions. Although one time he did bring me home a chocolate bar. I wouldn’t know that was a thing until years later when my aunt told me that eating chocolate during my period would help with my cramps. I’m not sure that is true. But I do crave it and it seems like a treatment worth trying.
One of my most interesting memories of treatment wasn’t one of comfort, but something I continue to ponder. I was too young to remember if the nail that went through my foot hurt at the time. My brother, was so afraid he was going to get in trouble for playing teeter totter on the snowmobile trailer with me that he took off to be the first to tell dad. I, however, was stuck to the trailer. The nail I had stepped on went clean through my sneaker and the thought that I could see the top of the nail kept me from moving.
I looked up to see my Dad running toward me in full hero mode. He picked me up (straight off the nail) and ran me into the house and onto the bathroom counter, where the word tetanus never came up. Instead, my mother (after getting off the phone with her mother) filled her favorite pot (her fudge making pot circa 1971) with hot water, added a couple slices of white bread and made me dip my foot into it. Apparently, the bread would draw out any infection. They never did take me to the hospital and luckily, I still have my foot. While I can no longer remember the details, I still think about mom’s fudge pot and the choices perfectly sane parents made in the early 80s.
This was a time when I would learn and unlearn other comforts and causes of illness. Like how not wearing a hat in the winter would cause a cold, is false. And how wearing my soccer shorts well into late October would cause arthritis in my knees, is also false. However I do understand that while the cold doesn’t cause arthritis it could increase pain levels for those already inflicted. Or how eating snow would cause a sore throat. Which never made sense to me because my aunt would drip maple syrup on snow and roll it up as a treat.
Parts of these medical explanatory models for illnesses go far back into the family and community. Mom would tell us to wear our hats around our grandparents in the winter. Probably so she didn’t have to listen to all the ways we were going to get sick. While I understand it now, I fussed about as a child. Now I can see it was part of the history and culture of where I grew up. Connections they had made and continued to share and fret about.
We pass down stories that continue to influence behavior until they evolve into something new. My daughter finds comfort staying in her own room and in her own bed when she isn’t feeling well. And that fits because we care for her grandmother so sometimes it is better that she quarantines herself. But sometimes I feel nostalgia for the magic of couch camping I think she is missing. And I lore her to the sofa with chicken noodle soup, gatorade, and 400+ television channels.