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〃Speaking of Operations〃
by Irvin S。 Cobb
Respectfully dedicated to two classes：
Those who have already been operated on
Those who have not yet been operated on
Now that the last belated bill for services professionally rendered
has been properly paid and properly receipted； now that the memory
of the event； like the mark of the stitches； has faded out from a
vivid red to a becoming pink shade； now that I pass a display of
adhesive tape in a drug…store window without flinchingI sit me
down to write a little piece about a certain mattera small thing；
but mine ownto wit； That Operation。
For years I have noticed that persons who underwent pruning or
remodeling at the hands of a duly qualified surgeon； and survived；
like to talk about it afterward。 In the event of their not surviving
I have no doubt they still liked to talk about it； but in a different
locality。 Of all the readily available topics for use； whether
among friends or among strangers； an operation seems to be the
handiest and most dependable。 It beats the Tariff； or Roosevelt；
or Bryan； or when this war is going to end； if ever； if you are a
man talking to other men； and it is more exciting even than the
question of how Mrs。 Vernon Castle will wear her hair this season；
if you are a woman talking to other women。
For mixed companies a whale is one of the best and the easiest
things to talk about that I know of。 In regard to whales and
their peculiarities you can make almost any assertion without fear
of successful contradiction。 Nobody ever knows any more about
them than you do。 You are not hampered by facts。 If someone
mentions the blubber of the whale and you chime in and say it may
be noticed for miles on a still day when the large but emotional
creature has been moved to tears by some great sorrow coming into
its life； everybody is bound to accept the statement。 For after
all how few among us really know whether a distressed whale sobs
aloud or does so under its breath？ Who； with any certainty； can
tell whether a mother whale hatches her own egg her own self or
leaves it on the sheltered bosom of a fjord to be incubated by
the gentle warmth of the midnight sun？ The possibilities of the
proposition for purposes of informal debate； pro and con； are
apparent at a glance。
The weather； of course； helps out amazingly when you are meeting
people for the first time； because there is nearly always more or
less weather going on somewhere and practically everybody has ideas
about it。 The human breakfast is also a wonderfully good topic
to start up during one of those lulls。 Try it yourself the next
time the conversation seems to drag。 Just speak up in an offhand
kind of way and say that you never care much about breakfasta
slice of toast and a cup of weak tea start you off properly for
doing a hard day's work。 You will be surprised to note how things
liven up and how eagerly all present join in。 The lady on your
left feels that you should know she always takes two lumps of sugar
and nearly half cream； because she simply cannot abide hot milk；
no matter what the doctors say。 The gentleman on your right will
be moved to confess he likes his eggs boiled for exactly three
minutes； no more and no less。 Buckwheat cakes and sausage find a
champion and oatmeal rarely lacks a warm defender。
But after all； when all is said and done； the king of all topics
is operations。 Sooner or later； wherever two or more are gathered
together it is reasonably certain that somebody will bring up an
operation。
Until I passed through the experience of being operated on myself；
I never really realized what a precious conversational boon the
subject is； and how great a part it plays in our intercourse with
our fellow beings on this planet。 To the teller it is enormously
interesting； for he is not only the hero of the tale but the rest
of the cast and the stage setting as wellthe whole show； as they
say； and if the listener has had a similar experienceand who is
there among us in these days that has not taken a nap 'neath the
shade of the old ether cone？it acquires a doubled value。
〃Speaking of operations〃 you say； just like that； even though
nobody present has spoken of them； and then you are off； with your
new acquaintance sitting on the edge of his chair； or hers as the
case may be and so frequently is； with hands clutched in polite
but painful restraint； gills working up and down with impatience；
eyes brightened with desire； tongue hung in the middle； waiting for
you to pause to catch your breath； so that he or she may break in
with a few personal recollections along the same line。 From a mere
conversation it resolves itself into a symptom symposium； and a
perfectly splendid time is had by all。
If an operation is such a good thing to talk about； why isn't it a
good thing to write about； too？ That is what I wish to know。
Besides； I need the money。 Verily； one always needs the money
when one has but recently escaped from the ministering clutches
of the modern hospital。 Therefore I write。
It all dates back to the fair； bright morning when I went to call
on a prominent practitioner here in New York； whom I shall denominate
as Doctor X。 I had a pain。 I had had it for days。 It was not a
dependable； locatable pain； such as a tummyache or a toothache is；
which you can put your hand on； but an indefinite； unsettled；
undecided kind of pain； which went wandering about from place to
place inside of me like a strange ghost lost in Cudjo's Cave。 I
never knew until then what the personal sensations of a haunted
house are。 If only the measly thing could have made up its mind
to settle down somewhere and start light housekeeping I think
should have been better satisfied。 I never had such an uneasy
tenant。 Alongside of it a woman with the moving fever would be
comparatively a fixed and stationary object。
Having always； therefore； enjoyed perfectly riotous and absolutely
unbridled health； never feeling weak and distressed unless dinner
happened to be ten or fifteen minutes late； I was green regarding
physicians and the ways of physicians。 But I knew Doctor X slightly；
having met him last summer in one of his hours of ease in the grand
stand at a ball game； when he was expressing a desire to cut the
umpire's throat from ear to ear； free of charge； and I remembered
his name； and remembered； too； that he had impressed me at the
time as being a person of character and decision and scholarly
attainments。
He wore whiskers。 Somehow in my mind whiskers are ever associated
with medical skill。 I presume this is a heritage of my youth；
though I believe others labor under the same impression。
As I look back it seems to me that in childhood's days all the
doctors in our town wore whiskers。
I recall one old doctor down there in Kentucky who was practically
lurking in ambush all the time。 All he needed was a few decoys
out in front of him and a pump gun to be a duck blind。 He carried
his calomel about with him in a fruit jar； and when there was
cutting job he stropped his scalpel on his bootleg。
You see； in those primitive times germs had not been invented yet；
and so he did not have to take any steps to avoid them。 Now we
know that loose； luxuriant whiskers are unsanitary； because they
make such fine winter quarters for germs； so； though the doctors
still wear whiskers； they do not wear them wild and waving。 In
the profession bosky whiskers are taboo； they must be landscaped。
And since it is a recognized fact that germs abhor orderliness and
straight lines they now go elsewhere to reside； and the doctor may
still retain his traditional aspect and yet be practically germproof。
Doctor X was trimmed in accordance with the ethics of the newer
school。 He had trellis whiskers。 So I went to see him at his
offices in a fashionable district； on an expensive side street。
Before reaching him I passed through the hands of a maid and a
nurse； each of whom spoke to me in a low； sorrowful tone of voice；
which seemed to indicate that there was very little hope。
I reached an inner room where Doctor X was。 He looked me over；
while I desc