There's a name for everything

I have decided that if we live long enough, every malady and every affliction that ever strikes any of us will get a name and a scientific/medical diagnosis.

I mean, if you try to get out of going to dinner with your mother-in-law because you have a headache, forget it.  Put on your pants. You're going.  But tell them that you are suffering with Trigeminal autonomic cephalalgia, and head for the recliner with an ice bag and some Tylenol.  Make it Tylenol PM if you want; you're in for the night!

Sprained ankle?  You're still expected to go to work.  Tell the boss your problem is that common musculoskeletal injury: the ligaments of your ankle are partially or completely torn due to sudden stretching, and that you'll be home til Wednesday, the earliest, elevating and icing.  No phone calls, please.

Seborrheic dermatitis sounds a lot better than itchy scalp, and remember, nothing stops dandruff better than a dark flannel jacket...

But.  If you've ever flown out of bed, running down the hall with the belt from your robe trailing you like a tow truck dragging chains around the auto auction yard, because just as you dozed off, you thought you heard a an earschplittinloudenboomer (an old German term for loud noise), then you're not really flipping your lid! There's a name for that, and that name is Exploding Head Syndrome, a rarely-fatal disorder characterized by "the perception of loud noises during sleep-wake or wake-sleep transitions." That's the word from the European Sleep Research Society, and who knows more than they do?

Boom boom!  Just when you thought the top of your head was coming off because of that new hot sauce you tried...