Google or AI might help you diagnose, but maybe Grandma knows best

Walking around one of the city lakes recently, we were discussing various aspects of medicine as well as health care in general. One of us is a retired physician, and the other will soon be starting the medical education process. Some might consider this a mentor/mentee relationship, but this belies the issue that we all can learn things from one another, whether it's health care, self-care, or all sorts of subjects under the sun — for example, grandmothers.

The younger of us has a grandmother who was born in the state of Jalisco, Mexico, and now resides in Washington state. The older of us had a grandmother born in a small town in Eastern Europe where borders changed periodically; somehow she made it to Chicago. Neither of the women had the privileges that might lead to being categorized as "book-smart." But their specific intelligence, one that cannot be learned from reading or being in a school, would be essential for protecting, supporting and comforting. In simpler words, taking care of others.

Artificial intelligence notwithstanding, there is a lot of information about health care out there. For years now, one could Google any array of symptoms and come up with a list of potential diagnoses — some common, some rare; some benign, some deadly. Patients, friends and even children self-diagnose, and it's often a troublesome issue: People get worried when they see bad stuff and may not be able to easily dispose of those thoughts, even when the appropriate condition becomes apparent through a reasoned and scientific approach.

Once a diagnosis is established and medication or a procedure is recommended, it's often back to Google to see if the prescribed treatment is correct, but especially to become familiar with side effects or complications. Ironically, in some situations, the list of medication side effects might include some of the original symptomatology.

Given myriad symptoms and problems, what would Grandma do? Our experienced problems after a medical procedure went wrong. Because of the Depression, our never received the medical care her children were lucky to have received. Did these issues inform their view of taking care of family and friends? Not necessarily.

The senior of us still recalls Grandma's universal therapy regimen: chicken soup. If you were really sick, you'd get a matzo ball and thick noodles. With other conditions and signs, you might receive one of several kinds of thick or thin rolled pancakes filled with meat or cheese or potato. If you were at her house, you could put jelly on anything.

For the younger of us, might be considered the go-to management plan, with even the first aromas setting one well on a road to recovery. Complicated cases and conditions might necessitate . Waiting for either of these slower-cooked treatments necessarily involves patience but with the knowledge that improvement was within sight.

Nourishment is clearly an essential for grandmotherly care. The process involves physical tasks: cutting, stirring and tasting. There might be a stained and creased cookbook lying around, but probably not. Memories of past "cases" helped to flavor the soups and the stews and give them their strength. Rosa and Sophie might disagree a bit about something like the correct amount of salt — — but we fully agree that they would like each other immensely. Even with their accents, they'd articulate "Google-schmoogle" without difficulty.

How does Grandma compare to Google? Without double-blind controlled scientific studies, no one will ever know. With a grandma, however, there is an advantage: She is observant. She is aware of relevant past and family history. She knows what works. She talks to you and with you. And she embodies all of the elements of trust.

We've never known Google to hug anybody or tuck them in and tell them a story. Our grandmas win hands down, and it's not only the cooking, although that's major. Nothing in this complicated and technological universe substitutes for kindness and sweetness and tenderness.