Doctors
Don’t get me wrong. I love doctors, and we’d be completely lost without them. But do you think somewhere in the back of their minds, they really try to perpetuate their own existence? If everyone were healthy, there would be nothing for them to do, right? For instance, why do you think they have those office procedures we all dread, but always endure?
First, it seems like a miracle if you can find your way through a maze of voice prompts to speak with a live human being to set up an appointment. Naturally, if you’re not at death’s door, the first time they can fit you in is six months away. No worries. Who’s in a rush to get examined anyway, and have your most intimate of areas probed by instruments stored in the freezer?
Soon (or not so soon) that special day arrives, and you get to the doctor’s office, which of course is hidden away in the corner of a medical complex. You sign in, fill out lots and lots of nonsensical forms, and give the receptionist your insurance card three or four times.
Then you sit. And you sit. And you sit. After about two hours, your name is called. At least you think it’s your name, as it’s hard to hear over all the noise from the TV blasting in the waiting room, not to mention the coughing and sneezing from people practically sitting in your lap. By the way, this is where the “perpetuate” comes in. What better way to keep patients returning than to have them exposed to plenty of sick people. But I digress.
Next, you are ushered into another room, where you are asked to disrobe and sit some more. Only this time, this special room doubles as a refrigerator, so you can freeze to death waiting in your skivvies. There seems to be a recurring theme of cold when it comes to doctors.
Finally, the doctor drops by. What’s the first thing they do? They take your blood pressure, of course. And then they ask you why it’s so high? And you just shrug your shoulders, because you know it has nothing to do with you almost blowing a gasket, while hanging around for hours mulling over all of the possible fatal maladies you might have.
And you can’t really complain about any of this, as they have all of the marbles, so to speak. If you piss them off, they can give you a shot with a two-foot needle, or suggest that you have some rare, incurable disease. Doctors know this too, so you want to keep them happy. Very happy. That’s the bending over and just taking it part, which is especially nasty for us vulnerable (and very sensitive) boys.
So why do we put ourselves through all of this? The answer is rather simple. If we go to an empty doctor’s office, what’s our first reaction? We assume that they have no patients because they’re a lousy doctor. No, we’d much rather waste hours and hours waiting for the best doctor we can find. You see, we spare no expense or time when it comes to our health. Without our health, what do we have? Not much.
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