The Doctor
I am a doctor. A few days ago a patient with a horrible disease walked into my clinic and asked me to cure her. I looked into her eyes and saw a reflection of myself with the same disease. In short, I wanted no part of her.
In short, I refused to treat her and asked her to leave forthwith. She was, however, insistent. I would go so far as to say she was rude. So I wrung my hands and said something very rude in hopes of expediting her departure. I said, “You’re going to die anyway so why don’t you go home and slash your wrists?”
I will admit it was a callous thing to say. On the short hand, I see no reason why I should have wasted false sympathy and sentiment on someone who was doomed.
As you may have read in the papers, the woman left my office and went home and slashed her wrists. The newspapers rage on and on about my lack of compassion. But they don’t even mention the real lack—the woman had no sense of humor!
Such are the “liberal,” pity-the-poor-and-wretched times that we live in.
Tomorrow my case goes to the medical review board and I am sure I will receive at least a one year suspension of my license. They will ask me, “How could you, a doctor, say such a thing to that poor woman?”
I will ask the good doctors to look at the big picture and say, “Isn’t it peculiar that we, as doctors, don’t say things like that more often?”
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Submission Name: The Doctor
