I had an appointment this morning with my primary care physician. I thought that the appointment was to request a new lab test. Little did I know that the appointment was really so that my doctor, who shall remain nameless, could wax philosophical on me.
For nearly fifteen minutes, I was subjected to a lecture about how I should look forward to heaven. As if that were not enough, he left me with a list of related reading material. And then he went on to tell me about how I should do something meaningful with my life, such as telling my story to the local paper, so that I can raise awareness of the devastating effects of ALS on one’s life.
I am not defined by this disease.
I am sorry, but I don’t need to be told how to die or how to live. I feel like I have a good handle on both. And it’s not like I don’t want to hear about others’ perspectives on life and the hereafter, it just seems rude to lay it on someone without being asked first.
I used to live with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, who wrote “On Death and Dying.” Not that he would know that of course, although he may have if he had shut his yap for more than five seconds.
To add injustice to the whole thing, he didn’t even order the lab tests that I had requested. I had wanted a Hair Element Test, to get a count of mercury in my body. He pooh-poohed that, telling me that because different labs report different numbers, that the test is meaningless. He instead ordered a Heavy Element Blood Test, which I have already had. I thought that I was prepared for a little skepticism, but after his lecture, I walked out of that office in a dazed condition.
Needless to say, I am open to recommendations for a new family doctor.