After careful consideration and deep soul searching, I have decided to quit my job and become a doctor. No, I didn’t say go to medical school, don’t be silly. I’m much too old for that. I’ve just decided to become a doctor, as in start telling people I’m a doctor and begin practicing medicine. I’m ready for the challenge the practice of medicine provides and, of course, the heavy burden of this serious responsibility.
I am not rushing headlong into my new profession. My decision was the result of personal observations of medical doctors both concerning my occasional ailments, as well as those around me. I have concluded, through such careful observation, that 99% of the time, the scientific diagnosis procedure involves the doctor asking a few simple questions and then pulling a Magic 8 Ball from his pocket and giving it a good shake. This was underscored to me when my wife, after seeing three different doctors for a severe acid reflux problem, spending thousands of dollars and undergoing an unpleasant procedure where the last one, a specialist, stuck a stick with a camera on it down into her stomach for a good looksee, finally went to see a naturopath. The naturopath took all of five nanoseconds to correctly diagnosis her as being lactose intolerant and charged her a buck ninety-five. Now, before you think I’m unfairly judging my new colleagues and their medical protocols, I am not. It is very difficult to meet and diagnosis the requisite 2,000 patients per hour to sustain a vacation home in Rancho Mirage and three weeks a year in Cancun. The results I plan to get using my iPhone and a little game changer I like to call the “College of WebMD” will surely be more accurate. I’m confident that I’ll be in the top 75% of my profession within the first week.
Because I don’t want to actually set up my own private practice (too much cumbersome paperwork), I plan to apply to a few group practices. I figure I’ll start with family medicine. Yes, this will take a resume, but understand that everyone in medicine including the office managers are all so overwhelmed that the odds of anyone actually checking the accuracy of my resume is less than one percent. Given that, I’ve decided, what the heck, why not jazz it up? So I’ve noted an undergraduate degree in Biology from M.I.T. (at least I hope they offer a Biology degree), and my medical degree from Harvard (yeah, go big or go home). And I’m not completely sure what the difference is between a residency and a fellowship, but I think I have the order right, so I completed my residency at the Cleveland Clinic (which I am particularly proud of), and a fellowship at the Vanderbilt Medical Center. See, in the unlikely event that someone questions me about my resume, I’ll slip in a comment about Vanderbilt, and the next thing you know we’ll be talking about Nashville and country music and about how Garth Brooks was discovered at the Bluebird Café. Nyuck, Nyuck. I know that many of you are wondering why I don’t play it safe and put down, for example, the Jamaican College of Medicine, where, if it even exists, record keeping might be a little loose. Yeah, I thought of that, but if you’re going to be a fake doctor, at least take pride in your fake credentials.
Don’t worry, I have no plans to operate right away. And I also have no plans on turning my back on keeping up with my profession by ignoring the primary source of medical advancements – the pharmaceutical representative. I recognize that these clean cut and well-dress young people with their degrees in English Literature and two weeks of training in Hoboken, New Jersey, are the backbone of the medical profession. I’ll be all ears when they call to tell me how to treat my patients. After all, they always have clinical studies to support their advice. Both the health of my patients and the health of Big Pharma are safe with me. And if you happen to show up at my clinic, please keep your yap shut. You have nothing to worry about, because, only as a backup precaution mind you, I’ll always keep a Magic 8 Ball in my pocket.
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