Dave Barry - Bad Habits

PATIENT: I broke my leg.

DOCTOR: What makes you say that?

PATIENT: A tree fell on me, and my leg went “snap.” Look, a jagged piece of bone is sticking out of my thigh.

DOCTOR: The symptom you describe could well be caused by a dysfunction of the endocrinological system.

PATIENT: But my leg ...

DOCTOR: I’m going to schedule you for a series of tests at the Mayo Clinic next month, and in the meanwhile, I’ll consult with several specialists by marine radio. I suggest you avoid fatty foods.

So if you know what’s wrong with you, your best bet is to tell your doctor you think something else is wrong with you. That way you stand some chance of actually getting treated.

I understand “M*A*S*H” is going off the air, which means I will have to get a new doctor. For the past few years, I have been telling my life-insurance agent that my doctor is Alan Alda. My agent needs to know who my doctor is so he can increase my life-insurance coverage, which he does roughly every couple of months. He’ll call me up and say, “Dave, I’ve been reviewing your files, and I really think we need to increase your coverage, now that you have a child.” And I’ll say, “But, Jeff, we had the child two years ago, and we have used that excuse to increase my coverage four times since then.” And he’ll say, “Oh yeah, right. But I still think we ought to increase your coverage, because, ummmm, the cost of living has been going up.” And I’ll say, “It sure has, Jeff, especially the cost of my life-insurance premiums.” And he’ll say, “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about, Dave. Think how difficult it would be for your wife to pay your life-insurance premiums if God forbid you were dead.”

This goes on for a half hour or so, until finally I agree to increase my coverage because otherwise I won’t be able to get off the phone and earn enough money to pay my premiums. Then Jeff says, “All I need, Dave, is the name of your doctor.” I don’t know why life-insurance companies always want the name of your doctor. Maybe they use it to check your credit rating. Or maybe they have a master list of really incompetent doctors, doctors whose patients come in with minor ear infections and wind up getting open-heart surgery, and if you have one of these doctors your premiums are adjusted upward. All I know is that Jeff won’t get off the phone until I name a doctor.

I used to give him the name of the doctor who gave me my physical examinations for my life-insurance application. He was a terrific doctor, because he specialized in insurance examinations, which means he was not the least bit interested in the internal workings of my body. All he was interested in was filling out the insurance application, which is a long list of questions, sort of like the college-entrance examinations, except that the correct answer is always no. If you answer yes, you run the risk that you won’t be allowed to pay the premiums, so the doctor reads the questions very quickly and checks “no” before you get a chance to answer:

DOCTOR: Have you or any member of your family or anybody you played with as a child ever had any funny tingling sensations?

YOU: Well, I ...

DOCTOR (checking “no”): Have you ever sat bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in your abdomen and thought it might be appendicitis but couldn’t remember whether your appendix is on the right or the left side so you woke up your spouse and he or she was somewhat irritable?

YOU: Well, once ...

DOCTOR (checking “no”): What about endotoxic infections? Salmonella typhosa? Acne? Clostridium botulinum? Semicolons? Ricketts? Tired blood? What is the capital of Idaho?

YOU: Would you mind repeating ...

DOCTOR (checking “no”): Okay. Now cough.

I liked this approach, because I never had to spend more than ten minutes with the insurance doctor, and he never tried to inject any foreign substances into my body. So I always said he was my doctor, until he retired, which is when I switched to Alan Alda.

I picked Alan Alda because he is a peck of fun. This is because he is in the Korean War, which, as you know if you watch “M*A*S*H,” is a zany, wacky, fun war, so much fun that it has been going for ten years now. I always figured that if I got sick, I could be flown directly to Korea, where Alan Alda would heal me within a half hour and introduce me to one of the several dozen attractive nurses who work in the M*A*S*H unit, and we could all go off and drink martinis and talk about how awful war is and then make lots of hilarious remarks, except for the nurses, who never say anything because their job is to mop Alan Alda’s brow.

But “M*A*S*H” is going off the air, so I need a new doctor. I’m seriously considering Robert Young, who stunned the medical world a few years back when he discovered that virtually all major psychological disorders can be cured through the regular use of caffeine-free coffee.

Psychiatry has gotten a lot of attention lately because of the recent court case in which John W. Hinckley, Jr., was charged with being sane. Those of you who do not understand our legal system probably thought Hinckley had been charged with shooting the President and several other people, because that is what he did. But everybody knew he had done it, so the trial would have been fairly short:

DEFENSE ATORNEY: My Client, John W. Hinckley, Jr. ...

JURY: Guilty.

So to put some meat on the trial, the judge decided that the prosecution would have to prove that Hinckley was sane. Apparently, being sane is now a federal offense. As a result, the lawyers pretty much ignored the actual shootings, which everybody had seen on television anyway, and instead spent the bulk of the trial showing the movie Taxi Driver and getting testimony from rented psychiatrists, who explained that Hinckley clearly was or was not insane, depending on which psychiatrist happened to be on the witness stand:

PROSECUTING ATORNEY: So, Dr. Warble, would you say that the defendant is sane?

PSYCHIATRIST: Oh yes indeed, very sane. Extremely sane.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: I object, your honor. The defense rented this psychiatrist, and he is supposed to say that the defendant is insane.

PSYCHIATRIST: Oh yeah, that’s right. What I mean is the defendant is insane. Sorry.

The defense psychiatrists proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hinckley shot the President because he (Hinckley) was in love with Jodie Foster and had watched Taxi Driver many times, so he was acquitted. This makes sense to me. I think we can all agree that anyone who fell in love with Jodie Foster and watched Taxi Driver many times would have no option but to shoot the President. I think Hinckley should be set free, and Congress should pass a law requiring Miss Foster to date him.

The only flaw in the Hinckley trial is that it left a lot of people with the impression that psychiatrists are just a bunch of bearded voodoo doctors who espouse confusing and wildly contradictory theories that have nothing to do with common sense. This is totally unfair. Many psychiatrists are clean-shaven.

To understand why psychiatrists behave as they do, you have to understand the history of their profession. In primitive times, people believed that psychiatric disorders were caused by demons who possessed people, and primitive psychiatrists cured them by gouging holes in their skulls so the demons could get out (I am not making this up). Now, of course, we know that this is silly. The modern approach for getting rid of a demon is to have a priest dive out a fourth-floor window, as you know if you saw the fine documentary movie The Exorcist, which I imagine John Hinckley saw thirty-five times.