Dear Doctors and Insurance Companies

Please Stop Telling Me to Take Control of My Health and Participate in My Care

By Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago • 3 min read

A doctor doing that thing with the pens. From a microbiological (potential for cross contamination) perspective that is a terrible practice. Almost as bad as doctors and nurses wearing their work scrubs in the hospital cafeteria. Almost, but not quite. That is just terrible, awful, scary dumb. Why do they still do that? Have they not seen the hospital acquired infection numbers? Laziness is my guess. Image courtesy of Pixabay.

I Am Way Too Lazy for All That and Isn’t That What I Pay You For?

In general I consider myself a take charge kind of guy. Mostly I like to be in control, no matter the situation I am in. However, in one area of my life, my health, I most definitely do not want to be in control. In fact I think I have proven over and over again throughout the course of my life that I am incapable of handling the responsibility. Simply put, I suck at health, specifically I suck at my own health. I am just plain terrible at taking care of myself. When it comes to making healthy choices in food or engaging in healthy, low risk activities I fail again and again. Don’t even get me started on avoiding unhealthy and dangerous habits because I don’t. I am all over those.

The bottom line is that I am not good for my own health so insurance companies and doctors why do you keep asking me to take control of it and participate in my care? As I hopefully made clear putting me in control of my own health is a proven loser strategy, and not to sound too impolite or snotty, but doctors I pay you to take care of me. I am a fan of the old school doctor patient relationship. You know the one I’m talking about right? It’s the one where I go to the doctor, he/she tells me how unhealthy/out of shape I am, warns me to change my ways or else, I nod politely go home and don’t change a thing. Simple, classic, easy. The only participation required from me was showing up at the office and maybe dropping my drawers so the doctor can do that thing where they grab your sack and make you cough or if I’m lucky put a finger in my butt.

Sincerely,

The End.

And once again the dreaded 600 word count minimum rears its ugly head. A perfectly good story. A perfectly funny short story. Completed at 317 words, but because of this asinine, absurd, and patently ridiculous rule I am forced to continue typing away like some asshole. Wasting what will amount to probably 10 minutes of my life writing some stream of consciousness bullshit just so I can hit the magic number and submit my story. To the censor (sorry I mean reviewer) reading this please forgive me for also wasting your time. I realize reading this shit is your job, or at least part of your job, but damn, I am sorry anyway. Sorry that you are forced to read this turd sandwich I am currently crapping out of my fingers onto the keyboard and into the computer. You likely had nothing at all to do with the dumbest decision in the history of web publishing, but now you, like me, are being forced to pay for it. If you don't like the taste of the shit sandwich you are currently eating, take it up with management. They are the Einsteins that decided it would be a good idea. I can only imagine how much more money those decision makers make than yourself. I am certain it is a considerable amount. Take a moment and think about that as you read these words. The jackass that came up with this rule is making a crap ton more money than you. Ouch. I would be pissed if I were you, very, very pissed. Of course I am not you and I am still pissed. Very, very pissed. Stupid frackin rule. Stupid. And there you go, 622 words, happy? Assholes.

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