You would really think that people would be over the moon to find out that they’re not in fact going to die. Sure, they’ve made their peace with it and kissed their assorted precious bits well and truly goodbye. They might have gone on emotional and expensive holidays in order to see far off places and bid farewell to the world they’re leaving behind. I suppose the fact that such actions are prohibitively expensive might be the root cause of a few of their complaints.
But how can you put a price on these experiences? Going through all of that and then realising that you’ve actually got decades yet left to live? How wonderful. Apart from the fact that you’re completely skint and your loved ones know exactly what you think of them. Such is life. And that.
Somehow, people are taking something of a rather different position on this matter. For some crazy reason, they’re taking it incredibly personally that a whole load of doctors made some very simple mistakes, mixed up a raft of paperwork, took some vaguely illicit pills and came to completely false conclusions. I don’t really know what they’re getting so upset about.
It makes the whole healthcare process that little bit more exciting. Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if you couldn’t be entirely sure what was going on? Suddenly, scuttling along to your trusty local GP’s office becomes more of a lucky dip, a lottery and you’ll never be sure again who what you’re going to get. He tells you it’s anaemia you’ll never be entirely certain that it isn’t Ebola or something sporty like the plague. Healthcare professionals and their diagnoses will be relegated to the trustworthiness of journalists or quite possibly some of the slimier estate agents. What a wonderful world.