The MagazineDoctor, My EyeChristopher Caldwell, man on a plan.Oct 3, 2011, Vol. 17, No. 03
• By CHRISTOPHER CALDWELL
Three or four years ago, during the Neronian decadence that preceded the financial crash of 2008, we got a glossy brochure in the mail from one of our doctors. It announced that for a modest fee—about a hundred dollars per person—our family could enjoy a whole range of special perquisites known as the Platinum Recognition Plan. What would we get with Platinum Recognition? Well, for one, our doctor would return our calls himself. If any of us got really, really sick, he would see us within days. Not only that, he would come up with a “personalized” health regimen to suit whatever symptoms and conditions we might develop in his branch of medicine. ![]() DAViD CLARK My wife checked the postmark to make sure it was not April 1. Listening to one’s patients talk about their symptoms, treating them in sickness and in health, recognizing that they are suffering humans and not just chess problems—surely this is what being a doctor is. What today’s doctors call “Platinum Recognition” is what doctors of the old school called the Hippocratic Oath. But almost every doctor that our extended family uses has an answering-machine message that runs “If this is an emergency you should go to the hospital,” pedantically enumerates the hours he works (which don’t coincide with any hours when you would actually call him), and implies that you should jump in a lake. To read more, you must be a Weekly Standard Subscriber We're Sorry,
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