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I got into an argument with a doctor last night. We were talking about Covid-19, natch. What else do people talk about anymore? Pandemic porn!
“The question should not be how many people will die if they contract Covid-19,” I said. “The question should be how much longer those people would have lived had they not contracted Covid-19.”
The doctor went apoplectic!
Accused me of violating basic tenets of medical ethics. “It would be like you standing over a gunshot victim, and holding off treatment while discussing the life expectancy of ‘their kind’ instead of treating!”
I don’t think he realized I was once an ER nurse at a large metropolitan hospital with the charming bureaucratic designation, “Provider of Last Resort.”
Because, of course, that’s exactly the type of conversation that we had all the time, that all front line medical personnel have all the time. Minus that “their kind” dig: You kinda had to have strong progressive beliefs to work at a Provider of Last Resort, and I personally never participated in a decision made on the basis of the color of someone’s skin or presumed social class.
But, you know, resource scarcity.
Medical personnel make allocation decisions all the time. It’s called triage. I suppose a more honest term for it would be “rationing.”
The question is not whether medical rationing should exist. Trust me, it exists.
The question is whether you want rationing to exist at the micro-level where medical personnel are making all the decisions or whether you want the process to be a transparent one at the public policy level.
###
Conversation came at the end of a day I spent in an insanely bad mood.
For no real reason. My life these days is profoundly okay.
Social media is nuts. A constant barrage of hand-washing tips: I wash my hands better than you wash your hands, and here’s how I do it! A few whimpers about Elizabeth Warren. (No, hand-wringers—the reason she did not get votes is not because AmeriKa isn’t ready for a strong female President; the reason she did not get votes is because she did that DNA test, which proves she is easily bullied by Trump.)
The smart thing would be to take a break, but you know: Social media is addictive.
I did decide to stop mirroring this diary on LiveJournal.
My transformative slash-and-burn of the day.
###
Arguing with the doctor made me feel exactly like Josef Mengele. I got home and thought about logging onto Craig’s List to see if any exciting opportunities in identical twin research might have opened up.
Right at that moment, out of the blue, Robin texted me: ❤️ I love you!❤️
Thanks! I texted back. I needed to hear that from someone.
Never forget it, he replied.
“The question should not be how many people will die if they contract Covid-19,” I said. “The question should be how much longer those people would have lived had they not contracted Covid-19.”
The doctor went apoplectic!
Accused me of violating basic tenets of medical ethics. “It would be like you standing over a gunshot victim, and holding off treatment while discussing the life expectancy of ‘their kind’ instead of treating!”
I don’t think he realized I was once an ER nurse at a large metropolitan hospital with the charming bureaucratic designation, “Provider of Last Resort.”
Because, of course, that’s exactly the type of conversation that we had all the time, that all front line medical personnel have all the time. Minus that “their kind” dig: You kinda had to have strong progressive beliefs to work at a Provider of Last Resort, and I personally never participated in a decision made on the basis of the color of someone’s skin or presumed social class.
But, you know, resource scarcity.
Medical personnel make allocation decisions all the time. It’s called triage. I suppose a more honest term for it would be “rationing.”
The question is not whether medical rationing should exist. Trust me, it exists.
The question is whether you want rationing to exist at the micro-level where medical personnel are making all the decisions or whether you want the process to be a transparent one at the public policy level.
###
Conversation came at the end of a day I spent in an insanely bad mood.
For no real reason. My life these days is profoundly okay.
Social media is nuts. A constant barrage of hand-washing tips: I wash my hands better than you wash your hands, and here’s how I do it! A few whimpers about Elizabeth Warren. (No, hand-wringers—the reason she did not get votes is not because AmeriKa isn’t ready for a strong female President; the reason she did not get votes is because she did that DNA test, which proves she is easily bullied by Trump.)
The smart thing would be to take a break, but you know: Social media is addictive.
I did decide to stop mirroring this diary on LiveJournal.
My transformative slash-and-burn of the day.
###
Arguing with the doctor made me feel exactly like Josef Mengele. I got home and thought about logging onto Craig’s List to see if any exciting opportunities in identical twin research might have opened up.
Right at that moment, out of the blue, Robin texted me: ❤️ I love you!❤️
Thanks! I texted back. I needed to hear that from someone.
Never forget it, he replied.
