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The arbitrary economics of life and death
Prostate Cancer | Last Active: Apr 16 3:21pm | Replies (30)Comment receiving replies
yes, we eventually stop shaking our fists and start filling out forms. We trade indignation for intake. The real trick isn’t in reconciling with mortality—it’s learning to nod politely as yet another cheerful nurse explains the difference between a CT and an MRI, as if it’s our first day in Cancerland and not the sequel nobody asked for.
You don’t rage at the system because it’s not malevolent—it’s just monumentally impersonal. A glacier of protocol moving at glacial speed, crushing individual identity into barcode labels and scan results.
And we accept that. Eventually. Somewhere between the third waiting room and the fifth repetition of our birthdate.
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All true, but the fact that the system exists at all is pretty amazing. It's not an easy thing to build or maintain, and it's a huge privilege of living in a rich country like Canada or the U.S. that we can just take its existence for granted and moan about the details (which we all do sometimes, since grumbling is only human 🙂).
Annoying as it is, they have two good reasons for asking your birthdate everytime you walk into a new room:
1. Confirmation that they have the right person (we've all heard horror stories about the wrong patient being treated, rare as it is).
2. A quick check of cognitive ability (e.g. do you seem confused or hesitant?).
For a system that often goes for expensive solutions, this is a nice, simple safety check. When I was in hospital (critical care) they also kept asking me if I knew the date, where I was, and why I was there. I entertained myself by reciting hospital, floor, ward and room number, then a stream of technical details I memorised from my chart until they rolled their eyes and smiled.