Ten Years

"I have this pain in my chest.  When I breathe.  I think I need an MRI."

"And how long have you had this pain."

"Ten years.  When can I get the MRI?"

"You don't need an MRI."

"How are you going to figure out if the pain is dangerous."

"If the pain was dangerous, you'd be dead by now."

"That's not funny."

"I didn't mean it to be funny.  You've had it for ten years.  Anything that's going to kill you would have already killed you.  Dangerous pain doesn't stick around for ten years.  Especially dangerous pain that doesn't seem to interfere with any of your normal activities."

"It keeps me from doing this--"

He then smacked himself in the chest, really hard.

"Why would you ever do that?"

"I don't know.  What if I wanted to.  I can't because it hurts."

"Maybe it hurts because you're hitting yourself in the chest."

"You're no better than the other doctors."

"Oh, you've seen other doctors about this?"

"Yeah.  One of them said it was anxiety."

"Okay, maybe it's anxiety."

"The other thirteen said it was nothing."

"Okay, maybe it's nothing."

"You just said it was anxiety."

"Fine, it's anxiety.  I think we're finished."

"Wait, I have this other pain--"

"How many doctors have you seen about it."

"The same fourteen."

"And how many were concerned about it?"

"One, but I think he's a quack."

"Okay, we're finished."