Assigning Blame

They wanted this to happen, you know. That's why they've been hounding me all these years with their bad advice. To make it happen. My doctor is the worst.

"You're killing yourself with the sweets," he says. "You have to stop."

But I'm not taking his bullshit. "My baker assures me they're safe," I reply.

"Doesn't it occur to you that your baker has what we call a vested interest in your consuming his goods?" asks the doctor slyly. But I'm too smart for him.

"Oh, and you aren't making anything off your drug sales, I suppose?" I counter.

"No, I'm not," he sighs unconvincingly. "You could at least take your insulin."

"Too expensive!" I snap back. "Your kind are always trying to burden the working man with unnecessary expenses!"

"You're already going blind," says the doctor. "And your kidneys starting to fail. Those are classic complications of diabetes."

"Hmph!" I reply. "Don't try and hornswoggle me with your pseudoscience. There's no proof that those things are being caused by your so-called 'diabetes.' Beckbaugh explained it all to me."

"You mean, Beckbaugh the baker's assistant?" asks the doctor nastily.

"Beckbaugh is not a baker's assistant," I correct him politely. "He's an advocate of the working man. I know this because he told me so himself, while he was wiping the powdered sugar off his hands with his apron!"

I can't tell you how many arguments with my doctor I've won like that. But it was all of them.

So then came the coma, which my doctor calls a "diabetic coma." Can't say I remember much about it, but when I came to, there was my doctor with "I told you so" all over his face. It was his fault. It must have been because he kept going on about it. And he probably slipped me something in the medicine I refused to take. Beckbaugh explained that to me. Also that all the symptoms I'm having are natural, so my body will take care of them. So I can safely ignore them and stick with my healthy diet. But I'm going to get a new doctor. As soon as I can sit up.