Well, I might not be much for doctors, but I figure I ought to go in for a checkup once every four years, whether I need it or not.  So, I get in there, and the doctor sits me down right off and says, "Ok, which do you want, cancer or multiple sclerosis?"
    My breath leaves me immediately.  "I beg your pardon?" says I.  "Are you telling me I have one of those dread diseases?  How can you tell?  You haven't even done any tests or anything."
    "Oh, no," says the doctor.  "You don't have either one yet, but you have to choose one."  And the nurses and the physician's assistants are standing around nodding their heads seriously.
    Now I'm really confused.  "I don't want either one," says I.  "Who in their right mind would?"
    "Well, of course you don't want either one," says one of the nurses.  "But you don't have that choice.  Personally, I recommend cancer."
    "Nonsense," says a physician's assistant.  "Cancer destroys your ability to choose your own behavior.  It doesn't respect the complexity of your personality.  Multiple sclerosis is much more benign.  It lets you function, more or less, for a pretty long time."
    "No way!" says the nurse.  "Cancer has gotten a lot better since the bad old days.  There are more survivors, and chemotherapy is ever so much less ghastly than it used to be.  MS attacks your central nervous system.  Cancer is more respectful of our core health systems.  It's a disease of bodily integrity.  Or so we claim."
    "Hold on, hold on!" I protest.  "They're both awful, and they both kill you."
    "How dare you imply that cancer and multiple sclerosis are the same!" scolds the PA.  "Cancer has more severe symptoms and kills more quickly."
    "You're right about that," I say.  "If I had to choose one or the other, I suppose I would rather have MS."
    "MS then," says the doctor.
    "No!" I protest.  "I don't want any disease.  I want to be well!"
    "Sorry.  That's just not one of the choices," says the doctor.
    "Why not?" I whine.
    "Because everybody's got to die, and these are the approved diseases," he says, arching an eyebrow.  "It's going to be one or the other, no matter what you do.  If you waste your time trying to be well, you're just going to wind up with the one you like less."
    "Says who?" I complain.
    "The people who know what's best for you," says he.  "Medical experts.  This is the best way.  Trust us.  You have a clear choice of ways to suffer and die without having to worry your head about all that complicated medical stuff.  Don't you want a choice?"
    "But I don't want any diseases!  I want to choose to be well!" I protest, trying one more time.
    "No no no," says the doctor.  "You don't get that choice.  That's  the choice we make for you.  Come on!  Don't be such a wimp!  This is medicine in action!"
    "Well, aren't you going to do any tests?  Even that ... rectal exam thing?  With the glove?"  I whimper.
    "No need," says the doctor.  "You've already been done."