Diagnosis by stopwatch isn’t medicine.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
You came for help.
You got 11 minutes and a prescription pad.
They didn’t ask about your story—
just your symptoms.
Didn’t ask what you’d survived—
just what you’d Googled.
Didn’t ask how long it’s hurt—
just whether you could still “function.”
This isn’t medicine.
It’s medical speed-dating for the broken and insured.
A factory line of fix-it-fast.
Here’s a pill. Here’s a co-pay. Next.
Because in this version of healthcare:
- Listening doesn’t bill.
- Empathy takes too long.
- And if you’re not cured in 30 days, you’re labeled “noncompliant.”
But pills without context aren’t care.
They’re patches over bullet holes.
And being chemically silenced isn’t the same as being seen.
You’re not a checklist.
You’re not a dosage range.
You’re not a side effect waiting to be tolerated.
And you deserve better than a doctor who hears your pain
and prescribes quiet.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because healing starts when someone finally listens—and that someone might have to be you.
