I texted the one person I know who would understand the unfamiliar emotions that left me so unsettled. "Being a grown-up sucks. I don't think I like it," I wrote to my brother. "No one does, Beany," he replied. "No one does."
Given the choice between the Hippocratic oath and ideological fidelity, many physicians prefer to violate the privacy of their patients rather than to oppose, with the truth, the State that employs them.
We are fragile corporal fragments. We bleed, we breathe. When we are pulled into the theater of illness we suddenly, simultaneously, feel our ephemeral immortal pulse. One we measure, the other we sense.
Is this what the science and art of psychotherapy and psychiatry has been reduced to? Don't talk, don't question, don't get to know the patient. The Doctor's role is to be the last part of the conveyor belt leading from the pharmaceutical plant to the patient's mouth.