The pizza conspiracy

Update: I love pizza. The title has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the article. Pizza is life.

               I’ve been thinking again, which you might know by now it’s a bad sign. It’ll be raining toads, fire and brimstone anytime soon if the past has taught us something. Bad things happen when I think. So here goes…

               You know what first nudged me a wee bit towards science? Cancer. Not mine, though. I’ve had two family members suffer from it, one died and the other survived after a few surgeries and chemo. I understand sick people grasping at straws, I really do.

               When you’re puking your lungs out because your doctor forgot to prescribe you anti-nausea pills and you had no ideea that’s a thing or that those actually exist and people use them, you’d eat cow shit if that’s said to make you feel better. I bought a book (which was also quite expensive) about cancer being caused by some fungus or the other. It was highly recommended by a friend who happens to be a doctor – you know, one of those know-it-all larger than life figures with a voice that makes windows shake, one who’s absolutely convinced he’s right and others are wrong. I’ve bought it to give it as a gift but somehow I made the decision to look it up online. The result made me kind of avoid being around my friend – a doctor who knows less than what I can find in a few hours online and isn’t willing to change his mind? Last I know of him he’s selling “natural” stuff, like tea and other shit. He does diagnose things for people but he ain’t working in a hospital. He also advocates homeopathy and other shit.

               The main point is I’d probably lock up child abusers and those selling this kind of sugar pills to patients suffering from hiv, cancer or other life threatening diseases. But lock them up and work them hard, they have to know they’ve done something they shouldn’t have.

               In my own opinion, if I want to fuck up my own life I’m free to do it. What I’m not allowed (or shouldn’t be allowed, anyway) is to take advantage of others, of those that really are knocking on heaven’s door, and sell them shit. I mean, if your doctor says you got a one-in-two chance of kicking the bucket IF and only if you do your chemo and along comes this son-of-a-gun telling you the doc’s wrong and you ought to skip on chemo and eat sodium bicarbonate or honey-based stuff because that’s guaranteed to make you better, which one would you choose? No, asume you’ve seen chemo patiens on the hospital grounds and have no scientific training (like the average Joe or Jane). Or maybe you’re a woman suffering from breast cancer and your doc says he has to cut one out (or two). Think. You’d take the easy way out, probably. The quack makes money off you, and you probably kick the bucket if you don’t wake up and smell the shitty reality in time. For every patient that goes into remission (because perhaps your case ain’t that bad or misdiagnosed or hell, sometimes the heavens part and you go poof! and lost the tumors) there are thousands or more who die. Depends on the cancer, depends on the doctors and sometimes even on you. If you survive, the quack says he healed you. If you don’t, then you didn’t believe enough or weren’t worth it. I’d take him/her to visit the kids I’ve seen, that’d empty his bowels in a second. Weren’t those kids worthy? Maybe they’ve really sinned, right?

               Many cancers have a high survival rate now, thanks to medical science, research and the doctors. But you know what many say after they’ve survived? They thank god and give prayers. If I were a doctor I’d hit them in the head with my trusty “Medicine for dummies” book. Go cure that, moron. Halelujah. Amen, brother.

               Medicine is medicine. We ain’t perfect so medicine ain’t perfect. Most things have side effects and many doctors aren’t that good. Sometimes you visit that great tree in the sky regardless of treatments – think Jobs, if that guy didn’t have the money to cure himself, who had? But if you’re selling anything to cancer or other seriously ill people you better do your homework because this in my book is one of the few areas where ignorance is not an excuse. If you got doubts, research them. If you find out what you’re selling is blessed water and sugar and still sell it, I’d never let you see daylight again. For those patients you selling them illusions is equivalent with banning medicine that works on account of astrology reasons – bloody murder. You’re robbing them of their choices, you’re confusing them and you’re reducing the chances of them making the right decision, of getting better. For me, this is like refusing blood transfusions on your dying child because the scripture didn’t mention the procedure by name. Yes, I can refuse a transfusion, but only if I’m the one on the receiving end. I don’t play with other lives. All bloody life should be protected, so we can’t shoot the quacks. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t lock up for life those who willingly and knowingly take advantage of terminally ill patients.

               Oh, you think I’m wrong? Go away then, go to medical school, read up, do your research, whatever. Either you’re stupid (or crazy, let’s not forget that demographic) enough to think you’re the holder of the absolute truth or you’ll thank me in a few years for the wake up call. Don’t take my word for it, just burry your head in books and stuff until there are really no unanswered questions, then you’ll know whether I’m an idiot or not. Dummkopf.

Post scriptum:

               This is the actual truth on how I started to think for myself. I really believe what I wrote here. If you don’t agree then boo-hoo cry me a river, you have other places to vent – your comments will be deleted. Let me be perfectly clear – this is about serious life-threatening illnesses like cancer, TB, kidney failure, stuff like that. I don’t care about using placebos to treat the common cold, that shit usually goes away in seven days with pills or in a week without them. Sorry about the language and the visuals, though it’s far easier on the nerves than seeing a room of bald kids puking their lunch. I kinda cried then. Shit!

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