I sat in the waiting room in one of the hospitals in Gush Dan, waiting for some test suitable for my age. For the test, I was asked to fast for half a day and was also given to drink some substance that, among other things, slightly blurs the clarity. When I went to the window to look at the view, a lady turned to me with the slightly intrusive question, "What are you doing here?" as if people like me, chubby adults with baldness, don't go to the doctors and only spend the whole year competing in the Iron Man competition.
In the second sliver that passed before I answered, I managed to think of several options for appropriate answers. The first is to share with her the precise and unappetizing information about the test I am waiting for; the second, and slightly hostile, to tell her that it was none of her business; And the third, to say that I am about to have a hair transplant. In a way that surprised me very much, I chose a fourth option and told her that I was a doctor.
To my surprise, the lady didn't smile dismissively or let me know that she thought I was a liar or a professional quibble. She did wait for more detail on the matter, so I continued. I said that entertainment has always been just a part of my life and that I've been combining music and stand-up comedy with a medical career for years.
That's great, she replied, and what field do you specialize in? Internal surgery, I answered without batting an eyelid or pancreas, and she replied: Good to know, good luck, doctor.
Illustration: Ovadia Benishu,
I sat down on the waiting couch and a slight dizziness washed over me. I always dreamed of becoming a specialist with a successful private clinic whose livelihood does not depend on a new song and whether they will invite him to perform at the Gezer Regional Council. At that moment, the only thing separating me from fulfilling my dream was the white coat hanging at the end of the hall not far from me, with a badge attached to it.
Without thinking twice, or the blurring material was just thinking for me, I got up from the couch, grabbed my robe, and walked to the bathroom. The badge said Dr. Barzani, but I didn't let the first four letters of the name bother me, put on my robe and walked to the door with the two most seductive words written in Hebrew: staff only. I attached the badge and the door opened. I walked into the patients' rooms and found myself joining a group of doctors and nurses surrounding a patient's bed.
• • •
The senior doctor in the room, who looked more or less my age, with white hair and a stethoscope with Prof. Schwartz's tag on it, explained to the staff that he thought the patient had a severe urinary tract infection, recommended continuing with intravenous antibiotics and waiting for the results of blood tests. I couldn't stand idly by at the professor's questionable and inthorough diagnosis. I remembered an immortal episode of the series "Doctor House" that I once saw with my daughter that dealt with exactly a similar case of groin pain, and while holding a corona mask to my face I said that I don't disagree with Prof. Schwartz, but I think an ultrasound and an MRI should be considered.
I said I hadn't seen the tests and photographs, but according to the patient's complaint, there was a situation in which it was kidney stones. All eyes were on me and I saw that one young doctor, Dr. Barak, who seemed to understand the matter, was nodding his head and liking me with his thumb next to my leg so that only I could see him (the others seemed a little more skeptical, but I remembered that Dr. House also encountered resistance in the first half of the episode).
After a few seconds the professor looked at me and said "I accept Dr.'s suggestion...?". Nitzani," I replied without blinking, covering the first letters of the badge, leaving only the Noon and Yod from the Barzani. I instructed the head nurse to write down my details in order to be assigned to tomorrow's doctors' meeting, and before the forum could respond, I informed everyone that I was running for urgent surgery at Assuta.
The next day I already had a busy day of visits, dispensing medication and even having a lady's gallbladder removal surgery while telling the junior doctors in the room that I was giving them free rein and that they would ask me if anything was unclear - in a tone that made it clear that even a sanitaire should be able to do such an operation without bothering the specialist with questions.
I felt like I was on the horse. I have status, the medical community listens to what I have to say, I have patients who trust me and even a private clinic where I see patients for advice.
A young doctor lightly touched my shoulder and asked if I could come and advise her on how to proceed with the heart transplant operation. When I didn't answer, she moved to shake my shoulder, and then I woke up and saw that the person touching me was a cleaning worker trying to move me after I fell asleep on the drinks machine in the waiting room. I was without a robe or badge, just with a stain of grape juice on my shirt.
After I recovered and finished the test, I remembered all sorts of newspaper articles that amazed me about cheeky impostors, like the guy who posed as a plastic surgeon and made Botox anti-wrinkle injections for all sorts of unsuspecting patients; The guy who introduced himself as a dentist even though the only blockage he knew how to do was in the sink, which didn't stop him from repairing holes and performing extractions without blinking, or the nursing student who performed 300 surgical procedures at Sheba, even though he wasn't a doctor and apparently had contact with psychiatrists. True, no one wants someone who is not qualified to pull out their teeth or replace their cornea, but my dream of impersonation raised the question of whether it is possible that there is a small impostor hiding inside each of us, just waiting to break out at the right moment.
• • •
Not every profession requires certification and not every occupation requires a diploma. For example, to be a car washer, coffee reader, goat herder, or horse whisperer, you don't have to study in any faculty or stable. The best musicians didn't study music at all, and I also started writing songs and newspaper columns without any certification or license.
We have become accustomed to thinking that someone who has been studying something for many years is supposed to be good at what he does, and there is no doubt that studying and a diploma are an advantage, but we all know that there is no shortage of doctors or lawyers who have been certified and still have nothing left. Just because you were deaf in medical school doesn't mean you're a good doctor. Maybe you just didn't have a social life? On the other hand, if you haven't studied medicine and you're a veteran hypochondriac with 30 years of experience browsing medical websites, bullying doctors and collecting drugs, plus watching every hospital series — from "Grey's Anatomy" to "Baby Boom" — no intern can compete with your accumulated knowledge.
Aside from affinity for the field, there are a few other things that will help an impostor become a reliable doctor. For example, make sure they call you by your last name. Doctors will always be called by their last names, contrary to what is common in the music world, which prefers first names like Rita, Ninette, Beyoncé or Bono. On the other hand, you will not find doctors who are known as "Dr. Tzachi" or "Prof. Shula." It's always Dr. Zuckerman or Prof. Shabbat, with the degree doing most of the work.
On the other hand, in the music world, no one will think of naming his profession, and you won't hear on the radio about the new song by a Kleinstein singer or a Ben-Zaken singer. It is also recommended to hang certificates on the wall with the names of universities from around the world and incorporate Latin words that express excellence that no one knows such as summa laude.
And you should also practice the surgeons' strange hand washing, which includes elbow soaping, and learn to wear the strange beret they put on your head without it looking like an elderly woman's bathing cap on you.
• • •
With all the dangers of impersonation, because of the shortage of manpower in the medical field, I suggest trying to use them and integrate them into the industry. These are undoubtedly people of daring and ingenuity. And since the interns work extremely long shifts at the end of which they are already blurred and it's not clear how much of the material they actually remember, the fresh impostors may be just as credible. A veteran impostor (as opposed to a specialized impostor), who already has seven years of impersonation and is more available, will still be able to do at least some of the work and take the load off.
After all, even when a lady goes to the hairdresser, she can choose whether to wait a week to get a haircut at Mickey Buganim's, or to be immediately accepted by a hairdresser's apprentice for a quarter of the price.
Impersonating doctors, who, with all their shortcomings in the professional field, are undoubtedly daring and inventive types, can certainly ease the burden on hospitals. One can only hope that after a few years in the profession the job will not come to their minds, they will demand a raise in salaries and until then they will declare an impostor strike.
Good luck!
yairn@israelhayom.co.il
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