[An Early Reviewer copy from LibraryThing. Thanks LT!]
I now never want to go see the doctor again.
Yes, I knew doctors were fallible, but like this? The stories she tells (and which are clearly only sidebars related to the main tale) of the sneakiness, anger and most disturbing of all, the pride of these men and women that keep them from providing decent care to patients-- I just didn't want to know this. I want to know that my doctors are well-trained, alert to my problems, willing to listen to me, and not so dang heavy with the drugs.
Granted, this woman is not a general practitioner. No, sorry, she's a psychopharmacologist now. And if that isn't the hugest bunch of hooey I've ever heard! All this woman does is dispense cocktails of drugs to sad, lonely, barely mentally ill patients in a private practice three days a week. She obviously makes enough to maintain a family of four in NYC and 1-2 houses elsewhere (it's a little vague) with this farce of a job. Add to this the fact that her writing is a stunning example of someone so egotistical and narcissistic that it shines like a beacon on every page. I'm certain that a therapist should be able to see these things, especially when they're written on paper.
The Bellevue tales are truly shocking. But that's all they are. Designed to shock. I realize she thinks they're also designed to teach. Really? I'm supposed to learn how to handle myself in a psychotherapy ER by listening to you therapeutically discuss your failings as an ER doc, how you were confrontational and, frankly, emotionally abusive to your patients, something you never learned to rein in and not once realized you weren't suited to doing. Nine years it took you to realize this?! Go to the bottom of the class.
Oh, and all that blather from your prior co-workers about how they miss you and you'll never be forgotten. Yeah, that's because you took up an inordinate amount of space physically and emotionally. How could anyone forget that?
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