Are you sure?
Because doctors can fool you.
Let me tell you a little story, all the more profound because every word of it is true.
Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, I went to UCLA Medical School.
I got to be friends with some of the members of the class a year ahead of me; I saw them on rotations, in the mail room, what have you.
While in med school and for some years thereafter I lived in an wonderful old Spanish–style apartment building that was walking distance from UCLA.
My downstairs neighbor was a member of the class that finished a year ahead of me; he was a GP in solo private practice in Malibu and liked to drop the names of his famous show business patients.
He had the most beautiful clothes.
He had a Ferrari, bright yellow as I recall, and a Porsche and a string of flight attendant girlfriends over the years, but finally settled down with one in particular who was just nutso.
Screaming, crying, fighting, noise, things being thrown against the wall and breaking, doors slamming so hard the building shook, loud music, the works, it all emanated from their place.
But the apartment and the rent and the location were so great I just didn't want to move so I endured their craziness for years.
Among the other members of this guy's class had been my dorm residence advisor when I was an undergraduate; I remained friends with him, touching base maybe every couple years or so.
Once I mentioned that I was living above his med school classmate and I started going on about what a bozo the guy was and the ex–residence advisor started laughing really hard.
What's so funny? I asked.
He said my neighbor had graduated last in their class: #121 out of 121.
No one could believe UCLA Medical School would actually let him graduate, he was such a doofus.
He knew nothing, screwed up everything and half the time didn't even show up.
But you know the old joke, don't you, about what they call the guy who graduates last in his med school class?
"Doctor."
Anyway.
One day, maybe eight or ten years after I'd graduated, I happened to be reading Los Angeles magazine, the annual issue featuring "The Best Doctors in Los Angeles."
And guess what?
My downstairs neighbor, Dr. Last–in–his–class, who would occasionally tell me about pet treatments out of left field that he used in his practice, was named "The Top GP in Los Angeles."
w00t!
So that's why I asked, at the top of this post, "Are you sure?"
Caveat [doctor] emptor.



























