I Resist the Muses

What makes me loose my temper? The dishonest of false hope.

Those damn idiot doctors who give a patient or their family false hope as a way to escape their own discomfort over delivering bad news. They don’t want to accept the helpless anger that comes from a person –or a family- when you stand there and tell them the truth.

They’re going to die.

Instead, people edge around the answer, they offer vague maybes and obscure possibilities. The human body doesn’t work like that, the human mind doesn’t work like that! For every word spoken of ‘possible’ the dying see hope and in the end, when that hope is finally broken, it is a soul crushing blow the likes of which can leave a patient devastated.

Just, tell the truth! Don’t lie to be a balm to your own ego. Don’t hold out false hope because you want the answer to be different. It’s not your answer to accept, in the end, it’s theirs and the only recourse any of us truly have in the end, is to be upfront and honest.

Even when it’s not the answer any of us wants to hear.

Who am I?

What day of the week is it, what hour of the day, minute of the hour? My identity is nearly as fluid as time its self.

At times, I am Doctor James Wilson, Boy Wonder Oncologist the man with all the answers, even when the final outcome is tragic. I’ll hold your hand, ease your pain, answer your questions of what is to come and be there to help make the end seem less frightening. I’m Mr. Well Adjusted, confident and sure, I can give you comfort in your time of need simply by projecting the air of being absolutely certain I and my answers are the right ones.

Sometimes, I’m Wilson, the second half of an incredibly screwed up friendship. Best friend of the brilliant Dr. Gregory House, I am there to translate his troubled genius into something palatable for those who might not be able to handle him. In the same vein, I’m there to help ease my friend’s constant pain, to make life just a wee more bearable for him, either through a timely written script or an entirely inappropriate joke.

Occasionally, I’m James, a warm and friendly face to people –women particularly- in need of a friend. I never intend to be more I simply like to make people happy, to see them smile, to help them feel better about themselves when they’re suffering through a low point in their life. What is that saying about the road to Hell being paved with such intentions? I wonder if the author of that quote knew me in a former life.

Then there are the too few hours when I am Husband. Not one of my better faces, I seem to constantly fail at this one. I’m never there enough and even when I’m physically present it seems as if I can not connect to her with the emotional intimacy a wife needs and deserves.

Finally there is James Wilson the incredibly screwed up individual who dare not show his face. Hidden from wife, friend, patients and colleagues alike, he lays like a dark shadow beneath all the rest. I try to confront him with pills, funny that don’t you think, given how strongly ‘Wilson’ tries to wean House away from his pills, Jimmy is busy popping his own in a desperate bid for normalcy.

Who am I?

Some days, even I can’t keep track. Of course that makes hiding from the reality of my own self, so much easier.