God heals, and the doctor takes the fees.
I recently went to a new doctor and noticed he was located in something called the Professional Building. I felt better right away.
First the doctor told me the good news: I was going to have a disease named after me.
A cousin of mine who was a casualty surgeon in Manhattan tells me that he and his colleagues had a one-word nickname for bikers: Donors. Rather chilling.
Nursing would be a dream job if there were no doctors.
Though the doctors treated him, let his blood, and gave him medications to drink, he nevertheless recovered.
I quit therapy because my analyst was trying to help me behind my back.