You have a backache. (Who doesn't?) Your spouse says go to the doctor, but you don't really have a doctor. The local hospital has a walk-in clinic, but that means waiting, X rays, blood tests, waiting again -- this time in a backless paper dress -- only to be handed a bunch of insurance forms and a prescription for pills that make you logy. Your back still hurts, so you're referred to a fancy specialist. More X rays. More insurance forms. More waiting in a backless paper gown, followed by talk of disk surgery from a doctor who looks as if...
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