There may be little disagreement among those who are, in own words, “poorly educated or not poorly educated,” that Donald Trump is an egomaniac, a narcissist, a misogynist and a man in love with himself who believes almost all other members of the human race are inferior to him.
What if, instead of inheriting his daddy’s real estate business and becoming a genetically wealthy person, thereby providing the financial resources to consider a run for the presidency, Donald had decided to become a medical doctor?
What would it be like to visit Dr. Trump?
I pictured that he had been recommended by a friend, who cited these reasons for selecting him as his primary care physician:
His office is spectacular. His waiting room covers 4,000 square feet, with massive gold pillars supporting a 50-foot ceiling, lush red carpeting, 10 statues of “The Doctor,” platters of caviar, a champagne fountain and a row of 15 slot machines (including a voucher good for $100 to get to play the slots while waiting for the doctor).
His medical staff reflects his love and respect for women. All staff members, including the receptionists, the medical assistants and the nurses, had been candidates in the Miss Universe contest Dr. Trump once sponsored.
Dr. Trump’s advertising claims in the local newspaper and the phone book that his patients were the healthiest in the world, they had zero rates of disease and mortality, were all successful in life and incredibly wealthy and wise.
Dr. Trump’s promise that his patients would never have to pay a cent for his expert medical care. He would be a strong negotiator with insurers and the government to make sure they covered 100 percent of the bills he submitted.
Being an admittedly impressionable and somewhat shallow individual, I scheduled my first visit with the doctor so that we could meet and he could obtain baseline data on the status of my health, the first step in a lifetime of good health.
On the day of my visit I arrived a few minutes early in case I needed to complete any paperwork. The receptionist, Starlight, scantily clad in a somewhat unprofessional outfit, asked for my Social Security number, the name of my bank, my estimated net worth and whether or not I would be interested in investing in a Trump condo development in Miami.
No questions were asked about any aspect of my health. I found this a bit peculiar based on my previous experience with medical professionals, but what the heck. Dr. Trump was a different kind of M.D.
After killing time waiting to see the doctor by sipping on champagne and playing the slots for free, nurse Bambi informed me Dr. Trump was ready to see me. She led me down a long corridor adorned with photographs of Dr. Trump. At the bottom of each were captions such as “America’s Best Doctor,” “Best Doctor in the World,” “Doctor of Year in the Galaxy,” “God’s Gift to Healing” and, most surprising, “Ted Cruz’ Favorite Doctor.”
The nurse led me into Dr. Trump’s office. I offered to shake his hand, but he pulled his hand away, telling me he “sure as hell did not want any of my germs.”
He asked me why I came to see him. I told him that I would like him to be my primary care physician. He glanced at me and said, “You look OK to me.” I asked if he wanted to take my blood pressure, record my height and weight or check my pulse. He replied, “We don’t need all that information. I like the big picture. Your health seems fine to me right now. If you ever get sick we can deal with that later and I promise you I will take care of you so well that you will never get sick again.”
I asked if he would like information about my family health history. He raised his hand with a dramatic “stop” gesture. He said, “The problem with modern medicine is doctors want too much information. It’s kind of like the IRS when they audit me each year. They want too much information. So my medical practice is based on fewer patient facts and less information. I focus on the person. I am the anti-establishment doctor and I’m great.
“This is what I learned at one of America’s best medical schools, where I was a top student and I was smarter than the entire medical school faculty. I go by the medical motto of less science, less observation, and more gut speculation.”
I was beginning to have doubts. Dr. Trump sensed my concern and tried to change the subject.
“You know, if you really want to improve your health, the best thing you can do is invest in one of my Miami condos. I’ve got a video to show you about the condos, narrated by someone I’ve tried to hire as a nurse for many years, Sarah Palin. But unfortunately Sarah can’t seem to pass that ridiculous nurse licensure test. It’s crazy that someone can’t become a nurse just because they don’t know much about the human body.”
I rose from my chair, taken aback by Dr. Trump’s final words. He stated that “after a few more years of practicing medicine, I am going to make a major career change and run for president. I will be the greatest president ever. I will create high-paying jobs for everyone. I will end all wars. I will put an end to crime, disease, depression, and toe nail fungus.”
On the way home, having decided this would not be a good doctor-patient match, I stopped at a bookstore to browse. In the health care section a volume caught my attention: “You Can Be Your Own Doctor,” by Donald J. Trump.
John Silvestro lives in Hadley.